Diary of an Assassin

by Methos, Victor

  When Vanessa went through the metal detectors she couldn’t help but glance back once to Henri, who was watching her. She smiled at him before heading out to her gate. It was completely unfair that men seemed to grow more handsome as they aged. But then again they were cursed with sexual obsession that ran their lives in a way that a woman could never experience or understand.

  She recalled a study that had occurred at her university where an extremely attractive twenty-five-year-old female went up to strangers, men, and told them she was attracted to them and asked if they would like to go to her apartment and have sex. Over seventy percent of the men agreed. When the same study had been done with a male, a Brad Pitt look-alike, exactly zero women had agreed. Not a single one. It seemed that the priority of the sexes was completely off balance and she was surprised they were able to even live in the same society much less in the same homes.

  As she waited at her gate for her flight, she kept looking back. A small part of her thought that Henri might come to her. What they would say to each other or do after that she wasn’t sure, but she thought that perhaps he still felt the way she did. She had chosen work over him once and she regretted it now. The career turned to nothing and Henri was still the same man she had loved so long ago. Or at least thought she loved. It was brief as they’d only known each other a month before their weekends spent together, but it was the closest she had felt to a man.

  As her flight was called, she kept looking behind her, but he never came. She boarded and sat in her seat, leaning her head back to try to sleep. The flight was an hour and ten minutes and she wanted to sleep the entire time. But a large man with a briefcase that he wouldn’t let go of sat next to her and immediately struck up a conversation.

  “Where you headed?”

  “Same place you are,” she said, her eyes still closed.

  “I meant your final destination. Mine’s Miami.” She didn’t respond and he continued. “Yup, gotta get to Miami quick. Got a big real estate deal about to go down. I buy houses in the ghettos and then fix ’em up and flip ’em. Good living in that. It’s actually better after the crash. It’s one of ’em businesses that gets better when the economy gets worse. I buy houses now for fifteen grand that woulda cost me fifty just two years ago.”

  “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’d just like to sleep if you don’t mind.”

  “Oh, yeah, sure.”

  Within five minutes, the man had struck up a conversation with another man seated on the opposite side of her. She exhaled, realizing sleep would be impossible, and rose, heading to the bathroom. In the little mirror they had up, she checked her hair and make-up, something she almost never did, to kill time. One of the stewardesses stood near the bathroom and she smiled.

  “You look tired, hon,” she said.

  “Rough day at the office.”

  “Yeah, try bein’ groped and yelled at by these drunk assholes.” She took out a package of gum and put a stick in her mouth. She offered one to Vanessa, who took it and leaned against the bathroom door.

  “Don’t suppose you could get me another seat, could you?”

  “It’s a full flight. Sorry.”

  “I know. I tried to get first-class but there was nothing left. Not a big deal in the scheme of things.”

  She went and squeezed between the two men as they discussed what cities have the best bars to get drunk in. They were both in sales and both tried to speak to her several times. She began reading a book on her cell phone and tried to ignore them as much as possible.

  By the time the flight ended, she realized they had done one thing for her: they had made her completely forget what was going on in her own life. Now it hit her that Mitchell was dead, the Messenger was dead, and Santos had left town—if what he’d told her on the phone was true. You never really knew in this town. Everyone had their own agendas and fought tooth and nail to achieve what they wanted.

  She hailed a cab out on the curb and gave her address. The cabbie would stare at her in the rearview mirror and ask her about the relationships she was in. Though men had hit on her since she was eleven years old, it never ceased to amaze her that that was the only thing they saw. Despite all her attributes and memories and skills and experiences and perspectives on life and the universe, and the million other subjects she was interested in, all they saw was a pair of tits.

  When the cab stopped, she still tipped him well before stepping out into the night. The air was cold but the sky was clear and the crescent moon above was bright. She looked at the Big Dipper a moment before going into her home. As she opened her door and stepped inside, she remembered that Henri was still at the airport and probably hadn’t heard about Mitchell.

  Walking into the kitchen, she took out her cell phone and dialed his number.

  “Are you back yet?” he said as a greeting.

  “Yeah, I just walked into my apartment. Guess what? Mitchell was killed.”

  “Phelps? How?”

  “How do you think? Santos called me and said I should leave town for a while.”

  “Where was he killed?”

  “In his office.”

  “In DC?”

  “Yes.”

  “Get out of your apartment now, Vanessa.”

  She was about to respond when she saw something out of the corner of her eye, behind the island in the kitchen. They were feet. She walked back there and saw the body of a man lying on her kitchen floor. Blood was pooling around his head. She hung up the phone without saying anything and laid it down on the counter.

  Vanessa bent down over the man. He was young, his eyes were open, and he was holding a handgun. She reached for her phone when she heard a noise behind her and turned. Gustav sat at her dining room table in the dark. A young woman was in the seat next to him, staring down at the placemat in front of her.

  “He beat me here,” he said.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I think it is more interesting to ask what he was doing here, no?”

  “I want you to get out of my apartment, Gustav. Our business is through.”

  He made a sucking sound through his teeth. “I do not believe it is.”

  “Why’d you kill Mitchell? He never did anything to you.”

  “He hired me.”

  “So what?”

  “So I am doing housecleaning.”

  She folded her arms. “The expression is cleaning house.”

  He shrugged and stood up. The young girl at the table looked over as he pulled the pistol out of his waistband and held it low.

  “You kill for a living and yet you look at me as if I am evil.”

  “I kill when necessary in the interests of my country,” Vanessa said.

  “Is that what they told you? That this is for your country? That is what they tell poor fools that die in deserts and jungles because a politician wants them to. That is what you do: you serve the whim of the powerful and help them be remembered. It is pointless. You are pointless. But do not feel bad. So am I.”

  He began lifting the weapon. The girl at the table screamed, “No!” and jumped at him. She pushed the gun down and wrapped her arms around him.

  “Run!”

  Vanessa didn’t wait. She sprinted for the front door and shut it behind her just as she heard the spit of the silenced pistol. Darting for her elevator, she hit the down button and waited. She looked back to her door and heard a scream. The door flung open and Gustav stormed out.

  Vanessa ran for the door leading to the stairs. She shut it behind her and turned the lock. Through the viewing window she could see Gustav begin to run toward her. She threw off her high heels and descended the stairs two at a time. The stairs were cold to the touch, and she could hear Gustav trying to break through the door behind her.

  Her apartment was four flights up. She rounded the third floor and kept going. She got down to the second floor and then took that door and ran down the hall. He would be waiting on the first floor.

  She sprinted past a
couple in the hallway coming out of their apartment. Heading down the hall to the emergency exit, she stopped and looked for Gustav behind her before continuing through the exit outside.

  Running down a flight of stairs, she ended up at the back of the building. A grocery store neighbored her building and she ran for the fence. As she climbed up and pulled herself over, she felt a burning in her calve like a hot knife had entered her and she screamed as she toppled over on the other side. She lay on her back, staring up at the night sky for a moment before she pulled herself to her feet.

  A black figure, hidden by the shadows, was stalking around the apartment building to where she was. She used the fence to straighten up and then started limping toward the grocery store. Using cars in the parking lot for balance, she hobbled inside.

  One of the employees was straightening up the shopping carts and saw her. His eyes went wide as he saw the trail of blood behind her.

  “Do you have police here?” she said.

  He nodded without saying anything and pointed to a police officer that was leaning over a counter and speaking with one of the cashiers. Vanessa walked over to him.

  “My name is Vanessa Hailstorm and I—”

  Part of the officer’s head exploded in a waterfall of blood and brains. His corpse toppled onto the counter as the cashier screamed. A round entered her open mouth and blew out the back of her head, sending the body flying back into the next cashier’s aisle.

  Vanessa hurried up one of the aisles as best she could, but she couldn’t go much faster than a hobble. She turned and saw that no one was following her. Blood filled her right stocking and she left a red footprint as she walked. She got to the end of the aisle and turned right. A muzzle pressed against her chest.

  He didn’t say anything as he pulled the trigger. She didn’t hear the round that entered her heart but she did smell the gunpowder. She was suddenly on her back but didn’t remember getting there. Her head felt light and a surge of euphoria made her smile before she closed her eyes.

  CHAPTER 58

  Henri used his badge and the FBI contact to get on the next flight to DC. He warned the agent at the DC airport about Gustav and the agent informed him that he would get a couple of people down there.

  The flight was packed and Henri sat in the back of the plane, his leg bouncing up and down so much the person next to him glanced over. Waiting for the flight to take off was the most anxiety he had felt in a long time. In a way, he missed it. The chase. These days, his job was mostly paperwork and supervision of new detectives, and getting into the field was a pleasure he had forgotten all about. Pleasure may not have been the right word. Exhilaration maybe.

  The flight was agonizingly slow though it was just over an hour. They landed ahead of schedule. As soon as he was in the terminal, he called his assistant. Though it was five in the morning in Paris, they had an understanding that he was to leave his cell phone on at all times.

  “Allo?”

  “J'ai besoin de vous pour trouver une adresse pour moi, à Washington DC,” Henri said, jogging to the rental car booths.

  “Pour qui?”

  “Vanessa Hailstorm, Homeland Security.”

  “Un moment…vous prêt?”

  “Oui.”

  “Five sixteen Barker Lane apartment 4E.”

  “Five sixteen Barker Lane apartment 4E.”

  “Oui.”

  “Merci. Maintenant dormir un peu.”

  Henri hung up and attempted to rent a car. The salesman kept trying to sell him upgrades like insurance or a larger car and he grew frustrated and pulled out his badge, saying he needed the car immediately. The clerk told him to wait a moment and returned with the manager.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the manager said, “but we can’t rent a car to you.”

  “Why not?”

  “We’ve had…issues with law enforcement damaging our vehicles. If you like, I can call a cab for you.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. It’s company policy. If you’d like to speak to our district manager, I’m sure I could get—”

  Henri sprinted away and out of the terminal. He saw a car with a single male inside and he ran up to the door and pulled the man out.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  He slammed the door shut and locked it as the man started banging on the window. He sped off out of the airport and onto the interstate. There was no GPS in the car so he had to pull up the app on his phone. His eyes darting between his phone and the road, he punched in Vanessa’s address. It was twenty-one minutes away. He decided he would get there in ten.

  Henri rolled down the window and the night air whipped through the car. He had tried calling Vanessa half a dozen times, but after ringing, it always went to voicemail. He called the police and asked if they could check on her apartment. He was on hold with dispatch when a woman’s voice came on.

  “Sir?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “The address you gave us, I do have a unit already in that area. Right next door actually, so they’ll get over there in a minute and check on her.”

  “I appreciate that. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Ah, excuse me, one more thing, when you said next door, do you mean the next apartment?”

  “No, sir. There’s an emergency at the grocery store next to the complex.”

  “Okay,” Henri said, his stomach dropping, “thank you.”

  Watching his speedometer, he saw that he hit over eighty miles an hour on a somewhat crowded interstate. Several times he had to weave in between cars or go up on the shoulder, but he arrived at his exit quickly and then sped down the street and through two red lights before coming to Vanessa’s apartment complex. He said a quick prayer, thanking the Lord for not letting him get pulled over in a stolen car, and then jogged up the entrance.

  The building’s front door was locked with a keycode and he had to wait what seemed like a long time for a tenant to pass through and open it. They tried to close the door behind them, so he pulled out his badge and walked past them and to the elevator.

  The fourth floor was quiet and smelled faintly of dust. The rustic building reminded him of someplace his grandmother might live. It wasn’t the young, hip place he had imagined for Vanessa. He came to 4E and stopped, putting his ear to the door. He listened for a while but couldn’t hear anything. The doorknob turned all the way when he tried it, and he opened the door and went inside.

  Henri took out his weapon and was suddenly appreciative of the fact that law enforcement in the United States could carry firearms on planes. In France, it was not the case. He shut the door behind him and stood in the dark, unsure what exactly he was waiting for. He walked around to the hallway, hoping to hear the shower running and see Vanessa’s cell phone on the kitchen counter. There was nothing but silence.

  He checked the bathroom and then the bedroom. An office was off to the side and he went in and switched on the lamp on an old oak desk. The office was small and immaculate, bookshelves taking up all the walls. Henri browsed through them. They were mostly books on geography, geopolitics, economics, and anthropology. He went to the computer and turned it on. It was passcode locked, so he turned it back off and turned the lamp off before walking out of the room.

  Entering the bathroom again, he washed his hands, something he hadn’t done in a day. He looked at himself in the mirror and then walked out. He headed for the kitchen. The fridge held a few beers, and he took out a bottle and popped the top, taking a long drink. He tried Vanessa’s cell phone again but it just went to voicemail.

  As he was about to leave, he saw a pair of shoes sticking out from behind the island in the kitchen. He walked to them and stared at the body that lay on the floor. The blood had congealed into a thick gelatin and Henri turned away and walked out of the apartment.

  He knew Vanessa was dead.

  CHAPTER 59

  At the grocery store next to her apartment, Henri co
nfirmed that Vanessa Hailstorm had been killed. He sat in his car a long time and couldn’t bring himself to start it. When he finally did, he saw that he was running low on gas.

  Henri tried to rush to the airport but his movements were slow and he found it difficult to pay attention to the road enough to navigate traffic. He reminded himself that a young girl’s life was at stake and that helped focus him enough to get there relatively quickly from Vanessa’s apartment.

  He went inside and looked for the FBI agents he had been promised: none were there. He sat in a seat and exhaled loudly as his knees cracked. Something that had just started occurring this year.

  Henri felt exhausted: mentally and physically. He felt like he didn’t have the energy or the desire to chase Gustav any longer. He just wanted to go home and take a bath and be with his family.

  An image of a young woman flashed in his mind, dead in a rental car with a bullet in her brain. He forced himself to get up and find the TSA office.

  Henri stood outside the terminal, sipping coffee out of a paper cup. Two federal agents were inside and TSA had a photograph of Gustav. Henri decided he would be out here when everything happened. He wouldn’t be inside, and he wouldn’t let Gustav see him. He had wanted to be there and tell him he was under arrest, thinking that it would somehow bring him satisfaction. But it wouldn’t matter. Not in the long run. There were thousands of Gustavs and stopping one made little difference.

  Gustav would see him out here, though. Henri thought it best if he sat in some quiet corner inside one of the terminals, and he entered the airport and sat near a kiosk. He leaned back in the seat and rubbed his eyes. Sleep was just on the horizon, pushing itself forward. If he lay down, he knew it would overtake him. He rose and bought another cup of coffee then leaned against the wall behind the seats instead of sitting.

  The buzz of the airport would come in waves. Crowds from recently landed planes would swamp the terminal and an excited energy would flood the space, affecting everyone inside. But then as quickly as they had come, the crowds would dissipate, and then there would be nothing but the quiet hum of pilots and stewardesses talking softly as they went to their gates.