Vigilante Assassin

by Mark Nolan

  Jake wiped his eyes on his sleeve, then got to his feet and walked to another part of the cemetery. He stopped at the plain grave of a Russian assassin. The marker only listed his name and date of death, the day Jake had killed him.

  Jake reached into a jacket pocket and took out a pint bottle of Russian Standard vodka and two shot glasses. He filled both shots, drank one down, and slowly poured the other one onto the grave.

  “I wanted to tell you that Elena hacked your offshore bank accounts. Now she’s in jail, and I’ve got her phone, along with your passwords. I have access to your accounts and the millions you were paid to kill people. Thanks for the money. I haven’t decided what to do with it yet, but you can bet I’ll put it to good use.”

  Headlights approached, and a dark sedan parked near the Jeep. A broad-shouldered man got out and walked toward Jake in a non-threatening way.

  Cody alerted and showed his teeth. Jake gave him a command, and Cody trotted ten feet away, then turned and circled behind the stranger.

  The man stopped at the gravesite and looked at the name on the marker. “We had a mutual friend.”

  “Your voice … you sound just like him.”

  “My name’s Dmitry. I heard that you killed my friend with a Marine Corps knife.” He drew a wicked-looking blade.

  Jake drew the KA-BAR knife from behind his waist. “Yes, I did. This one, in fact. He left me no choice. Are you going to force me to make the same decision?”

  Dmitry nodded and tossed his pistol on the grass.

  Jake drew his pistol and tossed it there too.

  “When will this ever end?” Jake said.

  “Maybe in one hundred years, when the world has all new people.” Dmitry said.

  Cody felt a threat from the unknown man. He sensed a change in Jake’s body language and saw the stranger holding a shiny blade.

  Danger.

  Threat.

  Protect.

  Cody did what he’d been trained to do. He bolted straight at the threatening man, snapping his teeth at him to protect his handler.

  Chapter 64

  Dmitry ignored Cody’s attack, lunged forward and tried to stab Jake in the chest.

  Jake dodged the blade and slashed at Dmitry’s throat, missing by an inch.

  Cody ran behind Dmitry, then bit him on the back of his thigh, making him cry out in pain.

  Jake leapt in and stabbed at his enemy. The tip of his knife grazed Dmitry’s shoulder.

  Dmitry grunted. He slashed at Jake and cut his jacket, barely missing his stomach. He then charged full bore into Jake, betting everything on his attempt to sink his blade into Jake’s heart.

  Cody snarled and leaped at Dmitry’s knife arm, biting down and trying to disarm him.

  When Cody bit Dmitry’s elbow and pulled him sideways, Jake punched his opponent in the throat.

  Dmitry staggered on his feet, put one hand to his throat, and dropped his knife. Cody picked up the knife by the handle and carried it six feet away, dropping it before returning to the fight.

  “I’m sorry it had to be this way, Dmitry,” Jake said. “We might have been friends under different circumstances.”

  “Get it over with,” Dmitry said, his voice hoarse. “I’m dying of lung cancer. You’ll be doing me a favor.

  “Are you working for Elena?”

  “I was, until she kidnapped a woman named Sarah and was planning to kill her. That’s against my code. I was going to take the thumb drive from you and talk Elena into letting Sarah go free.”

  Jake stared at him for a moment. “The police have the thumb drive, Sarah was rescued, and Elena’s in jail. Her money is gone. You won’t get paid.”

  “I don’t care about the money. I earn plenty in Vegas,” Dmitry said.

  “Elena also kidnapped two children, and started dealing in large quantities of heroin.”

  Dmitry cursed. “In that case, I’m glad she’s in jail.”

  “Go home, Dmitry. I have no quarrel with you. Maybe I’ll visit you in Vegas sometime,” Jake said.

  Dmitry looked doubtful. “Are you serious?”

  Jake put his knife away, then picked up his pistol and holstered it. He poured vodka into the two empty shot glasses and handed one to Dmitry. They both drank the shots.

  Jake held out his hand. Dmitry hesitated, looked Jake in the eye, and then shook hands.

  Jake and Cody walked to the Jeep and drove off. As Jake drove toward the Golden Gate Bridge, he felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. He was looking forward to going home, having a drink and then going to bed with Sarah.

  His phone buzzed with a text from Ray Kirby: Chief said you wanted to fight me. Great, I’m at the 16th Street boxing gym, waiting to kick your ass. Get over here.

  Jake replied: No, Kirby. Chief Pierce will decide on the day, time and location.

  Kirby: You’re stalling.

  Jake: The fight was my idea.

  Kirby: That was big talk, but now it’s obvious you’re afraid of me.

  Jake: You think a combat veteran is afraid of a boxing match? Thanks for the laugh.

  Kirby: I can’t wait to get you in the ring.

  Jake: The feeling is mutual. Until then, this conversation is over.

  Jake received several more texts from Kirby, but he ignored them.

  Soon, Jake and Cody were on board the Far Niente. Cody pressed the lever on the water cooler to fill his bowl, taking a long drink.

  Walking into the galley, Jake grabbed the bottle of Redbreast Irish Whiskey and poured himself a glass.

  He felt a familiar post-combat depression setting in. Today he’d had to kill men—kill or be killed. Their deaths would haunt him now, weighing on his soul. Hopefully, the whiskey might help him forget about them for a while.

  “Cody, stand post.”

  Cody trotted out onto the aft deck to guard the boat.

  Jake carried the whiskey bottle and his glass into the master stateroom. He got undressed and took a long shower, letting the hot water ease some of the pain from the bruises and welts on his chest, stomach and thighs. Every few minutes, he opened the shower door and took a drink of whiskey. After the hot water and alcohol eased some of the pain, he toweled off and then put on a pair of faded jeans and a T-shirt. Walking barefoot down the hall and carrying the whiskey bottle to the galley, he poured himself another drink.

  A beeping sound came from a security system speaker. Jake looked at his phone and saw a CCTV view of Sarah approaching the boat. Outside, Cody put his front paws on the aft rail, barking happily and wagging his tail. Sarah came on board and she scratched Cody behind the ears. Cody followed her inside, where Jake gave her a hug. When she hugged him tight in return, he grunted in pain.

  “Did you soak in a hot bath?” Sarah asked.

  “This boat doesn’t have a bathtub, but I took a hot shower,” Jake replied. He drank from his glass of whiskey.

  Sarah stared at his face. “Jake, are you okay? You look like there’s something weighing on your mind.”

  Jake tossed back the rest of his drink in one gulp. “I guess I’m feeling tired … of life.”

  She looked at his jacket hanging on the back of a bar stool. “Why is there a gash in your jacket?”

  “I stopped by Stuart’s grave. Somebody tried to kill me.”

  She sighed and reached for his hand. “Come to bed.”

  “All right, but first I’m going to take us out on the water and get away from it all.” Jake walked out the sliding door to the aft deck. He untied the lines, went upstairs to the bridge, and cruised out onto the Bay to a quiet cove where he dropped anchor. Looking around at the empty water on all sides, he once again felt grateful for being able to borrow Dylan’s boat. He went downstairs to the salon. “Cody, you’re on guard duty tonight.”

  Cody trotted out onto the deck.

  Sarah took Jake by the hand and led him to the master stateroom. They got undressed and slid between the sheets of his bed. She ran her soft hands over his bruised chest and stom
ach.

  To Jake, her hands felt like they had magical healing powers to soothe his battered body and soul.

  “Where does it hurt, Jake?”

  “Everywhere.”

  Her hands went everywhere.

  Cody stood guard out on the deck and gave his two favorite people their privacy. Jake and Sarah were meant to be together as mates, he could tell that by their pheromones, but two-footed folks were overly complicated compared to four-footed.

  His alpha was also a difficult man to be with—a Marine who couldn’t seem to stop fighting. He could sense Sarah’s frustration with Jake and her yearning for peace, but his alpha was a warrior and would always be a warrior. Sarah was a healer, maybe she could heal Jake’s troubled heart.

  He took in a deep breath of clean ocean air and let it out, shook out his fur and lay prone on the deck.

  This life by the seashore was so much better than when he’d searched for explosives in the hot desert. All of his handlers had died so far, and he felt lucky to be living with Jake, the man who could “speak dog.” Hopefully Jake wouldn’t die like the others. He’d fight to protect Jake, and Sarah too, she was special to him. She looked into his eyes and understood him like few others could. He wished she would move in and live on the boat.

  The moon shone down upon the Far Niente. Sea birds called, fish jumped in the sparkling water and the boat rocked gently on the waves.

  Cody sniffed the salty air, gazed at the ocean and the stars, and then put his head down on his front paws. Nobody would get onto this boat unless he allowed them to. If there was any danger, he’d take action. Sometimes a dog has to do what a dog has to do.

  Epilogue

  The next morning, Jake woke up before dawn. He smelled freshly brewed coffee and … dog breath. When he opened his eyes, he saw Cody’s face inches from his own. “Is it morning already?”

  Cody ran out of the room and down the hallway. Jake followed, grabbing some clothes off the floor and pulling them on before closing the bedroom door behind him to avoid waking Sarah.

  He walked to the sliding glass door at the aft of the boat and opened it. Cody went out onto the deck, to a spot off to the side, and peed on the small artificial grass lawn. Jake didn’t remember closing the door last night.

  In the galley, the preprogrammed coffeemaker was hissing. A fresh pot of coffee was nearly full. Jake poured a cup, added some Baileys Irish Cream, and went upstairs to the bridge.

  He navigated the Far Niente through the water of the San Francisco Bay and dropped anchor near the Golden Gate Bridge. Agent McKay had asked him to keep an eye on the bridge at dawn and at dusk for the next few days. That was fine with him, it just meant more time out on the water, which he loved.

  Jake went downstairs and stood on the aft deck to do some fishing. Cody sat next to him, like his shadow.

  It was still dark out, but visibility was good. There wasn’t much fog. Jake took a sip of coffee and enjoyed the ocean breeze on his face. “Let’s try this again, Cody. Maybe this time we’ll actually get to catch some fish without being interrupted.”

  Cody sat there and wagged his tail, and it thumped on the deck of the boat. Thump, thump, thump.

  A while later, Jake got a call from Lauren Stephens.

  “Good morning, Jake. The kids have been asking when you and Cody will be coming over for dinner.”

  “Good morning, Lauren. You’re up early. Would tomorrow work for dinner?”

  “Yes, tomorrow works.”

  “Can I bring my friend, Sarah? She’s the veterinarian I mentioned who knows people at service dog schools.”

  “Yes, of course. I’d like to ask her advice.”

  “How are the kids doing?”

  “Much better. Ben is talking constantly, mostly about how he wants to be a dog trainer when he grows up. Chrissy and I picked out a karate school, and she’s excited about starting lessons soon.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  “And thanks for suggesting that I hire Paul. He’s been a great help around here. Oh, and he didn’t drink last night. He’s giving sobriety a try.”

  “Tell him I said congratulations. My sister can help him with that.”

  “Nicole has been wonderful with the kids.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Jake, is there any way I could convince you to work for me?”

  “You mean through Levi’s security firm?”

  “No, directly for me as a consultant, so I can talk with you about … situations. It’s lonely at the top.”

  “You could retain me as one of your lawyers.”

  “You’re an attorney? Yes, that would be perfect. How much is your retainer? I’ll send it today.”

  “For you, one dollar.”

  She was silent for a while, then said, “That proves my instincts about you were correct. Thank you, Jake.”

  “You’re welcome, Lauren. Call me any time, and our conversations will remain confidential under the rule of attorney-client privilege.”

  “See you tomorrow.” Lauren’s call ended.

  Jake sipped his coffee and watched a power yacht cruise under the bridge. It came to a stop and set anchor close to one of the towers—too close.

  He suddenly felt a strange sense of impending danger. He could almost smell it, if such a thing was possible. There was a tingling at the back of his neck, and he heard the now-familiar little song in his head, similar to the way some people with epilepsy hear a tune just before they have a seizure.

  Cody sensed the change in Jake. He stood up and let out a low growl as his eyes searched the horizon and his nose sniffed the air for threats.

  Jake grabbed a pair of night vision binoculars. As he studied the yacht, his black phone buzzed. He took it out of his pocket and answered the encrypted call. “Go.”

  Secret Service Agent Shannon McKay spoke in the no-nonsense, controlled tone of someone who was directing a mission. “This is McKay. We have a situation. Please confirm that you are on board your boat, near the Golden Gate Bridge.”

  “Confirmed.”

  “Do you see a power yacht anchored in unusually close proximity to the San Francisco tower of the bridge?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “I’m sending photos to your phone. Compare them to the yacht and make a positive ID.”

  “Roger that.” Jake studied the photos and then observed the yacht through night vision binoculars. “Yacht identity confirmed.”

  “Jake, are you ready, willing and able to assist the President’s Operational Emergency Team in stopping an attack by foreigners on American citizens?”

  “The POETs? Yes, I am. Give me a sitrep.”

  “How many people do you see on that yacht?”

  “I see three men on board. One of them is wearing a large backpack.”

  “When you were a temporary operative in the CIA Special Activities Division, you wiped out a terrorist cell known for beheading hundreds of women who refused to be sex slaves.”

  “Correct.”

  “Those men on the yacht are terrorists from that cell.”

  Jake glared at the boat and clenched his jaw as he was reminded of his recurring nightmares from that mission. “That can’t be right. I didn’t leave any survivors, except for the rescued female hostages.”

  “These three terrorists were away at the time, trading heroin to arms dealers in exchange for AK-47s.”

  Jake’s anger boiled to the surface. “Are these bounty hunters? Hunting for me or Cody?”

  “No, there’s still a price on your head, but those men are here for a different reason. That backpack contains a bomb. Their intention is to plant it on the bridge tower and detonate it by phone during commuter rush hour.”

  Jake cursed. “Your orders?”

  “Terminate all targets. You’ll find a sniper rifle in the cabinet where you store your shotgun.”

  “Confirm the order to take no prisoners.”

  “Confirmed. These are suicide bombers. If their boat is
boarded by law enforcement or the Coast Guard, they’ll detonate the device, right on top of their boat’s fuel tank.”

  “Acknowledged. What is the current status and proximity of LEO personnel?”

  “The FBI bird and the SFPD boats are standing by at a safe distance, by request of Homeland Security. A Coast Guard cutter is heading in your direction. Once you’ve completed your mission, you are to leave the area at once, so they can arrive and take command of the situation.”

  “Have you ruled out collateral damage?”

  “Affirmative. There are no other passengers on board the targeted yacht.”

  “Collateral intel acknowledged. Mission underway.”

  Jake opened a tall cabinet and found the sniper rifle. “Cody, patrol.”

  Cody walked on patrol in a circular route around the perimeter of the boat deck, protecting Jake’s back, with his eyes and ears alert for any boats or scuba divers that might be approaching.

  Jake got into firing position. He put an earbud into his left ear and connected the wire to the black phone. Looking through the rifle scope, he saw one of the men on the yacht using a dinghy crane to lower a rubber raft down to the water’s surface. Next, the man wearing the backpack climbed down a boarding ladder and got onto the raft.

  Jake drew upon his war experience with explosive devices as he judged the distance between the yacht and the bridge tower. His calculations included an additional explosion from that size of yacht’s large fuel tank. He made a decision and focused his weapon on the man in the raft. He saw a device attached to the backpack. It appeared to be a detonator—the kind terrorists could shoot at if a cell phone jammer was blocking their call to set off the bomb.

  Jake put the crosshairs of his rifle scope on the detonator and took careful aim. He inhaled and then let out a slow breath as he whispered a Bible verse.

  “The avenger of blood shall put the murderer to death.”

  He squeezed the trigger and fired his weapon.

  The backpack exploded, along with the boat’s fuel tank, in a giant ball of flame that shot straight up into the sky instead of against the tower. The yacht was blown to pieces, creating a junkyard of burning chunks of wreckage, floating in a flaming oil slick.