by Jason Kasper
But I saw only prearranged medical supplies lining the wall along with a few canvas fold-down seats. If the backpack had been kept with me, it had to be under my stretcher.
With one functional arm, I impulsively unbuckled the fasteners pinning me to the stretcher at the waist. Then I leaned forward, reaching for the final strap at my ankles.
The pain that had immobilized me on wakeup suddenly struck once more. My left bicep felt like sledgehammers were pummeling it, razor-sharp splinters of bone slicing through liquefied flesh. The rush of pain caused a great wave of dizziness that nearly made me fall back in defeat.
I took a breath and fought through the torment, realizing that the slightest shift in the sling pinning my left arm resulted in pure agony. The clear IV tube stretched taut against my right arm, nearly pulling the catheter out as my fingertips crested the buckle at my ankles and unfastened it.
I threw the straps aside, trying to keep my left arm stationary as I rotated my body sideways out of the stretcher. I set my feet on the vibrating floor of the aircraft, my mind spinning with a wave of lightheadedness, and knelt to look below the stretcher, my right knee aflame as I searched for my bag.
The sight of an empty platform between the stretcher’s four locked wheels caused me to nearly scream and flip the stretcher. As the rage of helplessness peaked, I saw that a fifth, stabilizing wheel assembly emerged from the stretcher’s angled headrest.
On an elevated platform attached to it, I saw the backpack.
I barely recognized it at first. The exterior was so stained with dried blood that it was now almost entirely a crusted shade of brown, its straps hacked apart by medical shears. Pinning it against my sling despite the stabbing waves of pain, I used my right hand to pull the zipper open but found the backpack a deflated mass of canvas robbed of its contents. I felt for the interior pouch, desperately hoping the .32 had survived a cursory search.
With a rush of elation, my fingers found it.
I pulled the tiny pistol from the bag. The magazine was still inserted. Not daring to be caught with it, I slipped it into the sling around my left arm, the metallic shape fitting neatly between my wrist and abdomen.
Zipping the bag mostly shut, I shoved it back into its resting place. I pulled myself up by a metal rail, grunting against a throbbing right knee and left arm that battled for my attention. Standing fully, I rotated with my back to the stretcher to keep the clear IV tubing untangled. I only had to get back in the stretcher and buckle myself in before I was in the clear.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
I whirled toward a large man entering through the opening in the curtain, expecting to encounter Micah’s enraged stare.
Instead, I saw it was Reilly.
He was in tactical fatigues without any other equipment, his face holding far more authority than when he’d picked me up at the Rio airport.
“I, uh…” I stammered.
“I step out for two minutes to use the john and you’re waltzing around my treatment site. Get your dumb ass back on the stretcher.”
He helped me back on, and I tried to appear casual as I laid my upper body on the elevated headrest. The pain was excruciating.
“What happened to Parvaneh?” I asked.
He finished situating me, leaving the buckles undone as he nodded to one of the empty canvas fold-down seats. “She was sitting right here until she got called to the cockpit. Thought I’d never get to piss. Matter of fact, I need to let her know you’re awake.”
“So she’s okay?”
“Minor lacerations and a few contusions. Same with Micah.”
“Did Gabriel get away?”
“Get away?” He chuckled softly, dropping into a fold-down seat as his face assumed the same boyish enthusiasm as when I’d first met him. “His body’s in a bag by the tail, bro. You drilled him in the chest with four rounds before he took you out.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “I was afraid he survived.”
“Traitor’s justice. What’s your pain level at, brother? Need something else to take the edge off?”
“I don’t feel anything,” I lied.
“You’re looking pretty goddamn pale, man.”
“Yeah? Well maybe that’s because I had the worst dreams of my fucking life from whatever you gave me.”
He grinned. “Don’t blame me, bro. You got plenty of Midazolam to keep you from having a bad trip, but it took a lot to snow you out.”
“English, motherfucker. I feel like I’m back in the favela.”
“You’re coming out of the K-hole.”
“Ketamine?”
“Plus a few re-doses—you kept writhing around, man. You must work out your liver a lot.”
I nodded distantly, wincing as I adjusted my arm in the sling. “Did the rest of the delegation get hit?”
“Nope. Evacuated from the country as soon as the four musketeers went missing.”
“How bad are my injuries?”
“You made out better than Gabriel. One bullet grazed your right shoulder, one lodged in the meat of your left deltoid. But the moneymaker hit your left bicep and fractured your humerus. You’re looking at retained hardware, plate, and screws to hold the bone in place. I’d say three months in a cast, six before you’re functional—”
“I should have seen it coming.”
“Knock it off. No one saw it coming. He’d been working for the Organization long enough. Micah would have let him in, too.” He paused, considering whether to finish his thought, and decided to go ahead anyway. “Searched him for a weapon after he mysteriously returned, probably, but still let him in.”
“Were you guys going to invade?”
“Fuckin’ A. Whole Outfit’s been mobilizing in Rio since you guys went off the grid yesterday. First wave of shooters was an hour from takeoff when Micah’s call came.”
“Sorry to ruin it for you.”
“Ruin it? I’m riding this plane back to Brazil after I drop you guys off. The rest of the Outfit never left. The Handler has already approved the first set of target packets against Ribeiro’s organization, so missions start in forty-eight hours. We’re going to war.”
“Drop us off…where?”
“The Mist Palace. We’re an hour from landing. Handler ordered the plane to his personal airstrip.”
I gasped for breath, eyes returning to the ceiling.
My pulse was soaring. The field splint around my left arm was constructed from sheets of foam around a thin layer of aluminum. I’d be unable to pass the sweep of a hand-held metal detector, with or without the pistol—and since Parvaneh was alive, that single fact was the ticket to my successful assassination of my greatest enemy.
The thin metal frame of the .32 pistol suddenly felt like a living scorpion wedged between my left wrist and the sling, something small and deadly that would kill at the slightest provocation. In my current circumstances, the thrill of its presence was oddly reassuring.
“Sure you don’t want a bit more juice, man? Your arm probably feels okay because it’s immobilized and pulling traction. Once you start moving around, you might change your mind real fast.”
“I’m fine for now, thanks.” Terrified that he’d perceive something out of the ordinary, I said, “I just need to rest some more, man. Seriously.”
The curtain was whisked open.
This time it was Micah, looking significantly cleaned up from the favela excursion, though his expression of general disdain, particularly when it fell upon me, remained largely intact. He saw first that I was awake, and then checked the unfastened buckles of my stretcher.
“Nice to see you too,” I offered.
He said nothing, stepping aside to let Parvaneh in.
Her tall, graceful body stepped into view. She wore clean clothes over her athletic frame, and for all her vulnerability while we were on the run, she had now returned to her full regal air. Hair pulled into a tight ponytail, face spotless and devoid of eye makeup, she swung a piercing gaze to Reil
ly.
He blurted, “I was about to get you, ma’am. David just woke up.”
“Leave us.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Reilly stepped around them and out of the medical area, and Micah tugged the curtain shut. He stood over me as Parvaneh took a seat, directing her electric green eyes to mine.
I began, “I’m sorry for letting him in—”
“Stop, David. If you didn’t, I would have.” She looked at my arm in the sling. “I owe you a debt of gratitude for your heroism.”
“No, you don’t. I’d been looking for an excuse to shoot that little bastard the whole trip.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Never better. But there’s something I didn’t get a chance to tell you two—the guy who took us up the elevator to the meeting with Ribeiro was on the kill team. Agustin. He was the one that got away.”
Micah spoke for the first time. “You’re certain?”
“One hundred percent. What do you make of that?”
Parvaneh said, “What do we make of any of this? Why did Ribeiro bother meeting with us if he was going to send us to our deaths anyway? Why expose himself just to hear the Handler’s terms?”
I said, “Maybe someone else needed to hear them.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Ribeiro’s not dumb. If he’s not capable of taking on the Handler by himself, then he must have a hidden ally who is. Maybe the attempt to kill you was contingent on a mutual agreement with another organization.”
Parvaneh shook her head. “None of our allies would betray us. And none are powerful enough to attempt it.”
“That doesn’t mean some other organization hasn’t been rising from the shadows.”
“We’d know about that.”
“Would you? Look at Gabriel.” I paused as a sudden wave of lightheadedness rushed over me. “Let’s not forget his picture wasn’t on the bounty even though he was in the negotiation with you two. Maybe this is all the brink of something bigger.”
Micah gave me a suspicious grin. “Getting shot has turned you into quite the strategist.”
“Jealous that I got the save? Certainly sounds like it.”
“Got the save? Are you out of your mind? You nearly got her shot.”
“Micah, leave him alone—”
“Yeah, Micah,” I said, “leave me alone.” The plane shuddered mid-flight, a brief wave of turbulence punctuating my words.
“You honestly believed that Gabriel just happened upon us?” Micah demanded. “You didn’t even think to check him for a weapon?”
“Easy for you to say after he shot me.”
“It’s not you I’m worried about. But your valor is meaningless when you nearly got an ambassador killed in the first place—”
“ENOUGH!” Parvaneh said. “I believed Gabriel as readily as David. His failure to check a member of our delegation was equally mine.”
When her eyes left mine for Micah’s, I flashed a victorious smile.
His face reflected the slight, and Parvaneh didn’t care for this shift in his expression.
“Micah, leave us.”
He looked torn, though in that moment I wasn’t sure who was more uncomfortable, him or me. Casting a sidelong glance toward me that didn’t meet my eyes, instead lingering on my chest, he turned and left.
She looked back to me. Her green pupils glowed between dark eyelashes, the effect mesmerizing, hypnotic. Was I attracted to her, or was she merely the living embodiment of Karma, of Laila, my ex-fiancée, of all the women who had been lost to me?
“David, we’re going to war. And I want you to be a part of it.”
I nodded toward my arm in the sling. “It might be a while before I can shoot.”
“I’m counting on it. I want you to join my office in the Organization. You can learn diplomacy and still be involved in planning missions during your recovery.”
“You’ve got better people than me, I’m sure.”
She set the fingertips of one hand atop the medical dressing on my shoulder. “No. I don’t.”
“Parvaneh, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but…your employer is going to finish the job he started before sending me to Rio. I can promise you that much.”
“Don’t be so sure. I have more influence with the Handler than you know.”
“Not that much influence.”
“Have you considered that he’s grooming me?”
“As his ambassador?”
“As his successor.”
Every wound in my body simmered at once.
“You’re not.”
“I am.”
“You can’t be…”
“His daughter?” She smiled, and I fell silent. The implication of her words echoed in my skull as she continued, “I am. And if I want you spared, I can make that deal. If I tell him that I want you working under me, it will be done.”
I found myself shaking my head before I realized what I was doing. “Why serve him? You hate him, that much was clear in the favela.”
“His methods are ruthless, but he’s an improvement over many who came before him.”
“What about your kid? Why are you traipsing around the world getting shot at with a daughter waiting for you?”
“I’m doing what’s best for Langley.”
“Getting out would be best for her. And you.” My mind filled with a vision of the little girl in the favela kitchen. I watched her as my next words found their way out in a near whisper. “What if there was a way, Parvaneh?”
“Out of the Organization?”
“Yes. What if you could take Langley and…leave?”
“David, I could take my daughter and walk away any day I choose. And that’s his worst nightmare.”
“Why?”
“He believes that I’m the rightful heiress and the Organization will fail without a true bloodline. My daughter and I are the only two people he would never hurt, no matter the circumstances.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. In all my travels to negotiate the human network surrounding the Handler, I’d just encountered the first ray of personal leverage that I could use against him. And, frustratingly, it would no longer matter in a few hours. I’d crossed the threshold of placing the pistol in my sling. There was no going back.
But that didn’t change the fact that Parvaneh would be left caring for her daughter alone. The thought was sickening.
“Then why not escape?” I asked.
“My influence grows with each passing day. With control comes modernization, and that’s the greatest good I can achieve. For Langley, and the world. Taking over the Organization will be the greatest escape of all, David.”
“You’ll never be able to legalize it, whatever it is. It will always be a criminal enterprise.”
“That’s the world we live in. But that enterprise wields more power than any politician. I can prevent scores of deaths each year, create thousands of legitimate jobs, and marshal millions of dollars to the benefit of those who need it most.”
“Your daughter is going to be trapped in a web of murder and crime, Parvaneh, no matter how eloquently you try to justify it.”
“If I took Langley away from the Organization, she could always be drawn back out of a sense of destiny or wealth. If I take over, there will be no role for her to step into. The seat of power has become too powerful for one person, and I intend on dispersing a position that’s been centuries in the making.”
“And what happens when the Handler finds out your plans?”
“I make no secret of my intentions. He can control all he wants for now. When he cedes authority to me, the power of transcendence comes with it.”
Her hand slid down from the medical dressing on my shoulder to clasp my uninjured hand. A rush of heat swept through my chest as our fingers interlaced.
“Who was Langley’s father?” I asked.
She smiled mournfully, glancing to the engagement ring.
“An Outfit shooter, like
you. He was selected for promotion from the Complex. We met and fell in love.” She looked away from the ring, her eyes drifting unfocused to the curtain behind me. “I was pregnant with Langley when he was killed on assignment.”
“I’m sorry. What happened?”
“The circumstances are classified.”
“Your father has never told you?”
“I’ve demanded to know many times. I continue demanding to this day. But when I take the throne, I’ll have access to everything. And revenge sharpens with time.”
I could take a pretty good guess why the Handler hadn’t shared that information with her: given everything I knew about him to date, he probably played a seminal part in the death.
I said, “I lost someone very close to me, too. A woman I was in love with.”
“Recently?”
“Always.”
She smiled sadly. “That’s the burden we bear as survivors. I can see Langley’s father in her. But I’ve been so alone since losing him.”
I watched her eyes brim with tears, and I knew what she felt: the emotion of trying to survive, her elation upon seeing Gabriel clashing against the truth of his betrayal, the entire horrid juxtaposition ending in physical attraction for someone who reminded her of the love she’d lost.
Without a word, she leaned over my stretcher to whisper in my ear.
“So, David, do you accept my job offer?”
Then she kissed me, the hot, salty taste of her tears flowing past my lips. She pulled back, hovering inches from the .32 pistol concealed in my sling.
My decision was made.
I’d kill her father but no more; if I wasn’t shot outright, I’d drop my weapon and let her take revenge on me. I looked to her green, tear-blurred pupils.
“If I survive this, Parvaneh, I’ll surrender to your will.”
She lifted my uninjured hand and laid a kiss across my knuckles. “The medic said you’ll be fine. He’d better be right.”
I watched her expression and sighed wistfully. “‘The Girl from Ipanema.’”
“We met in Leblon, David. Don’t get sentimental.” Then she released my hand and stood. “I need to smooth things over with Micah. He reports everything to my father.”
“Don’t let me hold you back.”
