by P. R. Adams
I put a bullet into his gut. “I’m an assassin, Nigel.”
As he coiled into a ball, I wiped the pistol and my hands down with snow, then dug a handkerchief from Chambliss’s twitching body. I rubbed the weapon down vigorously, just to be sure no prints had somehow transferred. I took it back into the mansion and tossed it onto the piled dishes, then soaked it with detergent. After that, I pulled the oven out from the wall and yanked the gas line free, then returned to the den. I dragged everyone closer to the fireplace, made sure none of them were in any condition to go anywhere, then closed the back door behind me and headed out to the air limo.
Once I was airborne, I called Chan, whose crazy magenta eyes filled the display almost immediately.
“Where are you?” Chan asked.
“Cleaning up some loose ends. Is Ichi okay?”
“She’s here. Safe.”
“Good. I’m heading to the hospital in a bit.”
Chan’s brow wrinkled, as if there might actually be concern for me. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m sending you something now. See if you can make anything of it. User connection data to an orbital bank. Maybe it’s worth something, maybe it’s not.”
Chan shrugged but seemed a little more excited than normal. “Sure.”
“And I’m going to need your help on one more thing. That hospital. How do we empty it out?”
“Bomb threat.”
“Can you seal off an entire floor?”
“Elevators. Electronic doors. For a while.”
“Good. If Ichi’s up for it, I want her inside. Hidden. And I’ll want Danny’s drone up again. I want to know if any vehicles head in to the hospital instead of out once we do this.”
Chan tapped and swiped crazily. “Working on it. How long?”
I brought up a map. “Soon. Wait for my signal.”
Chan disconnected.
I had to assume they were close enough to the hospital to get into position.
The limo’s fans were a comforting drone with the doors sealed. I closed my eyes and relaxed, enjoying the new freedom I had. There was a strange liberation in being broke. There was an even stranger liberation in killing my tormentors.
Only Stovall remained.
I drifted in and out of sleep, thinking back to what I could recall of Ravi’s records. He was almost certainly competent with computer security. Unless the Agency had given back his connection credentials device—which seemed unlikely—then he either had the connections to steal or create one.
The whine of the fans grew louder. I sat up and looked outside. The limo was descending toward the hospital roof. I could almost make out a landing pad. I pulled the data device out and gave the go signal.
People trickled out of the hospital. The trickle turned into a flood. Wheelchairs, gurneys.
Chaos.
The landing pad lights turned off. I told the limo to land anyway.
When it set down, I hopped out, leaned into a heavy wind, and ran for the door to the stairwell. Noise boomed from below—people rushing and shouting as they headed for the exits.
I waited for the door to the ninth floor to open, let the crowd out, then headed in. One of Ravi’s people stood a few feet away, a big, burly woman with spiked white hair and a broad nose.
She stepped into my path, one hand ready to reach for her holstered weapon, the other pointing to the door. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you—”
I lunged at her, punched her in the solar plexus before she could draw, then chopped her in the throat, stunning her. I carried her to Weaver’s room and set her down outside the door. I drew the R60 and stepped inside.
Ravi stood at the window at the end of the room farthest from Weaver’s bed, inspecting what looked like a privacy panel covered in blue vinyl. I recognized it almost immediately: a bomb shield. They could put Weaver on a gurney and wrap her up with it.
I closed the door; Ravi turned. I could see the calculus in his eyes as he considered going for his gun.
“Don’t,” I said. “Call your team. The big, white-haired woman?”
His head rocked back, confused. “Sondra?”
“Send your people down one floor to check on her. Now.”
He tapped the data device built into his coat cuff. “Sondra reported suspicious activity on the eighth floor. All teams move into position. Report what you find.”
I keyed the data device to speaker. “Chan, in thirty seconds, lock the ninth floor down. Have Ichi wait one minute, then head up to the rooftop. There’s an air limo waiting.”
Ravi shifted; I shook my head and he froze.
Chan said, “Locked down. Ichi heading up.”
I held my free hand out. “Right hand on your head. Hand me your gun.”
He acted just fast enough not to piss me off. “You here to finish the job?”
I pocketed his gun and moved to Weaver’s bed, looked her over. Her vitals were solid. I glanced below. “If I were here to kill Weaver, you think you’d be talking to me right now? We’re taking her to safety.”
Ravi stepped closer.
“Uh-uh.”
“What are you looking for?”
“Why don’t you tell—”
A device was plugged into the power socket beneath the bed. Except there was no power socket there. I bent lower to get a better look.
A bomb. Simple, but good enough to blow the room up.
My data device vibrated. Chan’s voice came over the speaker again. “Stefan. Gotta see this. Check what I sent you.”
“I think I already have it figured out.” I reached under the bed and pulled the lead from the detonator. “Nice place to put a bomb—”
I glanced up in time to see Ravi turning, throwing something. Whatever it was crashed into my hand, spoiling any shot I had, then he was on me.
The punches came fast, found every tender spot on my face.
I shoved out with my free hand, knocking him back for a moment.
He kicked as I tried to get up, knocking my gun out of my hand and off the wall.
We both dove for it; he got there first. He pointed it at me.
It was my turn to freeze.
“How were you planning to do it without blowing yourself up?” I asked.
“You think I’m an idiot, Mendoza? There’s no bomb in this room. I swept it myself as soon as the bomb threat came in. We were only waiting on the secure med tech team to get her out of here.”
As he spoke, the door slowly opened behind him. Gillian stepped in quietly, gun aimed at his back.
I shook my head, “It’s okay, that gun won’t work—”
She fired, and Ravi stumbled forward, dropping my gun.
I caught him. “Gillian, no! I had his gun. That one’s keyed to my biometrics! He couldn’t have used it. I was safe!”
She picked my gun up, and in a quivering voice asked, “Is he dead?”
I set Ravi down slowly. His eyes tracked from me to the bomb, and realization settled in. His mouth worked, but only blood trickled out.
He was dying, and Gillian had killed him because of me. The poor kid. I looked up, hoping to apologize.
She had the gun leveled on my face.
Chapter 31
Looking down the barrel of the gun in Gillian’s steady hands brought the details of my surroundings out. The room lights were bright compared to the gray morning sky. Ravi’s blood was a sickly, subtle background aroma against the medicinal smell coming from Weaver’s bed. His gasping breaths were nearly drowned out by the kettle drum thumping in my chest. Without the strength to keep himself upright, his body was heavy.
More importantly, I could see the details of the gun and Ravi’s wound was clear evidence of what the special bullets could do to a human body.
I swallowed and tried for an even voice. “Gillian, I’m really sorry about all this. None of it’s your fault. There’s no need to panic. We can explain what happened. It was an accident.”
Ravi groaned so softly I doubt Gillia
n heard him. I lowered him to the floor.
She pointed at my chest. “Show me your holster.”
I lifted the coat with my left hand, exposing the empty holster. “Gillian, we can save his life.”
“Now take that gun out of your pocket. By the barrel. Slide it across the floor.” She tapped her right foot at the base of the wall.
I pulled Ravi’s gun from my pocket by the barrel and set it down, then slowly pushed it across so that it banked off the wall and against her foot. “Gillian, listen to me. There’s a bomb under your mother’s bed. I disabled it, but it was set to go off once the bed moved. It would’ve killed your mother and everyone around her, maybe you. You shouldn’t have come back here.”
“I had to come back.” Her lips turned up in a smile that was taunting and devilish. “It was part of the agreement when you didn’t come through.”
Shit. “You? You were Dong’s mole?”
“I prefer to think of it as me being the one pulling the strings.” Her eyes twinkled with a wild, malevolent gleam. “After seeing all the things my mother was willing to authorize the Agency to do, I figured why not use them for my own ends. Dong was one of their double agents inside the Chinese Security Services apparatus, and they had him doing so many interesting things. Like creating you. Once I had him, it was easy to bring the Chamber of Commerce into line. Leak that Senator Kelly Weaver was going to oppose the Metacorporate Initiative once she got into the White House, and they had every incentive to get behind her assassination.”
Metacorporate Initiative. The FTC thing? “Your own mother?”
“Oh, Stefan, please. My mother? She wasn’t there for me when I needed her as a kid. She’s just like every other rich fucker in the world, always worried about making her pile of cash bigger and bigger. A little kid like me was too much of a distraction and too demanding.”
Ravi’s eyes flickered, and he glanced at me, then glanced at the bomb. He pulled himself forward slightly.
I stood and glanced at the data device screen, still showing a thumbnail of the file Chan had sent. It looked like the photo Lyndsey had shown me of Dong in the Ming Dynasty the night before Maribel’s first assassination attempt. “You were the one.”
She moved the point of the gun up and down; I raised my hands. “I was the one what?”
“In the Ming Dynasty the night before the assassination. You met with Dong, didn’t you? Wiped out their security system imagery.”
Her brow knit for a second, and a hint of sanity seemed to slip into her eyes. “It was easy enough. The Agency hadn’t told me about the little practice run. I never did quite figure out what was going on with those androids until you told me it was some sort of test.”
“It’s always like that, Gillian. They’re always going to be doing things in the background. Secrets, lies, misdirection. They’ll kill you one day.”
The maniacal gleam returned. “I’ll always be two steps ahead of them.”
I pointed at my pocket. “Can I show you something?”
A cocked eyebrow, curious.
“My data device. An image you should see. I’ll put it on the end of the bed. No tricks.”
She pointed at the end of the bed. “That wasn’t a lucky shot. I convinced Ravi to let me qualify with this gun. I can blow your heart out.”
I kept my right hand raised and pulled the data device out with my left, then opened the image file. The image showed her and Dong sitting in the Ming Dynasty booth, clear as if they were right in the room with us. Chan had come through, and I had missed it. I had been too wrapped up in suspecting Ravi.
I set the device on the far end of the bed and stepped back from it, partially blocking Ravi from her sight.
Gillian glanced at the data device screen. Her calm evaporated. She snatched the device from the bed. “Where did you get this?”
“One of my associates. Gillian, Dong and his associates ordered me to kill you.”
Her hands shook for a second, and then she threw the data device against the window that stretched along the east-facing wall; the plastic bounced off the reinforced glass with a thunk and fell to the floor. Then she calmed and the cold smile returned. “Without evidence to connect everything, it’s meaningless data. I’m assuming you killed Dong, or you wouldn’t be here.”
“That’s a safe bet. Chambliss, too. After he sent you here to set up the bomb.”
She shrugged. “That makes you the only loose end.”
I heard movement to my left, glanced over. Weaver’s eyes fluttered open. She looked around, disoriented, and whispered in a raspy voice that was barely discernible through the oxygen mask, “Gillian?”
Gillian growled, then put a round through Weaver’s chest. It happened too fast for me to act. The gun was back on me before I even realized what had happened. Weaver jerked, and then she coughed blood into her oxygen mask. Her hand raised up, then dropped to the blanket covering her chest, where blood slowly darkened the fabric. The life sign monitors showed erratic vitals. Her disorientation became anger, then mortification. She relaxed, and the life sign monitors alarmed.
Gillian brushed a tear away. “All right, that alters things. I’m all out of time, and so are you, unfortunately.”
“We can still work something out.”
“Like what? Don’t you see how this works now? I’m the sympathetic survivor of an Agency gone rogue, the hapless and loving daughter of a popular senator who had just started a campaign for president, a campaign that was going to bring about real change. I should know, right? I was the architect of that campaign. Who better to fill her seat temporarily? Who better to lead the charge to break down this machinery that’s made the Agency what it’s become? And then after a full term, I run for president. I bring about the change my loving mother would have. No connection to all the dirty money. No connection to all the crime and corruption.” The mad twinkle was there again.
She’d planned it all along—the sympathy play, the reluctant assassin. Had she known about the Agency’s assassins? Probably. I shuddered, suddenly feeling more used than user. “They won’t let you take her seat. If we could get that image, they’ll get it, too.”
“Tyler screwed up. I won’t. I’ll wipe out every copy.”
Tyler. The big-eared guy? Ravi’s number one? “Were you fucking Tyler, too?”
That surprised her enough to earn a recoil and a blink, then the stone-cold smile came back. “Two steps ahead, Stefan.”
“Sloppy, actually. Blackmail, assassination—they’ll get you somehow.”
“Not me. I know the game.” She waved the gun toward the window at the far end of the room, near the bomb shield. “Move Ravi over there. Stay where I can see you.”
I squatted over Ravi. He was dead. He had died trying to pull the bomb free, but had only managed to stretch the triggering wire taut. I was out of sight. I could re-arm the bomb easily enough, but the slightest bump against the bed would cause a detonation. “What’s your plan? Shoot me? Say you found us this way?” I reached under the bed, pushed the bomb as far back as it would go without tearing the triggering wire out, inserted the lead back in, then carefully pulled my hand free.
“Close. I think I’ll go with you shooting my mother, then you and Ravi shooting each other. There’s a certain poetry to that. The symmetry really appeals to me. And I don’t have a need for the bomb anymore. Put it on your corpse, and I’m the heroine.”
I cautiously pulled Ravi up in front of me and backed up to the window.
Gillian hurried to the bedside, hopping over the bloody smear Ravi had left. “You ever regret all the terrible things you did for the Agency, Stefan? All the killing and destruction. All in the name of—what? You’re not even a patriot.” She squinted so that her pretty emerald eyes were barely visible. “Dong said the only thing you were loyal to was the Agency. That’s just so sad.”
“I wasn’t loyal to the Agency, but that’s something you would only understand if you went through what I went through.”
“So, what? Money? Is that all you cared about?”
“I cared about being free. Taking away their ability to make me do the things you supposedly find terrible. Hard to believe you really feel that way with all the corpses you’ve left behind.” I squeezed Ravi tighter against my chest and edged behind the outer panel of the bomb shield as she ducked beneath the bed. “But all you care about is the money and power you’re in line to inherit, right?”
Her head came up over the bed, and she aimed the gun at me. “I can kill you now, Stefan.” Her face wrinkled from the strain of stretching, then a satisfied smile appeared.
I saw the light and felt the pressure before the heat.
The blast blew out the window at the same time it launched me through. Ravi and the bomb shield took the worst of it. And my arms. But it was a fairly small blast, meant to kill those closest to the bed. It was something the human parts of me could survive.
But the fall…
Chapter 32
Falling was surprisingly peaceful. My eyes were offline, the world gone black. Icy rain pelted me and no doubt smothered the flames that had found purchase on my clothes. My ears rang from the explosion pressure, so I couldn’t really hear the air whistling past as I fell. I was aware of the stench of singed flesh and burning hair—Ravi’s, not mine—and the metallic taste of blood. That was mine by the feel of my lips: numb, puffy.
Time passed, but it felt stretched and knocked wildly askew. Having your feet and back against nothing—feeling nothing but a corpse pulled tight like a lover—played tricks with my mind, especially without visual reference.
I tumbled through the crazy world of my Korean dungeon. Razor claws that shredded flesh from just-stitched stumps. Iron bars that cracked bone. Tears that could no more be shed than surrender or pleas for merciful death given voice.
Dong’s words echoed in my private darkness. “Who do you work for?”
The darkness was long strands of black hair, wrapping around me like a python. Choking the life out of me. Snapping bone. Strangling.
“Who do you work for?”
My world slipping away. My freedom. I couldn’t scream despite the pain and fury.
