Assignment- Danger A SpyCo Collection 4-6

by Craig A. Hart

  THE TWO SHOTS sounded almost simultaneously, and a split second later, Burke had pulled the governor down and out of sight behind the crowd. Then, shielding the man’s body with his own, he went around the corner with incredible speed, with Lyndsey taking up the rear, her gun drawn and her eyes flicking about the crowd, searching for the shooter. There—a man dressed in a caterer’s outfit and holding a pistol. Lyndsey fired once, but the man ducked out of sight.

  “Lyndsey!” Burke was waving frantically. “We have to go. The governor’s been hit!”

  She ran forward. “The saferoom—the one on the blueprint—get him there. I’ll stay here and hold him off as long as I can. Call for backup!”

  Burke nodded and glanced around, getting his bearings. Then he headed left down another hallway. The governor’s office was at the end and, connected to that, was the mansion’s saferoom. Once they were there, they might not be able to leave, but no one would be able to get in without a security code. They’d at least be safe until help arrived.

  Where the hell was the governor’s security detail?

  As if in answer to this question, a door opened ahead and a man stepped out. Burke recognized him as the same man who’d intervened outside.

  “It’s about time,” Burke said. “The governor’s been hit.”

  The man—Burke remembered his name as Fitzmeyer—came forward and gripped the governor’s other arm.

  “Let’s get him to the saferoom,” he said. “I’ll call for help from there.”

  Burke nodded. “My thoughts exactly. We need to hurry. He’s bleeding pretty bad and I want to put him down so I can perform some basic first aid. Slow the bleeding, at least.”

  They reached the office, went inside, and Fitzmeyer moved to the far wall. He pressed a hidden button and a bookcase swung open, revealing a steel door that gleamed impressively. On a backlit keypad next to the door, the security chief punched in a code. The doors clicked and swung open.

  “This is way cooler than what I have at home,” Burke said.

  Fitzmeyer chuckled, not knowing Burke was being completely serious. “We’ll be safe here for the time being. Let’s get the governor inside.”

  Burke hoisted the now unconscious Williams over the threshold and lay him gently on the saferoom floor. The doors hissed and clicked shut. Burke opened the governor’s shirt.

  “The bullet went straight through. I’m going to use his shirt to try and stop the bleeding. He’s already lost too much.”

  Burke began working on the governor and was so engrossed in staunching the flow of blood that he started when his comm unit crackled.

  “Burke, are you there? Have you made it to the saferoom?”

  “Yes, we’re here. I have the head of security with me. What’s happening out there?”

  LYNDSEY PRESSED into the wall and forced her lungs into deep, even breathing. The party had devolved into a mass of screaming, shoving, frantic people, but Lyndsey forced herself to focus. Her mind obliged and shut out the noise and frenzied activity. She was calm, steady, focused, intent on her goal: keeping the enemy agent at bay for as long as she could.

  A quick look around the corner revealed her foe pushing through the crowd, his pistol held high. His eyes locked on to her, but he couldn’t aim through the flailing arms and crushing bodies. He was a tall, strong-looking man with an athletic build. And he had the advantage. Behind Lyndsey was an empty hallway; behind him was a crowd of terrified human beings. Lyndsey didn’t dare take a shot for fear of hitting a civilian.

  She didn’t know how she was going to delay him, but she would. She had to. And so, she watched him come.

  Lyndsey spoke, her comm unit picking up every word. “Burke, are you there? Have you made it to the saferoom?”

  There was a moment of silence and then Burke’s voice said, “Yes, we’re here. I have the head of security with me. What’s happening out there?”

  “Hell is breaking loose. How’s the governor?”

  “Unconscious. He’s lost a lot of blood. Where’s the shooter?”

  “Coming to kill me. Or so he thinks.”

  “Rain on his parade, okay?”

  “Will do. I’ll be at the saferoom as soon as I can.”

  BURKE STRAIGHTENED and looked at his handiwork. It certainly wasn’t a professional job and would likely cause an ER doctor to swear off medical practice for good, but it might just save the governor’s life. The dressings were stained with blood, but that seemed to be slowing.

  Burke stood up and turned to Fitzmeyer. “Do you have video feeds in here?”

  “Of course, it’s state-of-the-art.” He motioned to a bank of flickering screens on one wall.

  Burke walked over to them. “Where’s the view of the main hallway?”

  Fitzmeyer pressed a couple of keys on a keyboard and then pointed to a screen. Burke looked up and saw Lyndsey retreating slowly backward, her weapon held out in front. She turned a corner and momentarily disappeared, before Fitzmeyer activated and pointed to another screen.

  “This is the hallway just outside the office,” he said.

  Burke watched, and then saw the Russian agent appear in the frame of the first screen. He spoke into his comm unit.

  “Lyndsey—our man just entered the main hallway. He’s armed and moving cautiously. Can you make it to the saferoom?”

  Lyndsey’s voice replied, “I want to take him out, Burke.”

  “Just get into the saferoom. We have the governor—he’s our main responsibility.”

  “Have you called for backup?”

  “No, I—” Burke remembered that Fitzmeyer had said he’d put in a call once they were in the room, but hadn’t noticed the man do any such thing. His blood turned to ice…Fitzmeyer. “Lyndsey.”

  “Yes?”

  “I—” Burke tried to think of a way to relay his message without Fitzmeyer knowing his cover was blown. And then Burke felt the hair on the back of his neck snap to attention. He turned slowly and saw Fitzmeyer standing with a pistol in his hand and an odd smile on his face.

  Burke’s eyes narrowed in anger. “Why, you piece of shit.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Not you, Lynds, I was—”

  Fitzmeyer lunged forward and swung the pistol at Burke’s head.

  KARAZMOVSKY WHIRLED around the corner of the hallway and caught a glimpse of the woman disappearing into the governor’s office. He fired but knew even as he pulled the trigger, it was a miss. She was fast, this one. He’d have to be careful not to underestimate her.

  He ran forward but halted as the woman suddenly appeared full in the open office door. Her weapon spat lead, forcing Karazmovsky to drop and roll into a doorway. He reached out from cover with his gun hand and blindly returned fire, but the woman didn’t back down. More rounds thudded into the floor and wall nearby.

  “Give it up!” she yelled. “It’s over!”

  The little American whore, Karazmovsky thought. Little did she know what he had in store for her.

  LYNDSEY STOOD in the doorway to the governor’s office, her handgun pointed to where she’d last seen her target as he’d rolled out of sight. All she needed was a quick look, one slip on the Russian’s part, and she’d put a bullet into him.

  She heard a sound from behind and turned to see the metal doors to the saferoom opening. The security guard from outside—Fitzmeyer, wasn’t it?—stepped out. He looked a little worse for wear and was breathing heavily. Lyndsey moved out of the doorway to give herself cover.

  “Where’s Burke? Isn’t he with you?”

  Fitzmeyer smiled and pointed a gun at her. “I’m afraid Mr. Burke is indisposed at the moment. Now, please, drop your weapon.”

  Lyndsey reluctantly did so.

  “Kick it over to me.”

  Again, she followed orders. “You…you’re an inside man, aren’t you? How could you do this?”

  Fitzmeyer shrugged. “They made me a better offer.”

  “And Burke? You didn’t—”

&n
bsp; “Kill him? No. Just put him to sleep for a while. Unlike our Russian friend, I don’t kill for fun. I find it distasteful, actually. Although I am certainly willing to kill when the need arises,” he added, as if to warn Lyndsey from making any rash decisions.

  “And the governor?”

  “He’s lost a lot of blood and will likely die within a few minutes, if he hasn’t already. Mr. Burke tried to save him, but there wasn’t much he could do under the circumstances.”

  “You disgust me.”

  “That hurts my feelings, of course, but I’m prepared for such reactions from my fellow citizens.”

  “But why?”

  “For the money, I told you. They offered me quite a lot.”

  “Who? Who offered it to you? The Russian government?”

  Fitzmeyer laughed. “Hardly. No, they don’t have the balls for this kind of thing anymore. It was more of a private contract for an agency not unlike SpyCo, although I suspect the ultimate goals are somewhat different.”

  “You mean terrorism. You’re taking money from a terrorist organization to kill an American governor?”

  Fitzmeyer frowned. “I dislike the term ‘terrorism.’ It brings to mind the World Trade Center and airplane hijackings.”

  “Don’t tell me you have morals,” Lyndsey said, finding the idea so ridiculous she thought she might burst into crazed laughter.

  Fitzmeyer shrugged off the remark. “Everything is relative. And now, I’m sure Mr. Karazmovsky would like to join us.” He walked to the hallway and called for his partner.

  Lyndsey heard sirens coming. The sound gave her hope, even though she had no idea what they’d be able to do. From the sounds of it, Governor Williams wouldn’t survive a lengthy standoff or hostage negotiation, and that was assuming these two were even interested in negotiating. Their mission seemed cut and dried.

  Karazmovsky entered the office. He looked unbearably smug and Lyndsey longed to wipe the smirk off his face.

  “Not how I intended it all to happen,” he said, “but in the end, we got what we wanted. The governor is dead, then?”

  Fitzmeyer motioned toward the saferoom. “If he isn’t yet, it will only be a matter of minutes. You can check for yourself, if you wish.”

  Karazmovsky nodded. “I will do that. Not that I don’t believe you, of course. I simply like to see things with my own eyes.” He turned to enter the saferoom, but a question from Fitzmeyer stopped him.

  “You have my money ready?”

  “Eager, aren’t you,” Karazmovsky said. “Your money is at my hotel room, ready and waiting for you.”

  Fitzmeyer swore viciously. “You didn’t bring it with you?”

  “And carry that around all night? That much money makes a heavy load even in one-hundred-dollar denominations. The money is at the room and here is the key.” Karazmovsky reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic access card. He handed it to Fitzmeyer, who looked first at it and then back at Karazmovsky.

  “Thank you,” Fitzmeyer said. “I’ll make good use of this.”

  And then he pointed his pistol at Karazmovsky.

  The Russian looked surprised and then utter rage flooded his face. “American swine! You think you can double-cross me?”

  Fitzmeyer shrugged. “It’s like you said. No loose ends.”

  Karazmovsky started forward and Fitzmeyer pulled the trigger.

  Blam!

  The bullet caught the Russian in the shoulder. He flinched but kept coming, his eyes never leaving Fitzmeyer’s. “I will kill you, even if I have to do it with my final breath!”

  The guard took a step back and fired once more.

  Blam!

  Karazmovsky flinched again, this time from a bullet to the upper abdomen.

  But he kept coming.

  He lunged forward and grabbed Fitzmeyer by his suit lapels.

  Blam!

  This shot came at point blank range and traveled all the way through. Lyndsey saw it exit the Russian’s back before it crossed the room and sank into the sheetrock of the far wall.

  Karazmovsky was not even human. He gripped Fitzmeyer so tightly, the suit lapels began to tear away.

  “I…will…kill you!”

  Now there was fear on Fitzmeyer’s face, fear of this inhuman creature who would…not…die. He began to lose his balance, being pulled down by the weight and strength of the Russian.

  Fitzmeyer raised his pistol one more time, and shot Karazmovsky between the eyes.

  At long last, the Russian agent’s eyes widened and began to glaze. His grip weakened and he slumped to the floor.

  Fitzmeyer shook him off and stepped back, trying in vain to straighten his ripped jacket. Then he seemed to remember himself and turned his attention back to Lyndsey, who had made a move toward retrieving her gun.

  “Don’t try it,” he said. “Now turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

  Lyndsey followed instructions, but her mind was racing. As the security guard approached from behind, she braced herself. Then she felt something slip around her wrists and heard a zipping noise—plastic zip ties. Fitzmeyer was as close as he was ever going to be.

  Lyndsey whirled around—not an easy task with one’s hands secured from behind—and brought her knee up and into Fitzmeyer’s crotch, bending the man double. Then she stepped back once to create space and threw her entire body into a roundhouse kick that caught Fitzmeyer on the jaw and sent him staggering backward. His eyes rolled upward into his head and he dropped like a rock and lay still.

  Lyndsey took only a moment to kick the man’s gun out of his limp grip and all the way to the open door of the saferoom. Then she hurried after it.

  “Burke!”

  She heard a groan from inside the room.

  “Burke, are you hurt?”

  “I think the top of my head got knocked off,” Burke replied. “Otherwise, I’ve never felt better. Get me out of these damn zip ties.”

  Lyndsey entered the saferoom to find Burke trussed like a Christmas turkey. “Do you have your pocketknife?”

  “Never leave home without it. It’s in my hip pocket.”

  Lyndsey sat down with her back to Burke and scooted as close as she could. Using her secured hands, she reached awkwardly into his pocket and felt around for the knife.

  “A little to the right,” Burke said. “No, farther. Little more. Almost have it…a little more—”

  “Seriously, at a time like this,” Lyndsey scolded. She pulled out the knife and, after a couple minutes of fumbling, got the blade open. A minute later, Burke’s hands were free and he cut her loose before freeing his feet.

  “Where’s Fitzmeyer?” Burke asked.

  “In the office. I gave him a taste of my patented roundhouse. And it wasn’t easy with my hands out of commission.”

  “Speaking of commission, Chuck Norris will want a royalty cut from every one of those kicks,” Burke said.

  “Nonsense, I made this one up myself.”

  “While watching Walker, Texas Ranger, I know. Come on, let’s get the bastard ready for the locals. Based on those sirens, I’d say they’re about to burst in looking for action.”

  They walked out of the saferoom, guns ready. They needn’t have bothered with the cautionary measures.

  Fitzmeyer was gone.

  14

  Fitzmeyer slipped into Karazmovsky’s hotel room. He wanted to turn on the overhead light but didn’t dare take the risk, so instead he used his cellphone screen to guide him.

  On a table, he saw a large metal case.

  Must be the money, he thought. That was easy enough. Now to get the hell out of here.

  He flipped the latches on the case and took one quick peek inside. He smiled. It was there, all right. With this much dough, he’d be able to leave the U.S. and set himself up in style. Warm weather and beaches called to him. He’d had enough of ice and snow, long winters, and politics. Enough was enough. He’d earned this money. He mildly regretted having to scheme against his former bo
ss and regretted a bit more that he’d had to die, but it was unavoidable. Fitzmeyer wasn’t getting any younger, and he had no desire to work until he was ready to drop and then die the day after retiring. No, thank you. He wanted to enjoy a good couple of decades of not doing jack shit and working on his tan.

  A noise in the darkness of the room startled him and he whirled, his cellphone screen pointed out like a tiny, glowing shield. There, on the bed, was a woman with her hands and feet tied to the bedposts. Fitzmeyer swore under his breath. Another complication. Obviously, Karazmovsky’s doing. He could simply leave her here, but she might die before being found.

  He walked over and pulled off the duct tape covering the woman’s mouth.

  “Please,” she said. “Don’t kill me.”

  “Don’t make me and I won’t,” Fitzmeyer said. “I’m going to cut one hand free. Then you can begin untying the rest of the knots. By the look of them, it’ll take you a while to get free. Don’t begin untying yourself until I’m gone. And don’t think about screaming, because I will hear you and come back. And then I’ll have to kill you. Agreed?”

  The woman nodded furiously. “I understand. I won’t scream.”

  Fitzmeyer cut one hand free and then backed away. He punched a number into his cellphone and then waited as it connected.

  “Hi, this is Mr. Wainwright. I made plans to travel tonight. Has my plane received preliminary clearance for takeoff? Yes, I can hold.”

  A minute later.

  “Hello? Yes? Excellent. I’ll be there shortly.”

  Fitzmeyer disconnected and then looked back at Lorelei as he walked toward the door.

  “Remember,” he said. “No screaming. I don’t want to kill you, but I will.”

  LYNDSEY AND BURKE watched as the paramedics loaded Governor Williams onto a gurney.

  “Do you think he’ll make it?” Burke asked.

  One of the medics shrugged. “He’s down a lot of blood, but he’s holding steady. Once we get him to the hospital, he should stabilize. The odds are good.”