Final Target: Six Assassins Book 6

by Heskett, Jim

  Layne didn’t know this woman. No idea who she was. Seemed she assumed he was a cop.

  Still, this woman ran at top speed toward him, machete raised. Not enough time to explain his counter-position, so he readied his weapon.

  She had apparently picked Layne as the next person to receive her vented aggressions.

  Layne lifted the shotgun and blasted, but the shot didn’t hit straight on. It took out a chunk of the woman’s shoulder, but even that didn’t stop her. He’d hoped it would, because there was no reason for this woman to die.

  She kept on coming.

  Layne readied the shotgun again, but the woman was too close.

  She screamed as she raised the blade in her hand. Layne ducked to his right, out of the path of the swipe. As the woman’s motion continued forward, he gave her a shove from behind, pushing her down into the snow. The woman flipped over onto her back, blade raised. She placed one hand on the ground to push herself up, and Layne didn’t wait any longer.

  He aimed the shotgun and hit straight on this time, into the woman’s stomach. She keeled over and stayed there in the snow, droplets of red all around her.

  Layne looked back toward the main fighting arena. At least a dozen were already dead. Red snow everywhere. Bullets polluting the air. Total chaos still reigned in all directions except at the house, which seemed oddly quiet. Serene, even.

  Still, with extensive violence in all directions, Layne didn’t trust the appearance of stillness at the mansion. There were almost certainly more traps waiting for them inside.

  Suddenly, the plan to sneak into this mansion to steal a couple of cell phones as evidence didn’t seem like the most feasible idea any longer. But, since their exfiltration plan was now shot, they might as well push toward the goal.

  He continued on a course to the house, then something caught his eye. A brawny man with a buzzed haircut and a smashed nose. Skulking through the snow, looking for something. This must have been Helmut, the man who had been seconds too late to save Thomas Milligan.

  Except Helmut wasn’t engaging in the battle. He was on the periphery, looking at the vast structure before him. Looking for Ember, most likely.

  Layne ducked down at the corner of the house, letting a set of stairs running up to the front porch shield him from view. He thumbed the button on the walkie talkie. “You there?”

  “I’m behind the house, to the north,” Ember whispered. Her voice sounded scratchy, almost too hard to read. “Currently hidden, but I don’t think that’ll last long.”

  “I’m going to be late. Have to take care of something.”

  “Um, okay. Do what you have to do.”

  Layne turned off the walkie and then set out on a path to tail Helmut, to see where he was going.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  EMBER

  She’d heard nothing but the sound of bullets traversing the air for two minutes. Firedrake men, DAC, and Marcus’ guards were fighting it out on the grounds to the south of the house. Ember was currently holed up north of the house, sheltered by a row of snow-drenched hedges near the stone fence. She couldn’t believe how it had all come together. She had underestimated Marcus’ powers of organization.

  A woman darted around this side of the house, with a man in pursuit behind her. Ember recognized them both. She didn’t remember the names, but the woman was from Highlands Branch, and the man from Westminster. She was panicked, trying to flee as he pursued. Maybe she was out of ammo.

  The man didn’t stop. He aimed his gun and spit a couple of shots at the woman, dropping her in the snow. She tried to reach out to crawl away, and so he added two more bullets into her back, which made her cease all movement.

  He stood over her prone corpse, leering down at it. “I’ve been waiting years to do that.”

  Ember emerged from her shelter in the hedges, pointing her Enforcers at the man. She thought he might flinch, be he stayed calm and didn’t lift his weapon.

  “What are you all doing here?”

  He kept wearing that same self-satisfied grin, holding a pistol next to his hip. “Looking for you. We were told we could find you here, plus a bunch of feds who want to take down the DAC. I don’t know who half those people are out there, fighting, but it doesn’t matter. Anyone not from my Branch gets a bullet, and that’s it. It’s time to clean house.”

  He whipped his pistol up, but Ember didn’t give him a chance. She peppered his body with bullets, pressing the triggers until her magazines ran empty. He jiggled and then sank into the snow. He wasn't able to return fire before the last breath escaped in a puff from his lips.

  This area of the grounds had been relatively quiet, but the shots would bring others. Ember had to hurry.

  She’d had her eyes on a door leading into the house, but hadn’t been sure the entrance was unguarded. Now, it wouldn’t matter. She had to gain entry before the fight came around this side of the house, to her. If the phones were somewhere in there, her window to retrieve them was evaporating in a hurry.

  Ember took a few steps toward the house, then she noticed something odd. Between this north side of the house and the stone fence was an open area covered in snow. A rectangular area of blank space large enough for an outdoor chess board or whatever else the affluent would do with open space. But now, she noticed the snow wasn’t uniform across it. Leading directly north from the house to the fence was what looked like a lane or some kind of channel. It was ten feet wide, running out from the house. It looked as if six fewer inches of snow had fallen here. But that wouldn’t make any sense. There was no overhead obstruction that could have caused less snowfall here.

  At least, not naturally.

  She walked a few steps over the lowered area, and the ground underneath was at the same level as the ground underneath the higher snow. The dip in the snow hadn’t been caused by the level of the earth in this area being lower.

  So why would it seem like less snow had fallen in this one perfect lane leading out from the house?

  There was only one explanation: this part of the ground was warmer than the ground on either side of it, which melted the snow slowly but noticeably. And Ember had to assume that it meant a basement or tunnel of some sort creating the heat, warmer inside than on the surface up here, originated from somewhere under the house, past the fence, into the canyon beyond.

  Suddenly Marcus’ choice of location for his final showdown made more sense. He didn’t want this place solely because of its remote location, which would give the factions long enough to duke it out before law enforcement arrived on-scene. He wanted it because of its special, super-rich-people-only features and amenities like secret tunnels and getaway canyons.

  Ember raced toward the fence, along the path of her hypothetical tunnel. She wasn’t a hundred percent about this, but running this direction had to be better than running toward the fray and catching a stray bullet to the side of the head.

  She hoisted herself to the top of the fence and looked out into the canyon beyond. The canyon was narrow at the entrance, only thirty or forty feet wide. The walls on either side were short near the entrance, maybe only ten feet tall. But the canyon then had a gradual upslope to it, and the walls grew taller and taller further north. At a certain point the canyon walls stopped growing, and it looked like the canyon floor sloped upward enough to meet the walls again, effectively ending the canyon a couple thousand feet up to the north. Beyond that looked like an open area which would eventually lead back to the highway.

  A perfect route for a quick escape from the mansion’s property.

  Ember searched the area for anything that looked out of place. Gunshots still echoed behind her, back at the mansion. With all the snow, she couldn’t make out anything. But then, a blotch of darkness materialized through amid the white, fifty feet further up the canyon. Next to one of the rocky paths lining the sides was a collection of tree limbs that looked too carefully arranged. Probably covering something.

  She squinted and could make out the o
utline of a machine. A snowmobile? Hidden beneath all that brush was definitely some kind of small vehicle.

  Now Ember understood exactly how Marcus intended to escape. Unsurprisingly, the small craft had room for only a person or two, perhaps three.

  But she knew Marcus wasn’t planning on having passengers. He wouldn’t give a shit about escaping with any life other than his own.

  Snowmobile north through the canyon, up to the flat area beyond, and then off to some other vehicle, stationed far away and out of view of the house grounds. And if he made his move quickly enough while the battle was still raging, no one would even hear the snowmobile’s engine starting up and hightailing it along the canyon.

  Ember pulled out her phone and checked for reception. She had one measly bar, but she had to hope it would be enough.

  “It’s me,” she said after the call connected. “The little canyon behind the house. You’ll see a snowmobile out there on the west side of it, hidden by trees. That’s where we’ll do it. Be there in five minutes. We’ve got one shot at this.”

  Ember ended the call and then raced toward the house. As she inserted new magazines into her Enforcers, she saw Marcus Lonsdale appear in a back window, staring straight at her.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  EMBER

  Ember hustled toward the house. More and more the shapeless sea of combatants was beginning to spill around the side of the main house, and she didn’t want to die in the snow while her target smirked inside the mansion, a hundred feet away.

  Ember abandoned the shotgun since the bulky thing only slowed her down. She’d always preferred pistols, anyway. Still, she snatched one of the hand grenades inside her coat once she reached the edge of the porch and she pulled its pin.

  She cooked it for a couple seconds as it sat in her palm. Then she hurled it as hard as she could toward one of the back doors of the mansion.

  Once it had left her grip, she ducked down at the edge of the porch and threw her hands over her head.

  She counted to three, and the explosive went off. Despite all the ear-piercing shooting over the last ten minutes, the grenade blast still managed to make her ears ring. The house gave a gentle shake, rumbling and grumbling against the intensity of the blast.

  When she stood up to check, she was pleasantly surprised to see that the grenade had done the job. The door was almost off its hinges, clinging for dear life like a hunk of toilet paper going for a joyride on a shoe.

  “You still alive?” she asked into the walkie.

  A couple seconds of static came back. If he were still out there fighting, he wouldn’t respond. If he’d been shot and killed, he wouldn’t respond, either.

  “Going inside the house,” she barked into the walkie. No reply again, and Ember didn’t have time to wait. No time.

  She held her Enforcers in front of her and bounded up the steps to the back area. There were statues and other objects at random on the porch, chairs and tables and other things all masked in snow. She did her best not to trip over anything on her way in.

  Now inside the door, she found herself in an enclosed sunroom, with patio furniture, a telescope, and a luxurious rug covering the tile floor. The gunshots and explosions to the south were much less chaotic-sounding from in here. But Ember didn’t want to wait around to see if they got louder as they got closer.

  Through the open door into the main part of the house, Ember watched a pair of dark pants and a dark sweater sprinting away.

  Marcus Lonsdale.

  Besides seeing him through the window a moment ago, Ember had not physically laid eyes on him in quite some time. The last time they’d seen each other, she had assumed it would be the last time, for the rest of her life. And she’d assumed Marcus had been thinking the same thing about her. Apparently not.

  Ember raised her guns and spit a couple of shots. She didn’t even know why she was doing it, because all of this hinged on getting Marcus alive. The plan to sneak into the mansion and steal his phones to scrape them for evidence was dead. The needed element of surprise had been lost.

  Now, with all the mayhem happening, the best possible outcome to this situation would be for Ember to walk out of here alive with Marcus’ hands tied behind his back. Or, if necessary, with a bullet in his thigh or stomach to make him more docile.

  Even that seemed like an insane plan. Still, she had to try.

  Ember raced through the patio room and into the house proper. First she encountered a laundry room, with a washer and dryer and a giant auxiliary freezer. Given the size of this house, Ember expected she would find a Komodo dragon, the last dodo bird alive, or perhaps an actual dinosaur in the freezer, waiting to be eaten at some secret dinner party consisting of fat-cat diplomats and titans of industry.

  Ember pushed through the room and out into a wider foyer area. Several branching hallways led out from this main room. The lights were on, making her blink several times to get her bearings. Canvas art on the walls, busts of famous historical figures on pedestals with accent lights affixed above them. She had to stop and swivel her head around when she realized she didn’t know which way Marcus had fled.

  The front door of the house burst open, sending a flood of powdery snow in from the outside. Also, a hulking beast in a dark wool coat, holding a pair of revolvers in his hands. He looked like Five Points, maybe, or Westminster? Ember didn’t know for sure, but she had a vague memory of being introduced to a thickset man like this at a dinner party last December.

  Without a word, the man lifted the guns and shot at Ember.

  She rolled to her right, taking brief cover behind a pedestal. Small chunks of concrete showered her from above.

  Ember waited for a pause in the shooting, then jumped up and sprinted for one of those hallways. No time to worry about if it would lead to Marcus or not. There wasn’t enough reliable cover in this room to face the giant head-on.

  Once in the hall, she flashed her eyes around to get her bearings. A few closed doors lined the hall, and it terminated in a t-junction thirty feet in front of her. Ember skidded to a stop near the end, then looked left and right. As soon as her head pivoted right, a bullet zipped within inches of her face and blew out a chunk of the wall.

  Ember lifted one pistol and pulled the trigger off toward her right. She glanced in that direction in time to watch a man she had never seen before take a bullet in the chest. He staggered back and bumped into the wall, heaving breaths. Panic on his face, knowing he would die within seconds.

  He slid down, leaving a trail of blood on the wall behind him.

  Normally it would have been a terrible shot, a horrendous thing to do, something completely out of character for her. To kill a man she hadn’t even looked at, hadn’t even assessed. He could have been innocent. A butler, or a plumber ending a late house call.

  But she knew he wasn’t. If she had hesitated, she would likely be the one bleeding out instead. Here, in this maze of luxury, anything unknown was going to get shot. Anything slulking in her peripheral vision would meet the business end of an Enforcer.

  Ember’s ears attuned to sounds back toward the foyer to her right. Voices. Lots of them. Seemed like several of the fighters in the front yard had decided to enter the house now.

  How many were left? She didn’t know and had no desire to find out.

  She lifted another grenade from inside her coat and hurled it back down the hall behind her. Judging by the number of hostile footsteps coming from that direction, she’d had no other choice than to use it.

  Then, she noticed an open door in the hall ahead of her. And, inside that open door, she could see a set of stairs going down. Since she was on the ground floor of the house, stairs going down meant basement.

  The tunnel to the canyon had to be leading out from the basement.

  Ember reasserted the grip on her pistols, checked her magazines, then sprinted forward as the grenade exploded behind her. She could hear shouts and screams as it took out a few in the hall.

  Halfw
ay down the steps she paused to look back. No one came running through the smoke after her. For now, she had stopped those in direct pursuit.

  Down the steps into a wine cellar, with racks of wine blocking her view to the back. A string hanging from a light fixture dangled above her head, swinging back and forth.

  He’d been here seconds ago. Marcus had been here.

  She raced to the bottom of the steps, then she could see it. On the far side of the room, a large door—like something you’d see on a bank vault—in the wall. It was open, leading out to a tunnel lit only by running lights near the bottom.

  And there, she saw Marcus Lonsdale, fleeing for his life. Hands and arms working to run toward a dim light at the other end.

  Could she still catch him? Her chest burned, legs ached, her neck wound pulsed, but she still had to try.

  If she pushed herself with everything left…

  This could work. It might work. She just had to hope everything was in place.

  Ember gritted her teeth and ran after her target.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  LAYNE

  Layne stayed low and crept through the snow behind the house. There was no point in engaging with the people shooting in the front yard, or the ones who had broken free of the larger scrum and had now ventured inside the house. Any one of these people would try to kill him, as the bloodlust frenzy of the battle had pulled all of them under its spell. It hadn’t even been all that hard to pull off; put a bunch of determined, gun-toting hotheads in the same place at the same time, then fire a couple shots into the crowd. Adrenaline had taken care of the rest.

  But there was no point in going straight at them. Layne couldn’t take on an entire mob. It wasn’t feasible even if he had enough ammunition, and even more importantly, it didn’t get them to their goals.

  Instead, Layne stayed on his target, Helmut. The brawny European had ignored the fighting, had ignored the house, and was instead creeping through the brush to the north of the fence, toward the open canyon there. The canyon began beyond the fence, starting with short cliffs on either side, at about fifty feet wide at its open mouth. It became more canyon-like up beyond that, with the cliff walls growing taller and the canyon growing wider. A few hundred feet down, Layne could see no further, with a swirl of still-falling snow obscuring his vision. A wall of white.