I, Weapon

by Vaughn Heppner

  “We need to go nice and easy with this one,” Max whispered. “Bannon is planning something.”

  “Now!” Karl said. “Kill him now. Finish it.”

  “Jim, flank him on the right. LeBron, do the same from the left. Scorpion, stay back and keep watching for trouble.”

  “No,” Karl said. “You cannot waste any more time. A Supreme Court Justice has been murdered. We must be a long way from here when the authorities discover that.”

  “What you don’t want, boss, is Jim, LeBron or Scorpion injured or worse yet, killed. Bannon is a crack shot. He’s hurt and now he’s down. Flushing an expert out of his hole is difficult. The right way is to expose him to fire from as many divergent angles as possible. This will take a few more minutes to finish. We just need to set it up right.”

  “I understand your logic,” Karl said. “What you must understand is that we need to hurry because we have no more time for this.”

  Max grinned as he said, “Yes, sir,” in as level a voice as he could. Karl was cracking under the strain. Rising up, pushing the goggles over his eyes, Max gripped the assault rifle and continued his advance through the forest.

  He would fix Bannon’s position by trading fire with him and visually pinpointing the man. Then Jim or LeBron would put several bullets into Superman. Max realized this meant he’d have to forego putting a bullet in Bannon’s brain himself. But he would still pull out his shlong afterward and piss on the corpse.

  Just like we did to those dog-turds in Afghanistan.

  ***

  Karl listened to the sirens. They were closer and they had arrived faster than he had anticipated.

  The Justice’s security cameras burned with the rest of the foundations. He wondered how many civilians were down there near the destruction. Clearly, someone had called the fire department. How long would it take the police to show up?

  “Move,” he whispered to himself. Karl watched the red shapes inch along on Susan’s screen.

  “Do you think Bannon might be badly injured?” Susan asked. “That’s why he isn’t moving?”

  Karl hoped it was true. The longer this took—yes! If Bannon was unconscious, he could berate Max later for pussyfooting to the target. Max sounded too sure of himself, too cocky. After this was over, he would fix Max and show the foot soldier who was in charge of operations.

  Susan tapped the screen.

  Karl grinned tightly. The red shapes closed in on the stationary yellow one. Karl’s thick fingers balled into fists as his fingernails dug into his palms. Bannon’s death would ensure not only their survival, but rise in prestige and authority within ATS. All along the line, Karl had carefully doctored Bannon’s story. It was a masterpiece of forgery and official documentation. This would be another Lee Harvey Oswald, the supposedly sole assassin of JFK. The story would become legend, how Bannon had slain a Supreme Court Justice. Instead of waiting for a Jack Ruby to gun down Oswald, Karl was going to make sure it was done tonight. The press could have the body and the forged documents. What they could never have was the live killer telling his story.

  “Do you see him?” Karl asked.

  “Not yet,” Max whispered over the speaker.

  Karl lifted an eyebrow. Max no longer sounded cocky.

  “What is their distance to target?” Karl asked Susan.

  Her fingers flew over the keyboard. “Forty-three feet,” she said.

  “What kind of vegetation is between you the target?” Karl asked as he hovered over the transmitter.

  Max ignored the question as he asked one of his own. “See anything, Jim?”

  “Negative,” Jim whispered. “Over.”

  “LeBron?”

  “Nada.”

  “Where is he?” Max whispered.

  The question made Karl’s heart beat faster as he stared at the computer screen, at the red images surrounding the yellow one. “He’s right in front of you. Start shooting. Flush him out.”

  “I should be able to see him from where I’m standing,” LeBron whispered. “But I’m seeing nothing but ground.”

  “Could he have dug down into the earth?” Max whispered. “Jim, give me a three-bullet burst into the location.”

  Several seconds passed.

  “What’s happening?” Karl asked.

  “Get on your bellies,” Max whispered. “We’ll crawl in the rest of the way.”

  “What’s happening?” Karl insisted.

  “Give us thirty seconds, boss,” Max whispered. “Once we’re in spitting distance, we’ll know what’s going on.”

  Karl straightened, took three strides one way and three another. “Has Bannon moved?” he asked Susan.

  “No,” she said.

  “Give me covering fire,” Max whispered. “I’m going in.”

  Karl stared at the screen, envisioning Max rising and charging Bannon’s location. What game was Bannon playing? The man was incredibly dangerous. What was—?”

  “Boss,” Max said. “He’s gone.”

  “What?” Karl asked.

  “Bannon is gone,” Max said. “He’s not here.”

  Karl blinked several times, trying to digest the meaning of the words. “Is the locator functional?” he asked Susan.

  “I’m running a diagnostic,” she said. She stabbed a key and stared at the screen. It blinked green to the side. “Everything checks out,” she said. “The locator is working perfectly.”

  “Bannon has to be there,” Karl said.

  “Damn it!” Max said. “I’m looking at the bug. Now I’m holding it.”

  Fear blossomed in Karl’s stomach. He opened his mouth. “Bannon is gone?”

  “Jim, LeBron, Scorpion, sound off,” Max said. “Then bring it in. We’re going back to back. Bannon is out here and could be watching us even now.”

  Karl heard the worry in Max’s voice. It brought home that for an unknown length of time, Bannon had been ranging out there, hidden from the locator and obviously hidden from the cleanup team.

  “Do you see him?” Karl asked. “Do you see any tracks?”

  “Give me a second,” Max said. “Scorpion isn’t answering. We have to assume Bannon killed him.”

  Karl blanched in fear. How had Bannon known about the nodule and how had he just cut it out of his skin? The greatest assassin in America was out there with his cleanup men. If Scorpion was dead, that left three of them. Max had a right to be worried, but Bannon was wounded, right? They’d shot him and the explosion must have damaged the man.

  “None of Scorpion’s equipment is missing,” Susan told Max.

  “Or Bannon has rendered their tagging inoperable,” Max said.

  “Negative,” Susan said.

  “So he’s not armed with night-vision or a sniper rifle?” Max asked.

  “He’s taken nothing off Scorpion, if Scorpion is really dead,” Susan said.

  Karl listened and he thought furiously. Bannon was alive and he’d killed one of the cleanup crew. It was time to leave and time to cover himself. The Controller wanted the video data of Bannon entering the Justice’s house.

  “Max?” Karl said.

  “Right here, boss.”

  “I want you to track and eliminate Bannon. Then I want you to execute a Plan B directive.”

  “Got it,” Max said, dryly.

  “I have to switch headquarters,” Karl said.

  “Meaning you’re leaving us while we hunt Bannon down.”

  “He’s one man and you three are the best.” Karl turned to Susan. “Save the data on a memory stick and erase the server.”

  “I have to transmit it first,” she said.

  “There’s no time,” Karl said, giving her a significant look.

  “Right,” she said. “I understand.” She plugged a memory stick into the computer and began saving the night’s raw data. The seconds passed as they waited.

  “Speed it up,” Karl said.

  Finally, the growing green bar on the screen filled its box. “It’s saved,” she said, pul
ling out the memory stick and stuffing it into a pocket. She clicked keys and a hard erase of the server began.

  She snapped the netbook closed and nodded at Karl. “By the time we reach the car, it will be done.”

  “Good,” he said. “Now let’s get out of here.”

  -25-

  Bannon crouched behind a bush. Sirens wailed below. People shouted down there as intervening trees hid them from view.

  He peered through the bush’s foliage, studying the nearby house here on the top of the hill. The strength of signal from the altered uplink meant this was likely the headquarters for the ATS cleanup team.

  As Bannon debated the right way to infiltrate into the house, a car engine coughed into life. Red lights appeared on the driveway and then white lights. It focused Bannon’s eyes toward the garage. The lights moved as a BMW backed out of the garage.

  They must have figured out he was coming for them. He climbed to his feet and bulled through the bush, hurrying to the driveway. There were two people: a driver and a passenger. The driver must have seen something in the moonlight. He twisted around.

  Bannon recognized the man in the black suit. He’d seen him in the building, running down a corridor with a guard. He must know the man, because a terrible feeling of betrayal filled Bannon. This man—Karl Sand—had used him.

  Karl’s jaw dropped as he stared at Bannon. The man’s eyes bulged—and he must have punched the accelerator. The engine gunned with power. The tires squealed as they spun, pouring smoke, and the car shot backward.

  Bannon raised his SIG and fired three shots. They shattered the car’s driver-side window and obliterated Karl’s face in a burst of blood and bone. The body flopped backward and began to hump up and down in the seat. The BMW quit accelerating. The car slewed to the side and the tires began squealing. The car whipped ninety degrees before coming to a halt.

  The passenger-side door opened and a woman slid out, stood, turned and aimed a gun over the hood of the car. Bannon recognized her even as he fired. They had done something to him, to his reflexes and his accuracy, the precision of his muscles. His bullet smashed the gun in her hand, knocking it flying.

  Bannon ran toward her, aiming at the woman. While cursing she waved her hand as if it was on fire and then tucked it under an armpit. She stared at him in hatred.

  The night’s actions, maybe knowing about ATS through the Justice, opened a closed portal in Bannon.

  “Susan,” he said, “from CR, and from Turlock Lake,” he added.

  She ran. He fired. The bullet sparked on the asphalt driveway beside her.

  “Stop or the next one goes in the back of your head,” he said.

  She stopped and faced him.

  Bannon studied her in the moonlight. She had shoulder-length brunette hair and pretty eyes. Usually, she smiled. At least, the times he’d watched her on stage at Creative Recovery she had.

  She injected you with a hypodermic needle once. She’s with them. She’s one of your enemies.

  “Open your coat,” he said.

  She did, showing him the empty gun harness. “You must be hurt,” she said. “I can help you.”

  Bannon aimed the SIG between her eyes. “Do I look hurt? You were one of my zookeepers, my jailers. I want to know why I shouldn’t kill you like I did Karl Sand.”

  “I can tell you things about yourself.”

  She’d just tried to kill him and failed. Her hand hurt and he had a gun aimed between her eyes, yet she was trying to bargain. He could see the wheels spin in her eyes. This was a cunning woman; she was ruthless and had helped ATS use him. But she did know things, probably very useful things. He wondered if she knew where they had buried his wife and daughter.

  “Where’s your cell phone?” he asked.

  She fished it out.

  “Toss it on the ground,” he said. He didn’t want her employees tracking him through it.

  She hesitated before dropping the cell.

  “Good,” he said. “Now into the car. You’re driving.”

  She stared at him, clearly wanting to ask something. In the end, she hurried to the car, opened it and watched Karl slide onto the ground.

  “Drag him out of the way,” Bannon said.

  With only a moment’s hesitation, she grabbed the man’s bloody black suit. Huffing and grunting, she pulled the heavy corpse out of the way.

  Bannon scowled. This was taking too long. The cleaners should know by now something was wrong. They could be running uphill.

  “Get in!” Bannon said.

  She did. He kept the gun trained on her as he walked to the passenger-side door. He noticed the netbook in the back seat. He would have to destroy that.

  As he slid in, he said, “Give me the memory stick.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked.

  “There’s always a backup,” he said. “I want it.”

  She licked her lips.

  “You’re making this easy for me.” He aimed the gun at her.

  “All right,” she said. She dug in her jeans, pulled out a black memory stick and gave it to him.

  He put it away as he said, “Let’s go.”

  The engine was still running, so she put the car into drive. The tires rolled over driveway concrete and soon crunched on gravel.

  “Give it a little gas,” he said.

  She did.

  “You’re going to live, Susan, as long as you do exactly what I say.”

  She nodded, but it was clear she had begun thinking, plotting.

  Bannon kept the SIG trained on her. He glanced at the twisty road before sliding down in his seat. The car metal might not stop bullets, but if he kept out of sight, the cleanup men might not know to shoot. Or, from a distance, they might think he was driving.

  ***

  Max and LeBron moved through the forest, trudging uphill. They cradled their assault rifles as they continuously scanned around them.

  “There they go,” LeBron said.

  Max grunted, recognizing Karl’s BMW. The boss-man was relocating, which was probably a good idea with Bannon loose. Everybody feared the lightning-fast killer, one of the reasons it was going to be so enjoyable killing the one he thought of as the Caped Crusader.

  “Max!” The word crackled in his ear. It was Jim.

  “Go ahead,” Max said.

  “I’m at the house by the driveway. Karl Sand is dead. His face has been shot out, but it’s him.”

  “What about Susan?” Max asked, as he lifted his rifle. It was the latest in sniper technology, with a ballistic computer in the scope.

  “I don’t see her,” Jim said. “My guess is that Bannon took her.”

  “LeBron!” Max said. “Take out the rear tires.” He sighted the BMW. Karl was dead. It was obvious, therefore, Superman thought he was going to drive away as calm as you please. No sir. That just wasn’t going to happen.

  Max sighted the driver, the head. Even with his thermal sights, it was impossible to tell who it was. The laser rangefinder did its trick and the ballistic computer made minute corrections. Just before the BMW went around a hilly corner, Max pulled the trigger. As he shot, LeBron fired at the tires.

  ***

  Bannon was watching Susan as a slug shattered the back window. With a grunt, she pitched against the steering wheel. More bullets hammered the vehicle and the rear tires popped. Susan slumped back against the seat and her hands slipped off the steering wheel.

  Bannon dropped his gun onto the floorboards and lunged at the steering wheel. Susan’s foot was still pressed against the accelerator. The car slewed along the road as Bannon fought the steering wheel, and he adjusted for the blown tire. The other tires squealed as they took a turn too fast. That took them out of the line of sight of the shooters. The flat tire went thump-thump-thump against the road as the steering wheel began to have a will of its own, fighting Bannon’s grip.

  “Help me,” she whispered. “I’m hit.”

  With his eyes hard on the winding road, Bannon a
sked, “How bad is it?”

  “I can’t feel my legs. I can’t feel my back either. I don’t want to die.”

  “You’re a tough girl, Susan. Hang in there.”

  “You killed me with your little trick,” she said.

  Dark trees flashed past. The next turn was too sharp. He cranked the steering wheel, but it wasn’t enough. An earthen bank loomed before him.

  “Use the brake!” he shouted. She didn’t respond. “Hang on!” he shouted.

  Bannon braced himself as best as he could. The car plowed against an earthen bank, coming to an abrupt halt as plastic snapped and metal crumpled. Bannon smashed against the dash and his head thudded against the windshield, starring glass. Who had dismantled the air bags?

  Her body curled around the steering wheel as she screamed. It was an awful sound. She flopped back and wheezed pitifully. Blood soaked her side.

  Bannon blinked several times. There were black splotches in his vision. He felt wetness on his head. Dizziness made nausea rise in his throat and radiate outward as unconsciousness threatened.

  You’re a dead man if you stop. What they did to your wife—

  A grim and bitter laugh bubbled from his throat. This time, they would have to kill him. There would be no going unconscious so these manipulators could play with his mind again.

  Remember that. If they capture you, all they have to do is give you new memories, turning you into a different person.

  He wondered how many times that had happened—that he’d gained freedom of action and they had caught and enslaved him anew.

  He retrieved the SIG from the floor. The car—he’d gained a little distance from the cleaners, but not much, probably not enough. Sliding away from her to give him room, he examined Susan in the darkness. Blood soaked the back of her shoulder. Had the bullet hit a lung? No, not from the sound of her breathing.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked. “Can you move?”

  She turned her head much too slowly and stared at him.

  Bannon licked his lips. The cleaners were coming. He could try to ambush them again, but he had a gun and they had armor, high-tech equipment and rifles. What he wanted was to grill Susan and learn things from her. It looked to him as if she was hit in the upper left shoulder area. A little higher and to the right and it would have been her head.