Rage of the Assassin: (Assassin Series #6)

by Russell Blake

  The assassin hadn’t seen Dr. Hunt, but he’d quickly realized that it would be problematic taking her while she was in the hospital. Knocking her out wouldn’t be an issue – he knew dozens of ways to do so swiftly and silently – but transporting her from the facility would be a risky obstacle. The security might have been a joke, but even the worst guards might want to know where he was going with someone on a gurney.

  He’d decided to wait for her to end her shift and return to her vehicle, but was now getting impatient as his muscles twitched reminders of the toxin’s insidious progress. With another glance at her car, he opened his door and got out, intent on hastening her arrival.

  “Dr. Hunt?”

  “Yes?” Hunt gave the approaching nurse a weary smile.

  “We got a call from the parking garage. There’s something wrong with your car.”

  Hunt’s brow furrowed. “Wrong? What does that mean, wrong?”

  “I don’t know. The attendant just said that your alarm was going off.”

  Hunt made a notation on her clipboard and nodded. “Damn. Isn’t that always how it goes? Just when you’re making progress…”

  “What do you want to do?”

  Hunt sighed. “I think I better see what the fuss is about. Somebody might have hit it. Tell Sydney what happened and that I’ll be back shortly.” Dr. Sydney Grundwald was the director of clinical trials Hunt was partnering with.

  “Will do, Dr. Hunt,” the nurse said, hovering nearby as Hunt set her clipboard and pen on a rolling metal table near the ward window, beyond which lay a row of slumbering patients hooked to identical IV drips. Hunt shrugged out of her white physician’s garb and moved to the bank of ancient elevators, and waited patiently until one of the oversized steel slabs slid open with a chime. This section of the facility was deserted at the late hour, admissions having ended earlier along with visitations, and any urgent cases were being seen in the emergency room. She wasn’t surprised when the elevator had only one other passenger, an older staffer who nodded to her as he stepped out and disappeared around a corner.

  Hunt pressed the button for the parking level and eyed her watch. Still three more hours to go. She’d already been on for eight, but that’s what this kind of clinical trial demanded, and nobody was holding a gun to her head. She could have easily foisted her duties off on an underling and been at home watching a movie with her daughter, curled up with a good Chianti and some Chinese food, but she’d elected to run point, and the insane workload was the cost of her choice.

  The elevator creaked downward and she tapped her foot impatiently. She hated leaving Courtney on her own, but the critical phase of the trial was only for two days, and she’d grown up with Mom having to be at the hospital for long hours occasionally. It was easier now that her daughter was old enough to not need a babysitter, but Hunt still felt guilty about leaving her baby alone.

  The door opened and she stepped out, listening. Her alarm must have turned off by itself, which she supposed was good, because if something had damaged her vehicle, it would have still been howling. She moved to the car, her long legs covering the ground quickly. When she drew near, her stomach sank at the glitter of broken glass by the rear driver’s side tire. Someone had broken her back window.

  Hunt swore softly and was pulling her cell phone from her pocket when she sensed movement behind her. She tried to turn, but a hand like a vise clamped onto her neck, and a stab of pain shrieked up her spine before everything went black.

  El Rey caught the doctor as she dropped, the pressure point a sure bet from behind, and dragged her to his trunk. He popped it open with the remote and lowered her body into its confines, and after glancing around the deserted subterranean area, closed it and slid behind the wheel.

  At the street level, the attendant took his ticket and demanded five dollars, which the assassin was more than happy to pay. He pulled up the drive and turned onto the road, which was empty except for a utility truck parked on the right with its emergency lights flashing, and drove at a moderate pace, confident that the doctor would be out for at least fifteen minutes – five more than he’d need to get her to the garage he’d rented the prior week in anticipation of CISEN betraying him.

  When he arrived, he raised the roll-up door and drove inside, taking care to lower and lock it behind him. He hoisted the doctor from the trunk and sat her on a chair that had been the only furnishing to come with the monthly workspace, and quickly bound her wrists and ankles so when she came to, she’d understand the situation.

  He didn’t have to wait long. Her eyes fluttered open and she took in the dark, bare brick walls and the exposed pipes running along the high ceiling before her gaze settled on him. She struggled against her bindings, but stopped when she saw his expression.

  “What is this?” she demanded, her voice surprisingly strong given the circumstances.

  “This is my way of introducing myself and getting information I need as expediently as possible, Dr. Hunt.”

  “Information,” she repeated. “I see. And who are you?”

  “A seeker of truth. That’s all you need to know. Now we’ll switch to me asking the questions, and you answering them.” He went through his description of what he would do if she was less than forthright, and she listened in silence until he was through.

  “Why are you doing this? What have I ever done to you?”

  “That remains to be seen. But the short answer is that I have limited time, and I require answers you may be reluctant to give.” He moved closer until he was standing in front of her. “Let’s begin with your work for Bloomington Industries. Specifically your classified projects.”

  “If you know about that, you know I’m not allowed to tell you anything.” Her eyes narrowed. “Is this some sort of misguided security vetting?”

  “I can assure you this is exactly what it seems. If you don’t answer my questions, I should also warn you that I am holding your beautiful daughter captive, and your willingness to cooperate will have a direct impact on her life expectancy.”

  Hunt’s eyes flashed fear and fire at him. “Oh, God…no. Tell me that’s a lie.”

  “Don’t worry. She hasn’t been hurt. She’s comfortable and safe, for the time being, but I can arrange for that to change if you aren’t completely honest with me. Do you understand?”

  Her voice caught as she spoke. “What kind of monster are you?”

  “The kind who needs answers. And whose patience is running exceedingly thin about now.”

  She exhaled disgustedly. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

  “You were designing special projects there, correct?”

  “If you know that, why ask?”

  “I’ll take that as a yes. Tell me about them.”

  “I was working with custom-designed agents tailored to the specifications of the client.”

  “The client. I see. Describe these agents.”

  “There were a number of them. Most acted on the central nervous system.”

  “Neurotoxins?”

  “Yes. Or rather, all sorts of agents. But if you’re after detail, I don’t carry around specifics in my head, like recipes. So if that’s what you’re shooting for, you’re wasting your time.”

  “Your clients were the government, were they not?”

  She nodded and winced at the lingering discomfort from his assault on the pressure point at the side of her neck. “You seem to know an awful lot about it. Why don’t you just cut to the chase? Ask me what you are really after.”

  “Dr. Hunt, you seem like a brave, intelligent woman, so before we continue, I’ll explain something to you, and perhaps you’ll understand why I’ve gone to these lengths. I was injected with a neurotoxin by the Mexican intelligence agency. That neurotoxin came from the CIA – one of your employer’s esteemed clients. Since then, every six months I’ve had to inject an antidote, but I was assured that after a full course I’d be fine. I never received the final dose. So I have nothing to lose, and while I�
�m not in the business of kidnapping children – or their parents, for that matter – this is a matter of life or death for me. So be very careful with your answer: does that sound like something you might have crafted for…your client?”

  Her face changed as realization spread through her. Hunt’s mouth made a silent O and she closed her eyes. “I…it could be. I was responsible for a team that developed a particularly ugly one that I signed on to take through the animal trial phase, but after I thought through its only possible use, I quit the project and refused to do any further work on it.” Her eyes opened and she fixed him with a pitying stare. “I’m so sorry if it got deployed.”

  “Describe how yours performed if no antidote was administered,” El Rey ordered.

  “It wasn’t mine, it was the group’s. But as I recall, there were a progression of symptoms, culminating in respiratory failure. Muscle spasms, twitching, dementia, fatigue, disorientation… and in the final stages, the victim would drown in their own fluids,” she said.

  “And what was the antidote course to clear the system?”

  “I…I can’t be sure, in a human. But the way it worked in the trial I participated in, there was a total of six injections, six months apart.”

  “Sounds like the same thing.”

  She shook her head. “But I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t they give you the final shot if they’ve given you all the rest?”

  “My usefulness is over. They’d been blackmailing me into performing assassinations for them, holding the injections over my head. So I did what I had to. But now they don’t want me walking around any longer. So no final shot, the problem goes away – drowns in my own fluids, as you know.”

  Her face changed as she grasped what he was after. “This is all about the final injection.”

  El Rey nodded. “Of course. What will you need to make the antidote?”

  She frowned. “That’s not how it works. It takes weeks, even if I could remember the composition exactly, which I can’t. You’d be long dead.” She hesitated. “But if they took it through development and deployed it, there would have to be a supply. And there’s only one place Bloomington keeps all their active projects.”

  “Where?”

  “In their pharma labs in Northern Virginia – at least that’s how it worked when I left them six years ago. It probably hasn’t changed. I haven’t heard about them expanding.”

  “How would I go about finding the antidote in a facility like that?”

  “The best way would be through their computer system – in their inventory management area. Assuming you could get inside, that would direct you to its location, if you understood their numbering and classification system.” She sighed. “You don’t stand a chance unless I help you get in. That’s not a trick of some kind on my part – it’s a statement of fact. The plant is guarded, but even if you somehow snuck by security, that’s not the biggest problem. It’s a huge facility, and you wouldn’t know where to look. I wouldn’t even be sure without accessing their database, assuming they’re still calling it by its working name.”

  “Which is?”

  “Doesn’t matter what the trial name was. It might be just a string of letters and numbers now that it’s a finished product – I’d have to see the list in order to narrow it down.”

  He edged nearer, a scowl creasing his face. She held his stare without flinching.

  “Look,” she continued, “you’d have to understand how their system functions to know where it’s stored, and if you haven’t worked with it, you’d never stand a chance. I’m not inventing this. I could guess, throw out a list of possible names, but it would be just that – a guess, which might do you no good.” She hesitated, and when she spoke again, her voice was stronger. “So that leaves us at an impasse. You need me alive and cooperating if you’re to survive, and your little interrogation won’t achieve what you require.”

  “Is that so? What if I think you’re lying?”

  “Right. I’m willing to risk my daughter’s life to…to what? Protect the secrets of a company I don’t work for anymore?” She gave him a withering stare. “I want to live. I want my daughter to live. Which means I’ll have to help you – I get that part. Without me, you won’t find it.”

  “Let’s say I believe you. I’d have to get into the plant, with you, correct? And you’d have to locate it in their system. How would you envision that working, exactly?”

  “I don’t know. But there’s no way I’ll help you unless you set Courtney free immediately. You can keep me prisoner, but my daughter walks.”

  El Rey shook his head. “That’s not going to happen. What I might be willing to do is let you both go once I have my shot. At that point I’d have no reason not to.”

  “No. You could kill us both once you have what you’re after.”

  “Why would I do that? What’s the logic?”

  “You kidnapped my daughter. There’s no logic that applies to the kind of man who would do that.”

  “Dr. Hunt, you’re smart. Think it through. I did what I needed to get your attention. I have it. If you’ll help me get the antidote, there’s zero reason I wouldn’t release you.”

  “What if I went to the police?”

  “Assuming I cared, which I don’t, you’d have to start with how you committed an act of treason, purportedly under duress, and got an enemy agent into a top-secret area. How do you think that would sit? Because I guarantee you that’s how they’ll view it. I’d be willing to bet they’d more interested in hanging you at that point than chasing me.” He shrugged. “Besides which, I’ll have vanished, so you’ll be the only one left to take down. Would you risk that? Maybe, but you’d be the one who’d have to be insane at that point.”

  “Why should I trust you?” she asked softly.

  “You don’t have any choice, do you?”

  She studied him. “Your eye is twitching. If you’re going to have a running chance, you better untie me, because you don’t have a lot of time. Have you been cramping?”

  “Some.”

  “Trembling?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dizziness?”

  “Comes and goes. Getting more frequent,” he admitted.

  “Confusion? Paranoia?”

  “That’s next.”

  “Then there’s only one option, and we both know it – release my daughter, and I’ll help.”

  He shook his head. “Out of the question. Help, and I’ll give my word you won’t be harmed. Neither one of you. That’s the best I can do. Now do you want to save yourself and Courtney, or do you want to play poker?”

  Hunt closed her eyes and El Rey watched a complex array of emotions play across her face. He could understand what she was going through – she wanted to save her daughter and herself, but she’d be committing a felony doing so, and would have to believe that the man who’d taken them hostage would release them once he had what he’d come for.

  Assuming they were even successful.

  “What if we can’t find it?” she asked.

  “Then we both lose.”

  “No. I need a guarantee you’ll still release me.”

  “Dr. Hunt, we’re wasting time I don’t have. I came into this prepared to do whatever it takes to get the antidote. I want you willing to do the same. If you want to see your daughter again, if you want her to have a shot at a long, happy life, you’ll stop trying to negotiate something and start trying to figure out how we’re going to pull this off. You’ve already heard my best offer.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  El Rey sighed. “Then I wind up cutting pieces off you until I’ve gotten at whatever’s in your head and I take my chances, because you’ll have left me with no choice. Your daughter will die in indescribable agony, and you will have made the decision to allow it. You could have saved both of you from a horrific fate, but chose not to.” He looked at his watch. “I’m done talking. What’s it going to be, Dr. Hunt?”

  Chapter 35

  Fou
r hours earlier, Mexico City, Mexico

  El Maquino spun at the sound of the intercom’s chime, alarmed at the intrusion. He thought rapidly and set down the drone he was carrying to move to the screen. He thumbed the camera to life and saw the faces of three of Aranas’s men, who he knew guarded his building and who’d successfully fended off the attack only minutes before.

  “Yes?”

  “Let us in. We need to get you out of here. Boss’s orders.”

  El Maquino nodded and shut the intercom off. He’d known what was coming when he’d seen the gun battle.

  Resisting the urge to go through his ritual with the light switches, he hurried downstairs and unlocked the door. The men pushed through and the leader gave him a hard look. “We’re running on borrowed time. The police will be here any moment. You need to leave.”

  “I’m almost ready,” El Maquino said, turning and making for the stairs.

  “You don’t understand. If they catch you–”

  “I have the building rigged with explosives. I need to finish arming them or the police will find everything. That can’t happen.”

  The leader and his men exchanged a look as the big man ascended the steps.

  “You have one minute. No more,” he called after El Maquino.

  Back in the loft, El Maquino worked quickly. He moved to his window and slid it open, and then returned to where he’d set down the drone and carried it to the aperture. He flipped a switch to activate it and smiled slightly when the motors engaged, and then it was off, flying away from the building.

  The other two drones took only moments to put into action, and then they too were following the invisible signal he’d programed them to target. Satisfied that he’d done all he could, he walked to his bedroom, grabbed his go bag, and crossed the floor to the intercom again. He flipped up a small panel, revealing a keypad, and pressed in a four-digit code. Craning his neck, he nodded to himself when a hiss sounded from the kitchen – gas had begun to flood the rooms, and when the mechanism he’d designed sensed sufficient density of the explosive fumes, his loft would cease to exist.