Subtle Target: Six Assassins Book 2

by Heskett, Jim

  “So you’ve been selling those pills and recording the deals in those notebooks?”

  “Are you police?”

  “Come on, Roland, you know I’m not a cop. But, for your sake, maybe it would be better if I was a cop. Cops have rules they have to follow when questioning someone. I don’t have any rules.”

  “What are you going to do to me?”

  “That’s still up to you, Roland. You’ve been brimming over with bullshit so far. But, there’s a chance you could turn this around and tell me what I want to know.”

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out her gold DAC token, which she held up. This did get a reaction from him. His eyebrows raised, but only a little. Quickly, he pointed his gaze back to an imaginary spot on the wall and pushed breath in and out of his nose.

  "You know what this is, don't you? I couldn't help but notice when I patted you down that you don't have one. That means you're a recruit, or maybe not affiliated with the Club at all. I'm guessing you're a hired hand, but maybe you've been promised that someday, you'll get to become a recruit and eventually be a real assassin like your boss. Right? Who do you work for?"

  He shook his head. “No one. I don’t work for anyone.”

  “Why did you kill Shane the cook?”

  “I… I don’t know. He made me mad.”

  “But I thought he was your friend.”

  "He was. But he made me mad, so I killed him. Only me."

  “You know I don’t buy that. Who told you to fake his suicide, then collect his body and cut it up into little pieces?”

  “Nobody did.”

  “Your boss poisoned over a dozen people two days ago. Two of them died. They were good people and had nothing to do with this trial by combat.”

  Roland broke character as his face pulled into a frown. “I’m sorry about your friends.”

  "What's your boss's name? Which Branch? Is it Parker?"

  His lip quivered again. “I can’t tell you anything else. Please don’t shoot me.”

  “What is your boss going to do next? More poison? A bombing?”

  The sad look disappeared as he squared his jaw and stared forward.

  Ember sighed as she stood and rolled her shoulders a few times. She had now come to the same conclusion she’d expected: that talking was going to get her nowhere. This simple man had a strict code he was obligated to follow, and no amount of threat or reason would make him break it. He was like a computer who couldn’t go against his programming.

  If asked, Fagan would tell Ember to hog-tie him with duct tape and then find a pair of pliers and go to work on his fingernails. Every single person in the world had a point where they would crack. It was inevitable.

  But, Ember didn't think she could do that to Roland. Something about him seemed innocent. He wasn't, obviously, but she figured he had been coerced. Whoever was actually calling the shots had Roland in their back pocket, and he didn't deserve torture because of it. Plus, torture wasn't her style. She left that to her colleagues who had lesser-developed consciences.

  But looking at him, she knew that there might not be another way to get him to talk.

  She considered her options, not loving any of the ones that came to mind. Then, as she stared down at him, a better idea came to mind.

  Chapter Nineteen

  EMBER

  Ember started up her car as soon as Roland’s beat-up truck left the parking lot outside the apartment. She let him reach the end of the street before she pulled out into traffic. Tailing someone wasn’t her forte, but she’d done it a few times.

  Roland entered the southbound I-25 ramp, headed toward the Tech Center area of Denver. Ember kept at least one car between them at all times. Also, she had put a black bandanna around her head to keep her hair hidden. It probably wouldn’t have mattered, though, because she didn’t see Roland look at his rearview mirror once.

  This guy knew none of the tricks of counter-surveillance; he didn’t drive fast in the slow lane, or slow in the fast lane, or exit then quickly rejoin the highway to spot a tail.

  He spent most of the ride on the phone. Ember wished she’d had the time to bug his car. But, all of this was improvised. After deciding against trying to force information out of Roland, the next logical course was to let the guy loose and see where he would go.

  He’d only spent five minutes in his apartment before he left. And Ember had a feeling where he was involuntarily leading her. Right to his boss. He was stubborn and loyal, but she also knew he wasn’t all too smart.

  Ember's phone chirped, and she glanced over to the passenger seat. Usually, she would ignore it, but her mentor was calling. She leaned over to scoop up her phone.

  “Hello?”

  “What are you doing?” Fagan asked.

  "I'm in a high-speed chase on I-25 like a spy in an action movie."

  “What? Really?”

  "No, not really. It's a very tame high-speed chase. I've got a guy who I think is going to lead me right to the person who poisoned the Branch. It's a high likelihood. I don't have too many details yet, but I'm working on it. I'll give you a full report once I know if this is going to pan out or not."

  “Understood. I wanted to call you about something else. Hank and Sarah. There’s going to be a funeral service for them tomorrow in Boulder, but I don’t think you should come.”

  Ember bit her lower lip as Roland changed lanes ahead, and she checked her side mirror so she could follow suit. "That sucks. I get it, but it still sucks."

  “We will have eyes and ears all over the place looking for anyone who doesn’t belong. After the service, we’re going to bury them at the little cemetery off Iris. When all this is over, you should pay them a visit.”

  Ember thought about Hank, someone she hadn’t known well. Quiet, unassuming, but Ember had once noticed he’d had at least four holes for piercings in each ear. Scars left from a wild youth, perhaps. He was relatively new to the Boulder Branch, and Sarah had been his mentor. Many thought they were dating, but there hadn’t been anything made public to the Branch about it.

  They had been right next to each other in line at the brunch two days ago. They must have both dipped the ladle into the same section of potato salad with the highest concentration of poison.

  “I will. I’ll visit their graves when I can. Is Gabe okay?”

  “He’s much improved. He wants to talk to you.”

  “Roger that. Thanks for calling me, Fagan.”

  "Good luck with your high-speed chase. If you find out who did this to us, make sure you send a message. We don't tolerate this kind of brutality."

  “Yeah. Don’t worry about that. I know how to send a message.”

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, Ember watched Roland switch over to E-470 toward the city of Parker. Interesting.

  If he was meeting with someone from Parker Branch as Ember had suspected, that opened up a wealth of complications. Not only was Parker secretive, so Ember knew almost none of their members, but they also had a unique Branch rule about Dark assassins. Dark members were members in name only and were on no official register. They were recorded in the Branch by number. They still obliged by the rules of the DAC and were token-carrying members having passed the Club membership test. But they were like ghosts. Difficult to expose.

  They claimed it was because many of them had infiltrated law enforcement or political positions to gain influence in the community, but that explanation was impossible to verify. Maybe President Wellner and his Review Board knew it to be true, but it wasn’t shared with the rest of the DAC.

  Roland did exit in Parker, and he piloted his car to a neighborhood not far from the highway. Rows of nearly identical houses, each one more identical than the last. And, they all seemed to shop at the same lawn decoration stores, as well. There was one house with Tibetan prayer flags in the windows. Ember guessed they were the black sheep on the block.

  Roland pulled up in front of a two-story home, shiny and new. Perfectly man
icured lawn out front. All it lacked was the white picket fence. He sat in the car, head down, eyes closed, lips moving. Probably rehearsing his act of contrition to his boss.

  Ember drove past until the street turned at a cul de sac. She pulled in front of another car and positioned herself so she could still see the action, but they would have a hard time spotting her. She readjusted the rearview mirror to get a look at the front of the house. Reclined seat, bandanna pulled down low on her forehead.

  Roland walked up to the front door and it burst open. A small boy—three or four years old—rushed out and threw his toothpick arms around the much larger man. Two more people stood in the doorway: a fortyish man who looked like the boy's beaming father, and a plump woman with short, permed hair and an apron with a crawdad on it. Excluding Roland, this was the most suburban family Ember had ever seen. The mom did know how to dress well for her figure, though.

  Ember squinted at the fortyish man. He had a potbelly and wore house shoes. He sure didn't look like an assassin.

  Then, the little boy and his father went back inside the house as the woman escorted Roland down to the sidewalk. She slapped a pudgy hand around his wrist, practically dragging him.

  “Her?” Ember muttered. “This soccer mom is my assassin?”

  It seemed unlikely. But, as they talked, Ember could see the anger rising in the lines of the woman’s face. Roland looked apologetic, probably explaining how Ember had caught up with him and all the mistakes he’d made. In a little more than twenty-four hours, he sure had made a lot of mistakes. Enough to probably get him killed, depending on how far this woman’s anger went.

  Ember took out her phone and snapped several pictures of the woman. She had a code against killing people with young children, but in this case, it might not count. The woman was coming after Ember, so the rules didn’t apply. Still, Ember didn’t feel good about taking away a little boy’s mother.

  After a few minutes, they parted, and Roland slid into his car and took off. The woman watched him drive away, then she smoothed her hair and flexed her hands several times. She practiced smiling for a full minute before she turned around and headed back inside her home.

  Ember cleared her throat and placed a phone call.

  “Hello?” said a shaky voice.

  “Gabe? It’s me.”

  “Hey, Ember. It’s good to hear from you.”

  “It’s nice to hear your voice, too. Fagan told me you were feeling better.”

  “Yeah. Not a hundred percent, but I’m getting there. Little nausea, little stomach ache, but I’ll be alright. I’m glad you called. I need something to do.”

  "Perfect. I have a job for you if you're up for it. It's just internet research, nothing out in the field."

  Gabe coughed a couple of times. "Sure. I can do it."

  “I’m serious. If you need to rest, I can find another way.”

  “Thanks, but I’d prefer to stay busy. Let me have it.”

  “Understood,” Ember said as she held her phone out to send the pics of the woman to Gabe. “This is priority number one. Finding out who this woman is.”

  After a pause, Gabe said, “Got it. What are you looking into this civilian for?”

  “Not a civilian. I’m pretty sure this is the woman who poisoned you and killed two of our Branch members. This is the woman out to kill me this week.”

  Chapter Twenty

  LYDIA

  Lydia opened the front door to see Roland standing there. For a second, he stared, eyes wide, no words coming out. She could see the fear in his trembling upper lip. Dread struck her. A thousand terrible possibilities occurred to her. That he had been pulled over for speeding with Shane the cook in his trunk was the worst, but he didn’t have handcuffs dangling from his wrist. No, that hadn’t happened. Much more likely, he had said the wrong thing to the wrong person. Roland didn’t know the art of discretion as well as she wanted him to.

  She tried to give him simple tasks. Straightforward and direct things, because he had a tendency to get muddled when given complex directions. With a checklist, he did well. But, when asked to improvise or take initiative, Roland failed. Lydia had learned many valuable lessons about managing people from her time with Roland.

  Before she could say a word, her son ran outside and threw her arms around Roland’s leg. “Uncle Roley! You’re here!”

  He dropped down to one knee and gave the boy a tight hug. Those two were as thick as thieves and had been since her son could speak.

  “Afternoon, buddy,” her husband said, hovering behind her. He smiled at Roland, someone who had become a fixture at their house over the last few years. She would never let him hang around for beers after dinner because of his tendency to say the wrong thing, but he did come over for meals at times.

  No one had any reason to be suspicious. She had told her husband something close to the truth about their relationship. Roland worked for her as an assistant. She had lied about her line of work, but the rest of the details were more or less true.

  Lydia put a hand on her son’s shoulder and ushered him inside. She whispered something to her husband about needing to speak to Roland, and her man offered him a handshake.

  Roland accepted, trying to smile, but he clearly wasn’t okay. She’d seen him flustered before — the man was quite simple, really, and didn’t understand many things. But she’d never seen him actually affected.

  He seemed scared, hesitant. Like he was going to try to back out of their arrangement.

  Jesus Christ, she thought. What did that bitch do to you?

  A moment later, she and Roland were alone.

  “It’s not my fault,” he said, and she raised a hand to silence him. She ushered him out to the sidewalk. Given the afternoon chill, there were no windows open, but she didn’t trust Roland to keep his voice down. He grimaced at how hard she clenched his wrist as they scurried away from the house, but Lydia didn’t worry about that.

  Once they were far enough away, she squared up to him. “What happened?”

  “The lady found me.”

  “Ember? The tall white girl with the black hair? What do you mean when you say she found you?”

  He nodded. "She found me when I was doing what you said. I had Shane in little bags, and I was going to put him in the bathtub with the… chemical stuff. Just like you said. I was all ready to do all of it, and I had all the instructions written down…"

  “And?”

  "And she found me. She kicked the door down, and it bumped my head, and then she made me get down on the ground and put my hands above my head. She was loud, but she didn't yell, which made it more serious, for some reason. I don't know why."

  He was nervous, talking fast, trying to placate her.

  Lydia focused on remaining calm. “What did you tell her?”

  He gave her a vehement shake of the head. “Nothing! I didn’t tell her nothing. She even held a gun to my head, but I didn’t get scared. I did really good, Lydia. You woulda been so proud of me. She asked me all kinds of questions, one right after the other, and she even patted me down, and she had that gun in my face the whole time. She showed me her token, just like the one you got.”

  Lydia checked him from head to toe, and he didn’t have any visible bruises and no broken bones. “She showed you her token? Then how are you here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Showing a token to someone not in the Club is something we would never do. You’re telling me she did that and then just let you go?”

  He nodded, then shrugged. He looked like a dog that couldn’t choose between two owners. “I guess so. She asked me a bunch of questions and I kept telling her I didn’t know, then she left.”

  “Questions about what?”

  “She asked about…” his lips swished back and forth, his eyes searching the sky for answers. “I don’t know. There were so many. I can’t remember all the different things she asked about. But she saw the bag. She saw Shane in the bag, and she asked me about the
drawer with your notebook and the pills in it.”

  Lydia pressed her fingernails into her palms, almost wishing for blood. She forced herself to take a cleansing breath. “You told her about the desk drawer?” She had to work to keep her voice calm, even.

  “She already knew about it.”

  “Who left first? You or her?”

  “She did. Are you mad at me?”

  Lydia ignored the question. “Did she follow you here?”

  His eyebrows knitted together. Lydia could tell he hadn’t considered this as a possibility. “I don’t think so. I was careful, like we talk about. I changed lanes, looked behind me, sped up and slowed down.”

  Lydia chewed on her bottom lip for a few seconds. “Okay. I need you to do two things for me. Can you remember, or do I need to write it down?”

  “No, I can remember.”

  She held up a finger. "One: go back to the apartment and take care of Shane. If he's still there, that is. If he is, do it in the bathtub with the lye. And, two: you need to kill Ember Clarke. I have too much going on right now to deal with this. The Branch forced it on me, and I did what I could. I didn't want it. But, now it's something we both have to deal with, so I need you to fix your mistake and make her go away. You can use the special thing I gave you the other day."

  “Okay.”

  “I mean it, Roland. You need to kill her. Tomorrow.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  WELLNER

  Day Four

  Wellner sat back in the chair in his office. The chair squeaked a little, as it had for the last several days. He moved forward and back a few times, trying to find the specific source of the squeak. But, he couldn’t spot it. Also, he wasn’t sure what that would accomplish if he could.