He thought back to his military days and the war. When the scientists had experimented on him, they had asked him to volunteer first. He had done so willingly, but he hadn’t known what he was volunteering for. He had thought maybe sabotage or perhaps an assassination, and he had been okay with it then. But that had been so different. He felt completely at peace committing an assassination for his country during a war. But now he felt dirty for killing a man for money, even if the man was a murderous monster. Perhaps it would be different if he killed his target up close; at least give the man a chance to defend himself, but that was not an option.
A new thought occurred to him then and it made his skin go cold. He was worried about the experiments making him go psychotic, but what if this killing was the first step. He had never done anything like this before. Perhaps this cheapening of the value of life would start him down the path of insanity.
Aaron shook his head, trying to clear it. He wasn’t insane, but perhaps a bit paranoid. He would complete this job but he never wanted to assassinate anyone again.
He glanced back out the small hole and sighed. The line had gotten longer, but there wasn’t anyone he recognized.
He decided to put the time to good use and began to go over each step in his escape route, every part of the plan. He couldn’t spot any problems, no gaps in logic. Still, there was always the chance that something would go wrong. He knew if he was caught that he would never escape alive. He had made the difficult decision to end his own life instead of letting these bastards take him. It wasn’t an easy decision, but it was better than the alternative.
He glanced once more at Hilltop and sighed at the length of the line. It made sense that Woodson would not show until all the guests had gotten through security. Aaron lowered his head again and waited.
It took nearly an hour for all the guests to arrive and get through security. The last group through the detectors were four men and their wives. Aaron straightened up a bit at the sight of the first man in line—Reginald Bailey. He suspected the other three were the other crime lords, but he still didn’t see Woodson. There was a moment or two of panic as he frantically searched the grounds for his target, afraid the whole time that he had missed seeing the man, afraid that he had in fact missed his one and only opportunity.
It was then that he spotted Darren Woodson walking from the white building complex down the hill toward the guests. He was an intimidating-looking man. He was large and slightly overweight, but still looked like he could handle himself. His dark hair was thinning and it was starting to go gray at the edges. He seemed to be walking straight for the four new arrivals.
A shorter, younger version of Woodson walked behind him and Aaron assumed it was Woodson’s son, Lou.
Aaron set down the monocular, picked up the sniper’s rifle, and sighted down the scope.
He hadn’t exactly been taught to shoot a sniper’s rifle, but he damn well knew how to shoot an ordinary rifle. The shot that he was taking was just much longer than what he was used to, but the scope was computerized and helped make necessary adjustments. It took into account wind, distance, and a host of other factors.
In addition to the scope, the computer in his head also seemed to be making suggestions. For the most part, its recommendations agreed with the scope’s, but there were a few minor anomalies. When the scope and organic computer were in disagreement, Aaron went with the scope. It wasn’t that he doubted the organic computer, but he felt the scope was better able to measure the wind and other variables.
Woodson reached Bailey and the other three men, and the four women stepped away to allow the men to talk.
Woodson was directly lined up but Aaron waited. Woodson began shaking the hands of each of the men and still Aaron waited. He was lined up and could take the shot at any moment.
A new thought occurred to him then, as such thoughts tended to when they were least wanted. He hadn’t yet fired this gun—he had cleaned it but not fired it. There shouldn’t be any problems, but that little voice in the back of his mind asked “What if?” What if the gun exploded in his hands? What if the scope was off by a fraction of a degree? A fraction of a degree didn’t sound like much but when it was magnified over half a mile he could easily miss his target. Hell, with his luck he could miss his target and kill Bailey. Wouldn’t that be a bitch?
He forced all the worrying, nagging thoughts away and slowed his breathing.
Woodson had shaken the hands of two of the men and he stepped up and grasped Bailey’s hand. It wasn’t a warm embrace, more the acknowledgement that a general gives to his lieutenant.
Aaron breathed out and held it, remaining as calm and still as he could. Ever so gently, he squeezed the trigger, and the gun went off with a loud bang.
Aaron’s plan called for him to make the shot and then run like hell. He still intended to, but he had to wait a moment. He had to see what he had done.
The bullet flew true. It struck Woodson high in the chest and propelled him backward. Before his body could hit the ground, there was an explosion.
The bullet was not actually a solid projectile. There was a minuscule explosive embedded in the bullet that exploded mere moments after the bullet hit Woodson. The explosion nearly tore the man in two.
Bailey fell to the ground and began frantically scooting away from Woodson. He wasn’t the only one. Many of the guests were screaming and trying to find cover.
Relieved and disgusted, Aaron pulled his eye from the scope. He rolled over and dropped down from the attic onto the ruined hotel’s third floor. He headed for the dumbwaiter’s rope, pausing only long enough to pull the strap of the rifle over his shoulder.
He had considered leaving the rifle in the hotel, but he wished to keep it if possible. It might still be necessary to ditch the gun, but he hoped not.
His feet hit the ground floor and he made straight for the side entrance. He was moving slower than he wished. In his plan, he had forgotten to take into account what lying on one’s side in a small attic for days did to one’s muscles. He was sore and his muscles felt watery.
Near the entrance, he kicked aside some garbage to expose his stash. He had placed his brown robe here, as well as the metal briefcase that was the rifle’s housing.
He began to frantically break down the gun as a voice screamed in his head that he was wasting time. His paranoia and haste hampered him rather than helped, as they always tended to do. Still, even with his fumbling hands, it took only moments to tear down the gun and place it in the case. He left it sitting on the floor and scooped up the robe. He threw it over his head, and then strapped the case to his belt. The robe would hide it and perhaps he might be able to keep it after all.
The side door was still hanging on by its lone hinge and he peeked through a gap. The alley was empty and Aaron hurriedly left the building. He headed toward the main street and slowed down as he exited the alley; rushing through the street would only draw eyes.
He crossed the main thoroughfare and stopped in an alley entrance. This was another part of his plan. He had not been completely idle during his four days in the attic. He had brought seven small canisters with him. The canisters were survival gear and could be used to cook food in the wilderness. They were legal and easily obtained. During the last four days, Aaron had modified the canisters, attaching a small timer and receiver. He had, in effect, turned the canisters into bombs. Those bombs were now placed in strategic places within the ruined hotel. After tonight, the homeless would not be able to use the old hotel as a makeshift shelter.
He looked up and down the street and saw nothing out of the ordinary. If any of the pedestrians had heard the shot, they had not realized what it was.
Aaron reached his hand into his pocket and pressed a button on a small remote.
I’ve got sixty seconds, he thought. He left the alley and turned left, walking at a steady pace, but not rushing.
He kept a count in his head, and as he neared sixty, he stepped over into the doorway of a
small shop, pretending to look over the vegetables on display.
He grew worried as the count went over sixty and even reached sixty-six, but he never got to sixty-seven.
There was an explosive roar of sound, and he looked back down the street. Wood and stone had been thrown into the air, and parts of the building began to burn.
The pedestrians in the street stopped and stared in dread fascination at the spectacle of the hotel.
The building teetered for a moment and then began collapsing in on itself. There were secondary explosions of sound and the crowd turned and, as one, ran to all points of the compass.
Aaron ran along with them.
It took Aaron over an hour to reach the tube station. In the chaos he had made good time, and it wouldn’t have taken so long to reach the station, but he bypassed the nearest tube station and exited Oldtown, choosing to go to an unfamiliar station farther away from the Woodson assassination.
The metal case containing the rifle was still attached to his belt. It kept bouncing into his legs and he was sure he would be bruised from his knee to his waist, but he felt it was worth it.
He stopped just short of the station and casually looked around. Satisfied that no one was paying him the first bit of attention, he pulled the brown robes off, disposing of them into the nearest trashcan. He paused only long enough to straighten his clothes and hair, and then he descended the steps into the station.
He was afraid the station would be crawling with security, and it was, but more importantly, the station was overflowing with customers. People entering and leaving the station, boarding and exiting trains, the crowds were thick and hard to get through.
Aaron began fighting his way through the crowd to the appropriate train. It was difficult, and he stepped around a stone column and came face-to-face with a group of three security guards. They were scanning the crowds, but he wasn’t sure what they were looking for. Aaron didn’t think they had the first clue what he looked like, but he still would have preferred to avoid them. They glanced up at him and he felt the urge to pull away, to back into the crowd, but he knew that would be the worst possible thing for him to do. Instead, he nodded his head and stepped around them. His heart was beating fast and he kept expecting to hear a shout of “Stop!” or perhaps have a hand grab him by the shoulder. But none of those things happened and he successfully resisted the urge to look back.
Aaron’s mouth was dry and his heart felt like it might explode, but he managed to calmly board his train and take a seat. Only then did he look back—the guards were lost in the masses of human and alien life.
Feeling somewhat relieved, Aaron laid his head back on the wall of the train. His heartbeat slowed to something more normal and he breathed deeply. After a moment the train started moving.
He was so tired and it would have been very easy to fall asleep, but that might be disastrous, so Aaron lifted his head from the train wall and forced himself to lean forward. The last thing he wanted was to miss his stop.
He hadn’t done anything for the last four days, so there wasn’t any reason for him to be tired, but he guessed it was probably the stress. Stress did weird things to the body.
It took about forty minutes for the train to reach the station near his hotel, and it was quite a relief once Aaron stepped off. Once again he had to fight his way through a station overloaded with people, but this time he didn’t mind so much. He was away from the danger, and these people just helped hide him all the more.
He emerged from the station and walked along the street. The sun was starting to go down and he found the cooling temperature relaxing.
It was a short walk to his hotel and he was pleased that things were exactly as they had been before. There weren’t any signs of increased security, no police waiting for him to arrive. The sick-looking man was at the desk, and Aaron chose to avoid him, even though he was pleased even to see the sick man. One more thing that was normal, and he suddenly found himself liking normal. He stepped into the stairwell and paused—looking upward and sighing. Seven flights of stairs. Oh well, Aaron thought, one more time up and then one more time down!
He climbed the stairs slowly, his tired body complaining the whole way. At long last he reached the seventh floor and stopped on the landing. He waited a moment, catching his breath, then opened the door. He stepped into the seventh-floor hallway and froze. A man sat on the floor in front of Aaron’s hotel room door. Even though the man sat with his head leaning forward and his face hidden, Aaron knew who it was. It was Thomas.
Chapter 22
The Long Shot landed at landing bay Alpha seventy-four and Susan was pissed. They had reached the planet nearly three hours ago, but they had been held up by Port Control and it was driving her nearly out of mind. She was worried about Aaron, but there also was this little issue of cargo to deliver.
As soon as Adam set the ship down she bolted from the bridge, heading for the cargo bay. Even before she reached it, the buzzer was already ringing.
The buzzer nearly made her heart skip a beat. Surely Richard wasn’t already here, she thought. Customs? Woodson’s people? That last thought made her insides tighten up and her mouth went dry. But there was precious little she could do about it now. Remain calm and lie through her teeth if necessary.
She ran out into the hold and Terry was standing near the cargo-door controls. He was looking out the small viewport. “Who is it?” she called to Terry.
Terry glanced back and said, “It’s that old man who hired us. Looks like he’s got a bunch of goons with him.”
For the briefest of moments, Susan misunderstood that remark. Her first thought was that they had been found out and the “goons” were here to escort them to a cell, but then her paranoia dissipated a bit and she realized that Richard couldn’t carry twenty tons of fish away on his own. They must be cargo workers.
“Open it up,” she called.
Terry pressed the button and the ramp descended slowly.
Richard stood at the bottom of the ramp with a bunch of men; some of them were muscular and the others were fat. Susan could now see the cargo transports farther off in the distance.
Richard slowly climbed the ramp, his eyes raking over the crates in the hold. His eyes came to rest on Susan. “Everything okay? I don’t see the second cargo.”
Susan nodded. “Everything’s fine. I have the second cargo out of sight until the custom’s inspection.”
Richard smiled. “There won’t be an inspection,” he said. He opened his mouth to say more, but cut off at the sound of a new voice.
“Oh, yes there will,” the new arrival called.
Richard and Susan turned to see a large, muscular man stalking up the ramp. A group of armed men had taken up positions around the cargo workers.
The man moved into the light. He wasn’t just muscular, he was abnormally large. It was like someone had shoved a water hose up the man’s ass and turned it on. He looked swollen, like he might pop at any moment.
“Reece?” Richard said, sounding confused. “What’s the meaning of this?”
“Orders,” Reece said simply.
“Orders? But we have a deal with your boss, remember? He helps us get our cargo in without inspections.”
Reece nodded. “That changed today when he was shot down like an animal.”
Susan took a deep breath. So Aaron had succeeded in killing Woodson. Part of her was thankful that it was done, but there also was a part that was saddened by the news. Like it or not, she was a part of it. She had given it her blessing and that made her partly responsible. More important at the moment, she now knew that Reece worked for Woodson.
Richard blinked several times. “Surely, you don’t suspect us in that?”
Reece snorted. “I don’t suspect anybody. My orders are that every ship will be searched after they arrive and before they take off again.” He looked around at the crates. “Tell me what you got here and don’t leave anything off.” This time his words were directed to Susan and
not Richard.
Susan hesitated, glancing to Richard. He caught her look and nodded quickly.
“We have twenty tons of Brazziouri,” Susan said. “It’s a type of . . .”
“I know what it is,” Reece snapped. “Anything else?”
Susan took a deep breath and glanced at Richard again. He nodded for her to continue.
“We also have two tons of PG hidden in a special compartment.”
Reece nodded. “Have your men open each crate,” he said to Richard. “We’ll inspect them and then they can take it away. After that, we’ll inspect the PG.” After the briefest of pauses, Richard nodded. Reece looked back to Susan. “Anything else?” he demanded.
She sighed and shook her head. She so dearly hoped that Aaron wouldn’t show up for at least an hour or so.
Chapter 23
In a flash, Aaron drew the Oliver handgun from his shoulder holster. He turned, looking up and down the hallway, half-expecting to see Eric running at him, but the hall was deserted. Deserted and silent.
Aaron swallowed hard, trying to work up a bit of moisture. This wasn’t the homecoming he had hoped for.
He checked the hallway one more time and then strode over to Thomas. He pointed the Oliver at the sitting man’s head and then kicked him with his foot.
Thomas started and raised his head to look up.
Startled, Aaron took an involuntary step back. “Gods above! What happened to you?”
Thomas’s face was battered and bruised. His eyes were swollen and nearly closed up—it was amazing that he could see anything. His lip had also been busted, and Aaron thought he might even be missing a tooth or two.
“Aaron?” Thomas croaked. He sounded as bad as he looked.
Aaron checked the hallway again, still afraid that someone might be sneaking up on him. It was still as empty as before.
Kill Shot: A Remnant of the Commonwealth, Book Two Page 17
