[Tanner 16.0] To Kill a Killer

by Remington Kane

  As she sat in the lobby and watched tourists and business people come and go, Sara realized that she had only one course of action. She would return to their hotel and wait for Tanner to make contact. If he had walked into a trap, Tanner would assume she had done the same and wonder if she survived it or was forced to give up everything she knew. In any event, he would only make contact in person and resort to calling her if he had to. That was the protocol they had agreed on while planning Kalah’s assassination.

  Not once did Sara think Tanner wouldn’t survive the trap set for him, no matter how tight a trap it was. No, Tanner would triumph, the other members of the bodyguards would be dead, and Malek Kalah would be one more successful hit.

  Sara walked outside and hailed another cab to take her back to her hotel. When doubt about Tanner’s survival tried to creep into her consciousness, she pushed it away. Tanner wasn’t dead. The man was damn near indestructible. No one knew that better than she did.

  If she could kill Kurt and that other man, then Tanner would easily defeat the odds against him. Sara sat back in her seat, and as the cab drove along she marveled at the twin emotions energizing her.

  She had absolute faith she would see Tanner again, while being scared to death that he was injured, or worse. Then, a third emotion surfaced. It was hate, and it was directed at Maurice Scallato.

  The Sicilian was the cause of all of this because he couldn’t be satisfied with knowing he might not be the best assassin in the world. To prove himself, he targeted his own kind and often killed without warning.

  Killing Malek Kalah was just a stepping stone toward reaching Scallato, and she and Tanner were only facing danger because of him. Scallato had to die, and he would learn a lesson that many men before him had learned the hard way.

  Quite simply, Tanner was death.

  On the day he decided to go after Tanner, Scallato should have just placed his gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. In the end, the result would be the same.

  The cab driver spoke up from the front seat. He was an older man with a pleasant face who spoke German with a French accent.

  “That’s some smile you have there, Fräulein.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Whenever my daughters smile that way, it means they’re thinking about a man.”

  “You’re very perceptive.”

  “Not really; I just have five daughters. This man of yours, is it serious?”

  “We, um… in a way, we’re just beginning.”

  “In that case, I advise you to take things slow. There are more frogs than princes out there these days.”

  Sara gave a little laugh.

  “I once thought he was lower than a dog, but I was wrong.”

  “Oh, now that sounds like there’s a story there.”

  “Enough to fill a book,” Sara said.

  They reached her hotel just seconds later and Sara left the cab after giving the man a generous tip. She then took a seat inside the lobby where Tanner would spot her upon his return.

  And he would return. Sara was certain of it.

  13

  No Room Is Safe Enough

  Tanner rammed his shoulder into the steel entrance door of Malek Kalah’s townhouse, then dived to the floor even as he let off several rounds. Two of his hurried shots tore into the throat of the man standing in the hallway. Tanner didn’t know if he’d struck the man or not but assumed that the endless hours of training had borne fruit.

  Given the panicked grunts he heard coming from behind him, Tanner guessed that he had done some damage to the man. That was good, because he had turned his back on him and was already flipping over to fire at the two behind the door.

  Tanner’s position on the entryway floor had caused the men to be in a crossfire position with their wounded companion. That created hesitation for just an instant as they adjusted their aim. Tanner used that precious time to fire first. He aimed at the jumble of legs he saw as the two men were crowded together between the door and a bookcase. Duel screams rewarded his efforts and Tanner rolled to his left and fired again.

  He was aiming for their heads and legs. If they had time to set up an ambush, they had time to don bulletproof vests.

  One man fell to the floor with a pair of bloody kneecaps. He was the same man who had kicked Tanner while Tanner was dressed like a bum. The second man attempted to escape through the open doorway. His wounded calf slowed the man’s efforts and Tanner shot him in the head.

  As Tanner rolled away once more, bullets ricocheted off the spot he had just left. Tanner had been reloading as he rolled, and as he came to a stop, he fired twice into the face of the man with the wounded kneecaps. That the man had the presence of mind to defend himself was impressive. The pain in his knees must have been monumental. That pain was over now, as Tanner’s shots took off half his head.

  After rolling once more and turning around, Tanner took aim at the first man he’d shot. There was no need to shoot him again. The man was seconds away from bleeding out from the wounds to his throat and his gun had skittered away when he dropped it.

  Only several seconds had passed since Tanner stepped through the door, and the security team was either dead or dying. The carnage had been so swift and lethal that the cigar Tanner had dropped upon entering had yet to come to a rest. It was still rolling across the white marble floor of the entryway.

  As he stood, movement from the corner of his eye caught Tanner’s attention. It was Malek Kalah, and he was holding a shotgun as he peeked around a corner.

  “Did you get the bastard, Kurt?”

  A small smile crept onto Tanner’s lips. The disguise of the homeless man had done him no good, and the guards had been expecting him. However, they must have neglected to inform Kalah of the ruse he was playing.

  Tanner was still dressed like one of the bodyguards. Also, thanks to the tightness of the elastic holding it in place, the blond wig had stayed on.

  “He’s dead,” Tanner said in a voice that was a spot-on impression of Kurt. “And you won’t believe who it is. Come look.”

  Kalah was at the other end of a hallway. He took three steps in Tanner’s direction, but then halted. The terrorist had grown up on the streets of Brixton, a crime-infested section of London. He had thrived there and ran his own gang. He had survived that environment by listening to his instincts, and his instincts were screaming at him to run to the safe room and lock the door.

  “Kurt, turn around and look at me… Kurt.”

  When Tanner realized that Kalah had grown hesitant to come closer, he knew he had lost him, but when Kalah asked him to turn and face him, Tanner dropped to the floor. Kalah’s shotgun boomed and steel pellets went screaming inches over Tanner’s head.

  Tanner returned fire as he jumped to his feet and saw that Kalah was already backing up toward the doorway. One of Tanner’s hurried shots hit the door frame. It sent bits of wood splinters into Kalah’s cheek, while Kalah’s second shot shredded the wall on Tanner’s left. Once around the corner, Kalah tossed aside the shotgun and ran full out toward the safe room.

  Tanner heard the beep of an electronic keypad and the whoosh of a sealed door flying open. Tanner came around the corner firing at the spot where he’d thought the sounds had come from and heard another electronic beep, one louder than the others.

  Kalah had made it inside the safe room and hit the button which would close the door. Kalah’s smile was wide as the door reversed, knowing that he was moments away from escaping death. Tanner fired a shot at the keypad outside the door. It blew apart the device, however, that had no effect on the door. Although Kalah was out of sight, Tanner stepped to the left, bent his knees slightly, then emptied his gun at the sliver of steel wall he could see. Afterward, the door shut and sealed itself with the finality of a bank vault, placing Kalah out of reach.

  Tanner made one attempt to open the door, then turned to find a rear exit from the building. Once outside, he was startled by how close the sound of sirens seemed and wondered
if the police weren’t already out front.

  He used a drain pipe along with toe holds in a brick wall to climb onto a nearby roof and was on the other side of the block in less than a minute.

  At the rear of a restaurant, he started a fire in a dumpster that would consume the wig and the tan jacket. His slacks were splattered with the blood of his enemies, but the dark fabric hid the fact well.

  Once on the street, Tanner bought a newspaper and tucked it under his arm. He also bought a bottle of beer. When he passed a store selling colorful clothes with the logo of The German National Football Team, he bought a cap and a T-shirt and put them on.

  Seconds later, a police car drove by slowly. Tanner looked up from the sports page he was reading to find that the cops were looking at him. He took a sip from his bottle of beer and sent the cops a puzzled look.

  The cop in the passenger seat shook his head and pointed across the street, where two men wearing leather jackets were walking along briskly. Tanner stayed on his course while the cops got out to talk to the two men. As soon as he made it around the corner, Tanner hurried his stride until he was back on the main drag. Once there, he hailed a taxi.

  As Sara had done, he had the car drop him away from his hotel. After getting out of the cab, Tanner walked a block and hailed a second taxi.

  Ten minutes later, he was exiting the taxi two blocks from his hotel and began walking toward it.

  Tanner spotted Sara sitting alone inside the lobby. The sheer joy he felt at seeing she was alive and well surprised him and he found that he had trouble wiping the smile off his lips. He walked about the area for several minutes while looking for any sign that the hotel was being watched. When he found none, he used his room key to access the side door that led to a parking area, then, he approached Sara from behind.

  “If we’re being watched, run for the stairwell on the left.”

  Sara leapt up at the sound of his voice. Her smile matched the one that had been on his lips minutes earlier, and which reappeared as she went to him and hugged him.

  “I knew you’d be all right.”

  “What about Kurt?”

  Sara rested her head on Tanner’s chest.

  “He’s dead, and there was a fifth bodyguard, a floater that stayed out of sight.”

  Without thinking about it, Tanner stroked Sara’s hair, then, he laid a gentle kiss on her forehead.

  “Thank God you’re as deadly as you are beautiful. I… I was worried.”

  Sara raised her head from Tanner’s chest and they stared at each other, while still locked in an embrace. Whatever the moment might have led to, it was shattered by a buzzing sound, along with a vibration that they both felt. Sara separated herself from Tanner and removed a phone from her front pocket.

  “It’s a text from Jacques Durand. He wants to meet us as soon as possible.”

  “I can guess what the topic of conversation will be. Give him the location of one of the meeting sites we scoped out and tell him we’ll meet in an hour. I need to shower and change clothes.”

  The phone buzzed again with another text.

  “He wants to know if Kalah is dead,” Sara whispered, as people passed within feet of them inside the busy hotel lobby.

  Tanner adjusted the ball cap lower, then nodded.

  “Kalah is dead and the contract is fulfilled. Tell Durand I expect to receive the information he has on Scallato’s whereabouts.”

  Sara typed, and Durand’s reply came quickly.

  “The meet is on in one hour,” Sara said.

  Tanner reached out and caressed her cheek.

  “Maybe we should have made him wait until morning.”

  Sara hugged him again, then looked up into his eyes.

  “I want all this behind us before we move forward. Can you understand that?”

  “I can. Wondering if Scallato was sneaking up on us wouldn’t exactly be an aphrodisiac.”

  Sara laughed, then, they walked over to step onto an arriving elevator, which they had to themselves.

  “Tanner.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I was worried about you too, even though I knew I didn’t have to be.”

  “It’s nice to know you care,” Tanner said, as the elevator doors slammed shut.

  14

  Why Do They Always Assume It’s Luck?

  Tanner and Sara entered the bar, saw the angry expression on Jacques Durand’s face, and wondered what had caused it.

  Durand’s expression softened as he greeted Sara, but it hardened again as he stared at Tanner. A waiter appeared and took their drink orders before anyone could speak about why they were there. Once the man left the table, Durand spoke to Tanner through teeth gritted in anger.

  “You are a liar.”

  Tanner’s face was impassive as he replied to Durand.

  “What is this lie you think I’ve told.”

  “Malek Kalah is alive and has himself locked inside that damn safe room of his. Once the Germans free him he’ll flee somewhere, and it may be years until he surfaces again.”

  “Malek Kalah is dead.”

  “You saw him die?”

  “No, but I sent a series of rounds into the steel wall of that safe room. My angle was perfect and at least one of the ricocheting rounds would have hit him in the head, likely more than one.”

  Durand sat back in his seat and composed himself. When he spoke again, there was no anger in his tone.

  “You’re telling me you think one of your wild shots may have killed Kalah with a lucky ricochet?”

  “My shots weren’t wild. They were precisely angled to rebound toward Kalah’s position. I’m not a two-bit hit man, Durand. I am a highly-trained professional killer and I’ve practiced such shots for more hours than most men spend on normal shooting. Call it a trick shot if you’d like, but there was no luck involved. It was skill.”

  Durand’s phone was lying atop the table, it buzzed just as the drinks arrived. Once the waiter was gone, Durand answered the call. Whoever was calling did most of the talking, and Durand ended the call and stared at Tanner.

  “My people say that agents of the German Federal Intelligence Service opened the safe and found Kalah dead. He had three head wounds and another round ripped open his throat.”

  “As I said earlier, Kalah is dead.”

  “I think you owe Tanner an apology, Jacques,” Sara said.

  “I think I do not, not for a string of lucky shots.”

  Tanner held out a hand.

  “You do owe me information.”

  Durand took a gulp from his glass before reaching into an inside pocket. When his hand came out, it held only a folded sheet of paper.

  The paper contained the name of a nursing home in Genoa, Italy, along with the name of one of its patients, Mario Rossi.

  “Mario Rossi is Carlo Scallato?”

  “Yes, he is Maurice’s father. Camp out at that nursing home and eventually Maurice will show up for a visit.”

  Tanner smirked at the sheet of paper.

  “Mario Rossi? Scallato isn’t very creative when it comes to picking an alias. Mario Rossi is the Italian equivalent of John Smith.”

  “Perhaps, but that is the name he is there under. You’ll find a file in the draft folder of the email account we agreed to use. That will supply you with photos of the facility and other pertinent information. And now, our deal is complete.”

  Tanner asked Durand for a pen. When the Frenchman produced one, Tanner scribbled three random sentences atop each other and the words already on the paper, making the original information unreadable. He then shredded it.

  Durand emptied his drink and sent Sara a sad smile.

  “Do yourself a favor, Sara, and leave Tanner. His tricks won’t help him once Scallato decides to eliminate him.”

  “Scallato is the one who will be eliminated, Jacques.”

  “As you say, but if you ever find yourself on the run, call me. I will offer you shelter.”

  “Thank you, but that wo
n’t be necessary.”

  Durand kissed her hand and then sent a glare and a grunt toward Tanner. He then left the bar.

  “That shelter he offered you, I would bet it involves sharing his bed.”

  Sara grinned. “That sounded like jealousy.”

  “It wasn’t, but Durand is jealous and believes we’re sleeping together.”

  Tanner stood with his glass in his hand and gestured for Sara to follow him to a different table on the other side of the bar.

  “Why did we move?”

  “I’m testing a theory. I’m guessing that Durand is having us watched.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “He’s willing to sell out Scallato for the price of a hit, perhaps he’ll attempt to do the same with me.”

  Sara looked skeptical, but she sat and watched as people entered the bar. Without exception, their eyes would be drawn to the bar’s hostess. A middle-age woman with a wide smile. No one looked about as if they were searching for them.

  After some time had passed, Sara made a comment.

  “No one seems to be paying us any attention. Maybe Durand can be trusted.”

  “Maybe, but Durand also knows where we’re headed, since he gave us the address of that nursing home.”

  “You’re thinking it’s a trap?”

  “I’m not sure, but I will be checking it out before I set foot in there.”

  “If it’s not a trap, we could be on the verge of tracking down Scallato, and I can’t wait to see you whack that asshole.”

  Tanner raised an eyebrow.

  “Whack?”

  “I’m from New York City; we sometimes say things like that.”

  “Youse do, don’t youse?” Tanner said.

  Sara stood and grabbed her purse.

  “Let’s go back to our hotel; I want to soak in a tub and then I need some sleep.”

  “Sleep sounds like a good idea, but keep an eye out for cops. I doubt the police could track us down, but there’s always the chance that Durand sold us out.”

  “You really don’t trust him, do you?”