Clean Kill

by Adam Nicholls

  The yacht croaked in a long, creaking whisper as it began to capsize.

  Stunned, frightened, pain playing on his aged body, Val had to make it out of there. If he could, he would try to save his son, too. Otherwise, he thought in those few speeding moments, there was no point in surviving this nightmare.

  * * *

  Jacqueline had barely made it onto the yacht when she heard the explosion. To her, it was little more than a soft pop in the air, but the force dropped her to the deck, and she rolled to the side rail. She held her hip as it smashed against something metallic, the pain shooting up the left side of her body. She cried out in both surprise and agony.

  The pistol fell from her hand and spiraled out in front of her before going overboard and falling into the water with a splash.

  What the hell?

  The deck swayed beneath her, threatening to flip over, and then eased its way back into a level position. But then it went too far the other way. The yacht began to tip toward the dock, and she rolled that way with it, putting pressure back onto her hip. She threw a hand out to help regain her balance—a feat that seemed impossible while she was being tossed around like a human pinball.

  Using the cold, white railing for support, Jacqueline climbed to her feet.

  Could she make it onto the dock? She considered making a jump for it, but fear weighed down her feet like concrete blocks. And then it occurred to her; there were others on the boat. Inside, locked up. They would drown. She couldn’t just leave them there. But with her hip the way it was, she wasn’t sure she was going anywhere anytime soon.

  She stumbled through the door that led inside, unsure if she should continue.

  The yacht was sinking—there was no doubt about it. Time was running out fast. She looked back at the marina, and then down the long, dark corridor, where the lights blinked on and off. Whatever she did, she had to do it soon, before everything below her plummeted to the bottom of the water.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Cold, muddy water rushed in through the smashed window, pinning them against the wall.

  Val placed a strong grip around Blake and squeezed as tight as he could. He wouldn’t let him go now. Not after everything the poor kid had been through. There was still so much left to tell him. So much left to share. Val couldn’t lose him, even if his life depended on it. Which it did.

  He couldn’t see what had happened to Greg. Everything had happened so fast, from the first moment he hit the dial button to the last, where the box sailed through the window and met the outside air with an enormous explosion. Now, the water was a shockingly cold rush of flooding rapids, and Greg was lost within it.

  Maybe the blast caught him, Val thought. I hope he’s dead. Whatever had happened, he would leave him to drown.

  The water forced pressure onto his chest, weighing him into the wall where he clutched his son. He felt for a pulse. When he found one, Val let out a sigh of relief that his son was still alive. But with the water rapidly filling the room, they had to move fast.

  The first thing Val did was let go of Blake. It was an action that hurt him inside, but he had to do it if they were to make it out alive. With the strength of the water against him, he forced his head under the rapids and tried to peer around the room. Everything blurred. The water stung his eyes in the sudden tranquility.

  Nothing.

  He couldn’t see a damn thing. The water was too thick, cloudy with dirt. Then he remembered the footlocker that had sat in the corner of the room. He rushed to it, having to paddle with one arm and press his free hand against the wall for leverage. When he reached the locker, the water level helped him raise it. The water stung at his eyes, and he had to open the box as if he was a blind man. To his surprise, it fell right open. Val shook it around to empty its contents and saw a blur of files and folders floating from it.

  With a burst of strength, he lifted the metal box over his head—base side up—and lowered it back into the water, creating an air pocket around his head. He hadn’t really expected it to work, which was why he laughed with relief when it did. Right on time, too; he could feel the boat sinking lower into the marina.

  Val swam back to Blake, trying to keep the box level so as not to break the pocket. The room was completely submerged now. Everything seemed slow, peaceful. Like he was in outer space.

  Still unable to see, he groped for Blake’s clothes, hoping for a good grip. When he pulled the body up and into the locker, fear took over him as he looked right into the eyes of his old partner. He froze, every inch of his aching body tense with horror as he imagined multiple outcomes to this encounter. None of them were good.

  Only it wasn’t him. He could see that now.

  It was Blake, and he was slipping into consciousness.

  “Dad,” he mumbled, his voice frail and his eyes searching for him in the dark. His cold nose was red, and his black hair was matted to his forehead.

  Val embraced him, knowing that they didn’t have long to live.

  We need to go. It was like a voice in his ear.

  Carrying Blake on a shoulder made maneuvering difficult, but he gave it his all. Keeping the box level was the hardest. When they made it to the door, he removed the box and saw lights flickering in the hallway. They were blinking on and off, the fuses struggling under the water.

  That must mean we’re not entirely submerged. It was a relief, but there was still an uphill climb through the corridor. For both of them.

  “Listen, son,” Val told him, hoping he could understand. “I’m going to put your head under the water. You need to take a deep breath and move straight in this direction.”

  “It hurts to—”

  “I know it does. I know. But you need to be a man and fight through it, all right? It’s just like when I taught you to swim. Look. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Blake nodded.

  Val tensed.

  Was he prepared to give his own life to save his son if it came to that? He thought so.

  “Deep breath,” he instructed before he pressed down on Blake’s head and guided him forward with his hand until he couldn’t feel him anymore. As soon as he lost touch, Val took a breath of his own, ducked under the water and pushed the box behind him as he squeezed through the door. He couldn’t see a thing, even with the lights on the other side. With his arms stretched out, feeling around, he couldn’t feel anything—not a wall, not the floor. Not even his son.

  His breath was running out. He could feel his lungs burning, desperate for another fix of air. Those old things weren’t what they used to be back in his days as a field agent. The effects of too many cigarettes over the decades were definitely taking their toll. Val found himself regretting having ever smoked.

  The life was draining from him now. His body was giving up. There was no way out of here alive. He only hoped that Blake had made it to safety.

  In the instant he accepted death, there was a sudden jolt on his shirt. He was pulled forward. His lungs gave in, and his mouth widened. Just as his mouth was filled with marina water, he was pulled to safety. His head came splashing out first. He gasped for air, sucking it up greedily like a hungry dog with its food.

  The water level was rapidly rising in this small space too. He tilted his head back, planting his nose into the small, empty space. “Blake?” he sputtered, dirty water still falling from his mouth. It tasted salty and foul. “Blake, where are you?”

  “He’s here.” A woman’s voice, strong and dependable. Familiar, even.

  “Is there a way out?”

  The yacht groaned and tilted as it took a sudden jolt downward, plunging deeper into the marina. The water covered them again, but only for a second this time. Val breast-stroked forward, taking a blind chance. His head came up in the next small gap, the next remaining space where there was still air. Though he had a feeling he was running out of those; this gap was also filling up fast.

  “Are you hurt? Can you make it?”

  Val identified his savior now. A
s he turned around, he could see her crouching on a dry slope, which used to be a wall. He knew her face: the officer he’d detained outside. What was her name? Lance? Long? He had no idea how she’d escaped from her handcuffs, but he was so grateful that she had. “Blake—”

  “The other guy? He’s safe.” She pointed behind her, where Blake lay on his side upon the sloped wall, the surface of the water threatening to catch up to him.

  Val waded over to him, the fear of losing his son seizing him. Before he stopped to check his breathing, Val took Blake’s arm, hearing him groan with the pain of his wound. “It’ll be okay, son.”

  The officer took his other arm and helped Blake out of the water. Val climbed out beside him, shivering, and then helped the woman haul Blake to his feet. Together, they hurried toward the door. Val was limping, though he didn’t remember having hurt his leg during the fight for his life.

  They reached the door that led out onto the deck. He let the woman through first, and then helped to hand Blake through the door, careful not to let him fall. Val could feel the freezing water rising up to cover his heels.

  The woman paused and looked deep into Val’s eyes. It was as if they both knew something, but neither of them had the courage to say anything about it. Then, she gave a slight nod of the head.

  Lang. He suddenly recalled her name.

  She was through the door, hauling Blake out onto the deck and into the open. The ocean air brought a chill, biting through Val’s wet clothes.

  When Blake was laid out on the deck, Officer Lang turned her attention back to Val and rushed to his aid. She held out a hand for him to grab.

  Val was just about to take it when the yacht jolted backward. His body was thrown down the corridor, the water filling up over him as the pressure squeezed his old bones. The air left him then, forced from his lungs with ferocious strength.

  This wasn’t the way he saw his life ending: cold, wet, suffocated, and wishing more than anything that this woman, who he now trusted, would get his son to safety. If she didn’t succeed, he would go to his grave with nothing but regret. But if Blake was safe and Val had to die for that to happen, he could die knowing that it was good enough for him.

  Val Salinger finally gave in, and water filled his lungs.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Blake awoke to the rough ridges of cold metal beneath him and a searing pain in his stomach. It felt as though a hole had been punched right through him. Straining, he opened his eyes and tried rolling onto his side, but that was of no use at all—it only encouraged the agony.

  “Don’t move. You’ll tear those stitches.” A woman’s voice, calm and soothing.

  Blake pried open his eyes, like pulling apart two pieces of Velcro. “Where am I?” Blake knocked his head back, saw the faint outline of a figure in the dark. There was a bright, blinding light in front of her. He wished he had the energy to shield his eyes.

  “In the back of my van,” she said. “I know, it sounds creepy. But you’ve been shot. I had to patch you up, so you’ll pull through if you take it steady.”

  “What do you…” Talking hurt like hell, but he needed to understand where he was and why. To understand why breathing hurt so much, and why there was a dry scratching within his throat.

  What happened on the yacht?

  He could feel the floor of the van rocking as she climbed back to hover over him. His eyes widened, and he could see her face. A pleasant face with full, pouty lips and giving eyes. Blake recognized her after a moment, even though she’d changed out of her uniform. “Police,” was all he could muster. His heart thumped inside his chest. He needed to escape.

  She’s here to arrest me, was his first thought. She’s here to arrest me—we screwed it up. Christ, we screwed it all up! He fidgeted, trying to get up, but it was useless.

  “Listen to me.” She put a hand on his chest, but Blake didn’t give up his thrashing. “Listen to me! You’re okay. Everything is okay. You were shot—see.” She pointed down at his stitches, explaining it better than she had the first time.

  Blake looked down and realized he had red-stained dressing around his stomach. It all came flooding back to him now: Greg betraying him, the bullet ripping into his stomach. An explosion, too? That part could have been a dream, although it felt real.

  “My handiwork,” she said, smiling and raising her chin with pride.

  As grateful as he was, Blake didn’t care too much for gloating. Not right now, anyway. There was something on his mind that couldn’t stop niggling. “My dad?”

  The van’s back door swung open, startling him. The van dropped onto its suspension as a man stepped in. Blake used all his energy to raise his head. When he did, he was happier than he’d been in a long time; he had never been so pleased to see anybody in all his life. “Dad.” The word fell out of his mouth in a singular soft breeze.

  Val handed a bottle of water to the police officer and set a carrier bag down beside Blake. He closed the door as he stooped into the van, keeping his head low. “You’re all right, son,” he said with a smile, stating it like it was a fact.

  “What…” Blake winced, holding at his side. It felt like his insides were being attacked with a whisk. “What happened?”

  Val smiled over at the woman, who smiled back. It felt like a teacher-parent meeting. “That friend of yours put a bullet right through your side. Lucky it didn’t hit any organs or major arteries. Then the boat sank, and this young lady came to our rescue.” He sneezed violently, cupping his hand over his nose. “And I’m glad she did.”

  The one thing that worried him the most was what had happened to his mentor. “Greg?” Thinking of his betrayal shot his mood down into a pit. Every time it crossed his mind, he could sense a black cloud above him.

  “Greg? He’s dead, son. Drowned in the marina. We think so, anyway.” He licked his lips, looking like he was trying not to laugh. “You know, His real name is—”

  “Don’t!” Blake cut in, fighting to sit up. “Sorry. I just… I would rather not know.” Blake felt the need to explain himself further. Despite the pain, he cleared his throat. “We got off to a rough start, but I was just starting to find a friend in him. Right before I found out that everything I knew about him was a lie. If it’s okay with you, I’d rather continue to know him as Greg. At least I would have that one truth about him.”

  The woman rested a hand on his leg and gave a look of understanding. Blake didn’t think she had any idea of what had happened though. How could she?

  Val scratched his temple. “I understand.”

  Blake slumped onto his back again, still not ready to face the world. He huffed, breathing sharp breaths at the ceiling of the van. “Where are we, anyway?”

  “Now?” Val said. “In a Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot. But we can’t stay here. Officer—”

  “Jacqueline Lang,” she offered. “But call me Jackie.”

  Blake stopped to consider the risk she’d taken. If she was truly an officer, there was a lot on the line with her involvement in their situation. There was something to be said for that: her devotion, competence, and independence. She would be a useful woman to have around, and she was now one of them. Like the outsider who didn’t want to be. The helper, selflessly lending her efforts. An enemy of the Agency.

  “Jackie took us back to her apartment and got us all patched up,” Val said.

  “Which I can never go back to,” Jackie said, lowering her head.

  “Right. The Agency will want to see us dead,” Val went on. “I failed to stop Greg, you caused them a lot of trouble, and they might only have killed me after I completed my mission anyway. I’ve seen it happen before.”

  It didn’t come as much of a surprise to Blake, but something didn’t add up. “But why? Don’t you work for them? Can’t you just say something?” He was getting dizzy, and he put his head back a little too fast and banged it on the hard floor.

  “Son…” Val looked uneasy. “That’s not how it works. They don’t like lo
ose ends.”

  “Then why try to retire?”

  “Because I’m getting on in years. I couldn’t continue to work for them, so I had to at least try. What did you expect me to do? Put my hands up and let go?” He shook his head. “I don’t do that. I don’t give up. The simple fact is, now there are targets on our backs.”

  “All of ours,” Jackie said.

  Val looked at her, confused.

  “I couldn’t let you die. As soon as they discover I helped you, they’ll be after me, too. So if you don’t mind the company…”

  Blake couldn’t take it. It all rushed at him like a herd of angry bulls. What he’d been through over the past few days, no matter how traumatizing, felt as though it’d all been leading to this. Why, he didn’t know exactly, but he was beginning to get the impression that this was his life now, and he would have to adapt to survive. Even if that meant losing everything he loved, or everyone he—

  “Rachel.” Blake sat up fast, wincing. “We need to go get Rachel.”

  Val shook his head, strictly saying no. “We can’t go to her house, son. It’s not safe.”

  “No, you don’t understand.” Blake held a hand at his side. He’d never been shot before, and it had looked a lot less painful than it felt. “Greg put her in a safe hiding place. She’s at a shipping yard that goes underground, where homeless families live.” It sounded crazy when he said it aloud.

  “I know the place,” Jackie said, and then rushed into the driver’s seat.

  “You do?”

  “I’ve been down that way a lot. With the police, I mean.”

  “I see. Well, drive slowly,” Val instructed, refusing to leave his son’s side.

  It would be a wild ride from here on out. Blake knew it, too. But through all he’d suffered, and all his friends and family had endured, he would commit himself to becoming a better man. More reliable, careful, and selfless. Sure, it would be complete hell for as long as he would care to know, but at least he wouldn’t be alone.