The Birth of Death

by Orlando A. Sanchez

“Sorry about that.”

  “Don’t be,” Nurse said, waving my words away. “Part of the job.”

  “Are you staying close?”

  “If you need me again—try not to, but if you do, I’ll be at Peter Cooper’s for the next few days, after that your guess is as good as mine. Lucy will know how to find me.”

  “Got it,” I said. “Thanks again.”

  “You can thank me by not dying.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Remember, don’t stop until you’re inside the Forge,” she said, opening the thick door and pointing. “South is that way.”

  We stepped into the darkness.

  EIGHTEEN

  “Lucy, sitrep,” I said as we started moving fast downtown. “How many in the area?”

  “Welcome back,” Lucy said with an edge to her voice. “Nurse filled me in. You and I will have a discussion later on the insertion of SCAN devices in minors.”

  “Looking forward to it, right up there with an anesthesia-free root canal. In the meantime, what are we looking at?”

  “Good news, Cartel operatives are limited to Samael’s people,” Lucy answered. “Seems everyone else is actually following the three-day order.”

  “Even Degas would think twice about the breach of protocol,” I said. “What’s the bad news?”

  We made a left on Sixth Avenue, went down two blocks, and then a quick right onto Cornelia Street.

  “Bad news is—it’s Samael’s people. Other good news, Mr. Redwood is in place and providing support. He’s on the channel. I can assume Ren can hear me as well?”

  “Yes, I can,” Ren said. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Simple rules, girl,” Lucy said. “Do what I say, when I say, how I say, and you might live to see the morning. Deviate from my instructions and I cut both you and Huracan loose.”

  “Got it,” Ren answered in a clipped tone. “Huracan told me—”

  “Let’s start with radio silence,” Lucy interrupted. “Please speak only when addressed, thank you. I highly doubt you have anything of value to offer this conversation that is situational.”

  Ren stopped talking, much to my surprise.

  A chuckle came across the SCAN.

  “Stop breaking her chops, Luce,” a deep, gravelly baritone voice said. “She’s in way over her head without you making it worse.”

  “Then she better learn to swim, and fast,” Lucy shot back. “This isn’t a game and lives are on the line, Mr. Redwood.”

  “Cheerful as ever,” Wood said. “What’s your heading, Huracan?”

  Having Sequoyah join us was actual good news, but I needed to make sure he knew what he was getting into.

  “Good to hear your voice, Wood,” I said. “You sure about this? Cartel will want your ass erased if you help us.”

  “Way I see it,” Wood answered, “you have two days to wrap this up before Degas unleashes the whole Cartel on you. Is that correct?”

  “That’s accurate,” I said, stopping at the corner of Cornelia and Bleecker Streets. I made a left on Bleecker and moved past Father Demo Square. I didn’t sense anyone giving chase, yet. We jumped back on Sixth Avenue and then made a right on Downing Street.

  “That means you have my support for two days,” Wood said. “After that, we’ll revisit the situation.”

  “You’re insane, but I’ll take all of the help I can get,” I said. “We’re taking the scenic route South through the Village.”

  “You’re heading South?” Wood asked. “Hanso’s?”

  “Affirmative,” I said. “If I can draw them there, they won’t attack and we can get equipped to deal with Sam.”

  “Solid,” Wood said. “No one is insane enough to attack the Forge. Place is secure, an arsenal, and pissing off Hanso is a good way to get dead.”

  “Lucy can provide course corrections as needed,” I said, making a left on Varick Street. We took it for two blocks and made a right on Spring Street.

  In the middle of the block, we made a quick left through a parking lot that stacked its cars three high on special lifts. We ended up on Dominick Street and stood above the entrance to the Holland Tunnel heading to Jersey.

  We made a right on Dominick and I felt my lungs grow tight. I glanced over at Ren and she seemed unbothered. I was getting too old for this. We took Dominick Street to the end and made a left on Hudson Street. That’s when I sensed the first tail.

  “Lucy, check our six,” I said, slowing down to blend in with foot traffic. “Been seeing the same faces behind us a few times now.”

  “Not seeing any Cartel traffic,” Lucy said. “Redwood?”

  “I have eyes on Huracan and Ren,” Wood answered. “I also have two hostiles in pursuit—thirty meters back. Would you like me to usher them into the great unknown?”

  “Not yet,” I said. “Street is too crowded. If you see them draw a weapon though, drop them.”

  “If you take them off Hudson at Leonard Street, I can discourage them from breathing,” Wood said, chambering a round. “For the foreseeable future.”

  I made a left on Leonard Street, making sure Ren was in front of me when two figures turned the corner behind us. The street was deserted and the operators picked up their pace to close.

  “Don’t turn around and don’t stop,” I said to Ren as she glanced back. “Pick up the pace and make a right on Church Street.”

  I heard one of the operators fall back.

  “Hostile Two down,” Wood said as we turned on Church. “I lost Hostile One. Keep your eyes open.”

  “How are they masking the signal, Lucy?”

  “Working on it,” she said. “Some kind of SCAN jamming device.”

  “Get it unjammed,” I said as several rounds shattered the windshield of the car next to me. “I found Hostile One and he isn’t alone.”

  We took a left on Thomas Street and a quick right on Trimble Place, where I turned and waited. Trimble Place was one of those narrow streets that no longer served any practical purpose in a city depending on cars and trucks.

  I pointed to a small alcove across the street. “Stand in there,” I said to Ren. “If he drops me, you shoot first and Lucy will guide you. Got it?”

  Ren nodded and stood out of sight in the alcove. I didn’t know where Wood was positioned, but his reputation as a ghost was well earned. I drew my gun and crouched low behind a cement berm that ran perpendicular to the sidewalk. It provided perfect cover if the operator came from the North.

  “I’m on Trimble,” I said. “Not seeing Hostile One from Thomas Street.”

  Gunfire erupted next to me. I leaped over the berm, only to have more rounds chew up the concrete near me. I rolled to the side and got between a car and an SUV.

  “Let me guess, Hostile One decided to come from the South,” I said, ducking as more shots punched into the car. “They tried to pincer me. Ren stay where you are. Wood, a little help?”

  “Can you draw them out?” Wood asked. “I have no line of sight on either of them. I just need a sliver of daylight.”

  “I’m going after Hostile Three, keep Hostile One off me,” I said, dropping to my stomach and crawling under the SUV.

  “Hostile Three is trying to squeeze you,” Wood said. “He’s heading into the street. I almost have a shot.”

  “No, I got him,” I said. “Take out One if you can, if not, keep him busy.”

  Three stepped into the street and approached my location. Clearly these were Sam’s men—little regard for safety, their own or anyone else’s. I fired a few rounds and removed sections of Three’s shin. He collapsed with a scream. I was moving before he hit the ground, and leaped on the SUV as he sprayed the bottom of the vehicle with gunfire.

  “Left,” Wood said and I leaped to my left as a round cut through the air and into Hostile One, who felt I had made the perfect target.

  I slid behind the berm as more gunfire erupted. Two shots. Three grew still and the screaming stopped.

  “Wood,” I said irritated. “I to
ld you I had him.”

  “That wasn’t me,” Wood answered quietly. “I don’t need two shots for anyone.”

  I saw Ren step into the street, quiet footsteps in the night. One more shot breaking the silence.

  “He’s dead,” Ren said. “Let’s go, more are coming.”

  “You heard the lady,” Wood said. “Relocation in progress.”

  NINETEEN

  We took Church Street to Chambers and made it to the Forge without any further incident. This worried me on several levels. There was no way Sam only had three operators on the street, and the Forge felt like a trap.

  The Forge was in the repurposed and renovated building known as the Tweed Courthouse. It was a grand structure built during the late 1800’s in the midst of city corruption. In the early 2000’s, Hanso bought the property and relocated the Forge inside. Much of the same Tuckahoe marble used for the Washington Square Arch was used in this building.

  Hanso had added reinforced steel lining to the walls and floors. His state-of-the art security was the closest thing to uncrackable. He had taken a sturdy building and converted it into an impenetrable one.

  The ground floor was an immense open gallery with several staircases leading down to the lower levels. Below, Hanso had transformed the building’s sub-levels into an armory, shooting range, and vehicle holding area, complete with exit ramps. There were hydroponic gardens, living quarters, recreation centers, and a fully staffed kitchen. If Hanso locked the Forge down, it could self-sustain for five years without resupplying.

  “Lucy scan the area,” I said, pressing my hand into the panel next to the enormous vault-like door. “I was expecting a bit more resistance from Sam and company.”

  The panel scanned my hand with a green horizontal light. It would read my biometrics and feed it into the system inside. If Hanso felt anti-social, and he usually did, he could leave whomever stood outside the door, outside. Above the panel sat a recessed intercom in case Hanso felt like insulting you as he denied you entry into the Forge.

  The Cartel had the best operators worldwide, but in the Forge, Hanso was a god.

  “I have eyes on the front of the building,” Wood said. “No movement so far.”

  “Do you think he could’ve gotten inside?” I asked, thrown off by the silence and lack of activity. “Is Hanso still NA?”

  “As far as my records show,” Lucy said. “Hanso is non-affiliated. Which means nothing when offered vast sums of money to turn in an operator.”

  “Good point,” Wood added. “What’s the price on Huracan now?”

  “Really?” I said. “You need to know this now because?”

  “I may need to make retirement plans,” Wood said with a chuckle. “Depends on how much you’re worth.”

  I heard the tapping of keys. “The price for Huracan, unofficially of course, is five,” Lucy said. “It doubles once the contract goes wide.”

  “Five hundred thousand?” Wood asked. “What? Is Degas on a budget?”

  “Five…million,” Lucy answered. “Ten in two days.”

  “Well, shit, Huracan,” Wood said with a low whistle. “Color me impressed.”

  “And Ren?” I asked, ignoring Wood. “Did he place a price on her?”

  More tapping. “Well, hell,” Lucy said with a long sigh. “I’d suggest you two get off the street, now.”

  “How much, Luce?” Wood asked. “Can’t be much more than Mr. Death over there. Granted ten million is expensive but—”

  “Thirty million.”

  “For thirty million, even Hanso might be persuaded,” Wood said, his voice suddenly hard. “I don’t think that door is going to open anytime tonight, Huracan.”

  I gazed into the camera overlooking the entrance.

  “No,” I said. “Hanso has honor, and he knows there is nowhere to hide from Death…nowhere.”

  “Who needs to hide with thirty million?” Wood asked. “He can get even more security than he has now. He won’t need to hide.”

  “If he took that money,” I said, still looking into the camera, “he’s going to wish he could.”

  The door whispered open a second later.

  “Get inside, now,” said a voice over the intercom. “Move it.”

  “I have movement,” Wood said. “Wait a minute, what the hell?”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m going dark for a few. I’ll contact you when I get situated,” Wood said with a tinge of fear in his voice. “You better get inside, now!”

  I looked down Chambers Street and heard Ren gasp next to me.

  “Is that a—?”

  “Inside now, Huracan!” Hanso yelled over the intercom. “Or I’m locking you outside.”

  We pushed the door and ran inside. I turned quickly to slam the door shut. Several locks slid into place with a hiss as the hydraulics secured the door. A few seconds later more locks slammed into place and I heard the humming of electricity around the door frame.

  “Don’t go near the door,” I said, pulling Ren back. “That whole wall is electrified.”

  “Was I imagining that?” Ren asked “He can’t be serious.”

  “He’s serious,” I said. “We need to get downstairs before he starts remodeling the building.”

  “How did he—? How is that even possible?”

  Somehow Samael had gotten his hands on one of the best American tanks ever made. Down the street an M1 Abrams was rolling in on the Forge and our position.

  “I don’t know and it doesn’t matter. We can’t be here when he starts using that thing.”

  Ren looked around. “Where are we supposed to go?”

  “Downstairs,” I said. “Hanso and the Forge are—”

  The muffled explosion outside rocked the building as a shell hit the front wall and tore it apart.

  TWENTY

  “We need to get downstairs!” I yelled above the falling marble and shattered glass. “The stairs—now!”

  Dust and debris were everywhere. We ran for the stairs as another shell rocked the building. Ren fell down the stairs. Fortunately these were stairs from a different era. Each step was close to a meter wide. She only bounced for two of them and came to a stop at the first landing.

  I grabbed her arm, lifting Ren to her feet. We ran down the stairs.

  “I thought you said no one was crazy enough to attack this place?” Ren asked as we kept descending. “Last time I checked, using a tank to knock on the front door was considered rude.”

  “I grossly underestimated how far Sam would go,” I said. “Lucy, where the hell did Sam get a tank? Find the supplier. If we survive this—we’re going to have words.”

  “Hanso is going to be so pissed,” Wood said. “Sam just signed his death warrant, but he’s not going to be happy to see you either, considering you’re the reason the facade of the building is being remodeled by explosion.”

  “I’ll deal with Hanso,” I said. “Do you think you can get that Abrams off the building? I’d prefer not to have it collapse on us.”

  “I’m carrying a Barrett M82,” Wood answered. “I’d need more than .50 caliber rounds to even get its attention. Maybe Luce can call in an airstrike? Don’t we have some Raptors on standby?”

  “An airstrike is out of the question,” Lucy deadpanned. “All our F-22’s are currently engaged on other missions, sorry.”

  Prolonged proximity to death had a way of sharpening your wit. Assassin humor was gallows humor on steroids, an acquired taste I had yet to acquire.

  “You two should form a comedy duo and take this act on the road,” I said. “I’m glad our near deaths are providing you so much entertainment. Wood, do something about the tank. The driver needs to see—let him see one of your .50 caliber rounds.”

  We arrived at the lower level. Across the spacious floor stood another door similar to the one at the entrance, with one slight difference. This one was twice the size. Another panel, like the one outside sat next to this door. Instead of cameras, several semi-automatic wea
pons were trained on the panel.

  Ren looked around at the mounted weaponry.

  “This Hanso person takes his privacy seriously,” Ren said, turning in a small circle. “Does he have enough guns?”

  “You have no idea,” I answered, placing my hand on the panel. “Hanso will not be pleased. Wood, have you neutralized the tank?”

  “That’s an almost impossible shot,” Wood said. “Not to mention it puts me in harm’s way. The odds of making a shot like that…it has a ninety-five percent chance of failure.”

  “Maybe we should get someone who can actually shoot, Lucy,” I said. “Not someone who’s going to give me odds. Never give me the odds. Take the shot, Wood, unless—are you saying this shot is too difficult for you?”

  “I said no such thing,” Wood shot back. “Just that you mere mortals have never seen excellence on this scale. The successful completion of this shot is liable to melt your delicate little brains.”

  I felt the rumbling of the tank as it rolled past the entrance, probably preparing a firing solution to bring the entire facade down.

  “Tank is still moving, and all I’m hearing from you is plenty of talk, little action.”

  “Oh ye, of little faith,” Wood said, letting out a deep breath. “Prepare as the mean and unseen unleash the wrath of Beautiful Bertha.”

  “Beautiful Bertha?” Ren asked. “He named his weapon?”

  “Don’t ask,” I said as the panel scanned my hand. I turned looking up at the central camera. “Any day, Hanso.”

  “Of all the places you could have gone,” Hanso said over the intercom, “you come here? You’ve seen the damage? That’s going to cost me a fortune to repair. This is a landmark building, you know.”

  I stood back so Hanso could get a good look.

  “We were in the damage,” I said. “Open the door, and give me something to deal with that tank before he takes down the entire building.”

  “We?” Hanso said as the camera turned slightly and focused on Ren. “Isn’t she a little young for you Huracan? Is this a midlife crisis?”

  “Focus, Hanso…tank?”