by Holly Hart
There’s a glowing icon on the map on the left-hand side of the computer. That’s us.
Think, Kim.
I need to figure out a way of getting Nate’s attention. How I do that, I’ve got no idea. It’s not like I can ask to borrow a cell phone. If Nate got my message – and more importantly figured it out – then he’ll be in the area. But that’s just the start. London is a huge city. Nate could be two hundred yards away, and it would be way too far to help.
Dozens of ATMs are all marked out on the map. A small string of them are shaded red – already drained by Boris and his crew. The rest are still marked green – possible targets for Boris and his cronies.
“Where are they going, Sawyers?” Felix grunts. The end of the alleyway is closing fast.
Okay, think. You know where they might be going. How does that help?
“I’m working on it,” I mutter to buy myself time, tapping at the keyboard. Carlos – Felix’s huge, silver-toothed henchman glances down at the screen, but grimaces in confused disgust. Good – I can’t have him seeing what I’m doing.
“Dis beach jus’ plane’u, homes,” he groans. “She ain’ got no idea. I tell’u, gi‘me ten minutes, she yell’it”
“That right, chica?” Felix calls back at me. His mouth is stretched open wide in the rearview mirror in an evil grin. “You playin’ me fo’ a foo’? Dis a dangerous game for a little girl…”
I have a flash of inspiration. Don’t follow the football. Go where it’s going.
“Wait,” I hiss back, the urgency in my voice coming out with a hint of desperation. “I’ve got an idea.”
I scan the map. “Okay, they are in a place called Hoxton right now. Take the next left, and then it’s straight down.”
Felix guns the engine. “Hoxton,” he snarls. I think he’s happy, but it’s hard to tell. “Hox–ton,” he repeats, breaking the word into bits and rolling them across his tongue. “You gringos say the strangest shit.”
His associates snigger, but I block them out. I bring up a command window. White text on a black screen – it looks like computing back in the eighties, a decade before I was born. It’s not the best way of doing what I have planned, but I’m pretty sure it will be more than enough to confuse Carlos. The brute sitting next to me doesn’t seem like the brightest tool in the shed.
I’m just glad that these guys don’t know much about computers. Once you get down into the weeds, you can do a whole lot more with them than you think. You just have to know how. I do.
I scan through the list of ATMs in Hoxton. They’ve already drained two. They are all in a long stretch, down the main street of the East London suburb. I cross my fingers, hoping that Boris is greedy enough to want to hit all of them in turn.
“Okay,” I mutter, narrating what I’m doing – well, not all of it. “I’m going to knock a few of these ATMs off-line –.”
Felix cuts me off, glancing over his shoulder. “You can do dat, chica? Hell girl, you in de wrong job. How ‘bout you come work fo’ me when we done wit dis?”
I multitask, eyes glancing up and down as I start attacking the ATMs.
“It’s easy enough,” I reply. “It’s a security feature to stop people hacking them – it doesn’t mean you can steal from them. They just go out of order for a bit.” Like heck will I ever “come work for” you, I don’t add. I’m not stupid.
Felix looks nonplussed in the mirror. He pulls his face into a frown, scrunching his nose into his eyes. “Stop playing games, girl: what the hell are you doing?”
I don’t reply … not immediately. I tap a set of coordinates into the command window instead, right in front of Carlos’s eyes. He doesn’t have any idea what I’m doing, I can tell. I glance up at him just to be sure, the stress twisting my neck and back into knots. His eyes are glassy. He looks half asleep.
I type in Nate’s email address, press send, and clear the window before Carlos has a chance to clock what I’m doing. I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s up to fate, now – and more importantly, Nate. I’ve done as much as I can.
“I’m making the rules,” I reply, now giving Felix my undivided attention. His features tighten with anger, but he doesn’t shoot me down – not yet.
“I’ve taken three ATMs in a row and put them out of order. If Boris wants cash, he’s going to have to head to the far end of the strip. It looks like a convenience store: it’s quiet, isolated. It’s a good spot for –.”
Felix finishes my sentence for me. His morbid excitement fills me with a cold sense of dread.
“– Ambush.”
29
Nate
My phone bleeps.
I almost don’t register the sound. I’ve been driving around East London for twenty minutes, cruising past ATM after ATM – but I haven’t seen hide nor hair of Kim, the cartel killers, or her crooked former coworkers.
I’m starting to question whether this is all a wild goose chase when it chimes. I pluck it from the dashboard. I’m so desperate to hear from Kim that my fingers squash half a dozen icons on-screen, bringing up as many unwanted apps, before I finally get to the email.
I blink.
The sender’s name is blank. I’ve never seen that before. My stomach cramps with anticipation as the email takes an age to load.
Like Kim’s last email, it’s cryptic. It’s a clue without context. At least this time, though, it’s a direction to head in: literally.
I punch the coordinates into the SUV’s GPS unit, and it tells me I’m only five minutes away. I step on the gas, forcing the engine past its limits and then some, and make it there in three. I’m past caring about traffic cops.
The bustle of London’s party district – the East – starts to fade away. I’m in a residential neighborhood now. Some houses are still scattered with leftover Halloween decorations. I’ve seen the type before. I guess they’ll still be up there until the residents start putting up their Christmas lights.
I slow the SUV to a crawl. The truck I’m driving is finished with a dull, dark paint, but it still looks out of place on London’s streets – it’s a beast, compared to the cars I’m passing left and right. The last thing I need is to get made, either by the cartel or by Boris. I would have ditched the SUV if I’d had the time, and picked up something less conspicuous.
Something small, maybe a Fiat: they love small cars and scooters over here; and I get it. The streets are so narrow it doesn’t make sense to try and squeeze a huge American gas guzzler through them.
“I’m here for you, baby,” I mutter, eyes wheeling in every direction. “Just give me a sign.”
The GPS chimes once.
“You have arrived at your destination,” a calm, relaxed female British voice says. The girl inside the GPS sounds like she’s eaten a packet of fairy dust. Her upbeat tone doesn’t match my mood.
“The hell I have,” I growl. And then I see it – a convenience store glowing in the darkness, about a hundred yards ahead. I let the SUV roll to a halt, chewing my lip as I figure out what the hell to do.
I decide to go in on foot. It’s a risky move. I’ll be screwed if this turns into a car chase. But as I’m operating without backup, I’m going to have to run a fine line. If I try and roll into that parking lot in this hunk of metal, I’ll be spotted a mile out.
“Show me what you’ve got, Natalie,” I mutter under my breath, leaning over the SUV’s center console. I flick open the glove compartment, feeling the vibrations of the SUV’s engine transmitting through my stomach as I lean on the gear stick.
I clench my fist with excitement.
“Come to Papa,” I whisper with a wry grin. The compartment is stocked with everything any self-respecting vigilante could dream of needing. I grab a weapon and half a dozen loaded magazines, tap them against the dashboard to stop them jamming later on, and shove them into my pockets – anywhere they’ll fit.
I grab a K bar knife as well. It’s in a canvas holster that clips onto my belt. If I need to get in that close – wel
l, I’m most likely done for already. Still, the knife’s thick and comforting. I might not want to have to use it, but I’ll sure as hell be glad I brought it if I do.
I sit up straight. This is it: all or nothing. I swing the SUV into an empty space by the curb, parking it messy: nose out, just in case I need to get in and take off in a hurry.
“Let’s do this,” I grunt. It still feels unnatural going on a mission alone: especially one this important. If Tony was still by my side, I’d feel a hundred times more confident. He always had my back. I could trust him with my life. But he’s gone, and I have someone who is trusting me with hers. I can’t screw this up.
I push the door open, and my boots crunch against the hard asphalt. There’s a slight frost on the black tar.
I click the safety on my pistol off. I won’t need it.
My breath forms a cloud of condensation in the air. It’s freezing cold. It doesn’t do a damn thing to cool the anger burning inside me.
I creep forward, hiding behind a row of cars. The streets are empty, even though it’s not late. I guess it’s too cold to be outside. Kim chose right, I think. It’s quiet – just in case…
Just in case I need to start shooting.
Kim’s a smart girl. I’m proud of her. I wouldn’t have thought of something like that. I would have gone in all guns blazing to save her life, never thinking about the civilians who might get in the way. I guess Kim knew that.
The convenience store’s thick, glowing sign grows. I’m not far away from the parking lot – close enough to make out more details. It’s quiet. A few cars are parked neatly in rows. Nothing out of place. Except –
Except the big goddamn SUV.
I was right; I would have stuck out like a sore thumb. This SUV is parked up in the shadows in an alleyway running down the left-hand side of the store. The light pouring out from the store’s big glass windows makes it almost impossible to spot. If I hadn’t been searching for anything out of place, I wouldn’t have made it.
The blood races in my veins. This is it, I know it is. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. I consider my options.
I can’t go in shooting – at least, not yet. That’s the quickest way for Kim to end up with a bullet between her eyes. I need to do this quietly.
I thrust my body against a brick wall to my left, pressing myself into the shadows. I follow it the whole way around, until I’m far enough down the road to cross – out of sight of whoever’s sitting in the SUV.
Slow is smooth, smooth is fast, I think, unconsciously repeating a mantra the staff sergeant at basic training used to yell an inch from my face. I’m grateful to him now. If it helps save Kim, it was all worth it.
I don’t know whether it’s Boris, or the cartel in the SUV. My gut tells me it’s the Mexicans. If it was Boris, he would have been in and out already, bundles of cash stuffed into his pockets.
That means…
That Kim is in that SUV. She’s fifty yards away, but she might as well be five hundred. I’m pretty sure I can take the killers sitting in that SUV with her. They might have experience, but they don’t have training. They’re jumped-up drug pushers. They’ll fight sloppy. I like sloppy – it’s easier to kill.
The problem is killing them before they end Kim’s life. I need to do this smart.
I jog across the road, boots thudding against the asphalt. The second I’m across, I press myself up against the wall, and peek around the corner. I need to think. I need to come up with a plan –.
Too late.
“Fuck…” I whisper, punctuating the night’s silence with the hissed refrain.
Another SUV pulls into the parking lot. Its wheels spin for a second against the icy asphalt, before the powerful engine pulls it clear. It’s Boris. It has to be.
Apparently, the cartel guys have the same idea. The driver door, and the left rear passenger door swing open at once. Two guys step out. I recognize the driver from Paragon’s Interpol photos.
A surge of rage burns through me. I aim my pistol in his direction, and the barrel trembles. I could kill him – right here, right now, and there’s nothing he could do about it.
But Kim will die. I won’t be able to get to her in time.
I hold back. I watch as the two men lift the backs of their jackets and pull out pistols from inside their waistbands. They start walking, keeping to the side of the wall – in the shadows, like me.
Boris’s SUV is out of sight. I can guess that him and his pals are climbing out right now, and heading for the ATM.
They are about to get a nasty surprise, I think. I wonder if the cartel will ask questions first, or just go in shooting. I don’t care either way.
I realize that this is about as good a chance as I’m going to get. I inch towards the back of the SUV, figuring that the third gangster inside – because I assume he must be in there – will be watching his boys out front, not watching his six.
His mistake, my opportunity; I hope.
I drop to my belly and start crawling. My jacket is no doubt getting filthy and ripped, but I couldn’t care less. This reminds me of basic training all over again – except this time, there’s a life on the line.
Every yard to the SUV seems to take a lifetime to cross. I go as fast as I can, just hoping it’s fast enough.
“’Ey!”
A voice echoes around the corner. It sounds Spanish. I freeze, wondering if I’ve been made.
“’Ey, punk!”
It’s not me they’re talking to; they must’ve found Boris. I need to move. The clock is ticking.
I jump to my feet, still keeping low, and rush to the rear of the dark SUV.
“Jou tryin’ to steal from me, punk?”
I guess they decided to try using their words first… I’m surprised. The cartel struck me as a shoots first, make a bad pun later type of organization.
I crouch behind the right-hand rear wheel. The blood is pounding in my ears, and I can feel that familiar tightening in my chest from the adrenaline pumping through my body.
Here goes nothing.
I rise to my full height; weapon cocked and stretched out in front of me. I grab the door handle, praying it will open, and I pull.
It comes loose. If I had a second, I would use it to breathe a sigh of relief, but I don’t.
“That you, boss?” A voice says from inside. My rusty Spanish is just about good enough to translate it.
“This isn’t your lucky day,” I growl, swinging into his line of sight and pointing my pistol right between the eyes of the silver-toothed gangster. He flinches, eyes darting towards Kim.
“Nate!” Kim breathes, color draining from her face. She’s the most goddamn beautiful thing I’ve ever seen: she’s alive; as far as I can tell, she’s unhurt.
“Don’t move,” I grunt at the gangster. My eyes dart towards Kim again – just long enough to check she’s okay. All I want to do is tell her how sorry I am – but now is not the right time. First, I need to get her out alive.
“Did they hurt you?” I ask. I hate that my voice is hard with bottled-up anger. Kim shakes her head. Her deep blue eyes are wet, and almost on the verge of tears.
“Come on, let’s go,” I say, grabbing Kim’s arm with my free hand. She comes towards me without resisting. She looks like she’s exhausted. I don’t blame her. I’m become even more tense until her feet land outside of the SUV.
The silver-toothed gangster stares at me with loathing. “You’re making a mistake, gringo,” he says, his lips peeling back from his chipped teeth as he speaks.
I see red. My finger tightens on the trigger. I can already see his brains splattered against the back window.
“Nate, don’t!” Kim says urgently, her voice high-pitched. “Don’t kill Carlos, please.”
“Why?” I growl, not turning my head. I want to do it, wants them all dead more than anything. “After what they did to you, why shouldn’t I?”
“Because,” Kim says, her voice tired, “I don’t want it on
my conscience, okay?”
I think about ignoring her. A battle rages inside me. It feels almost primal – like I’m from a time before civilization, when men fought over their women like possessions.
My shoulders slump: I can’t ignore Kim. She’s the whole reason I’m here. She’ll probably never forgive me anyway, once I tell her what I did, but I refuse to hurt her anymore.
“Okay, Carlos,” I say, my voice thick as thunder. “The lady just saved your life.” I beckon him towards me. “Get out of the truck: nice and slow.”
Carlos does as I order, his eyes flashing fire. I back away, so he can’t get close. He’s just waiting for an opening to strike. I hope he does. I’m itching for an excuse to blow him away.
