by Leigh Barker
When he spoke, he was calm and composed with a clear head. “Orpheus?”
“That’s my guess,” Akio said.
“Is it a credible threat?”
Akio watched him for a moment, but that was enough.
“She’ll have the full protection of this agency,” SecNav said.
“Thank you, sir,” Ethan said, “but if you don’t mind, I’d like her to have the protection of my people too.”
“Counting on it,” SecNav said.
Ethan stood up, walked to the window and turned to Akio. “What else do you know?”
“Not much. A couple of my assets had a contract cross their desks. Petty Officer Andrea Shea. She’s yours, right?”
He didn’t need to ask, he knew everything about the team, but Ethan nodded anyway. “New, but already saved our asses.” He glanced at SecNav. “And the air force’s spaceship.”
“That was her?” SecNav said, as if he didn’t know.
“Yes, she got our nuts out of the blender and flew us home, all from a computer somewhere in Korea.”
SecNav smiled. “SecAF owes me a bottle of scotch. And you a debt.” He stood up, crossed to his desk and stood next to Ethan. “What do you need?”
“I need Andie out of harm’s way,” Ethan said.
“Taken care of. She’s on an air force flight to DC and then to a safe house with a guard twenty-four seven.”
“No offence, sir, but I’d like my people to watch her.”
“No problem. Anything else?”
Ethan turned back to Akio. “Do you know anything else? Because if you do, now’s a good time to tell.” He stood a little closer, his six two towering over the little man.
“The asset with the contract.” Akio seemed to be having trouble spilling the information.
“I get that it’s your instinct to keep everything locked down,” Ethan said, “but know this. I owe you for saving our asses in Bolivia, but if anything happens to that kid and I find you held out, I’ll come looking for you.”
Akio smiled at SecNav. “Right, I see what you mean.” He turned back to Ethan and the smile faded. “The asset crossed your path once before. A long time ago. In London.”
“The thing with the Russian trying to assassinate the president?”
“We asked him to clean things up. Tidy up the mess.”
“Yeah,” Ethan said, “I can see how you wouldn’t want people talking about it. So your asset’s a cleaner?”
“Among other things.”
“What’s his name?”
That stopped Akio for a while and he stood dead still, his eyes fixed on Ethan’s. Then he closed them. “Calls himself Jimmy Detroit.”
“Can’t say I’ve heard of him,” SecNav said.
“Nobody has,” Akio said. “He’s that good.”
“What I don’t get,” Ethan said, “is if he’s your asset, why don’t you get him to stand down?”
“It doesn’t work like that. I use him when necessary, but he doesn’t work for me. He’s—”
“A hit man?”
“A little crude, but I suppose that’s as good a description as any.”
“And this killer for hire is coming for Andie.”
“He is.” Akio looked away.
“What?” Ethan said.
Akio looked back slowly. “He’s never failed. He’s never even come close to failing. If assassination was an Olympic sport, he’d be a gold medalist ten times over.”
“Sounds like you admire this killer,” SecNav said.
Akio shrugged. “I admire skill.” He looked into Ethan’s eyes. “And this man is the consummate killing machine.”
“Is that supposed to scare me?”
“No. But it should tell you to be very, very careful.”
“I’ve been doing this for a while too.”
“Yes, I know. I read your file. Not for the faint-hearted.”
“Wow, the CIA has a file on me. I should be impressed.”
“You wouldn’t be if you read it.”
“You’ve been talking to my ex wife.”
Akio smiled. “We tried. She told us to—”
“Yeah, me too. Hence me being her ex.” Ethan’s smile slipped away and he turned to SecNav, who had now regained his formal position behind his desk. “When is Andie’s flight wheels down?”
SecNav glanced at his watch as if that would tell him. “Gulfstream left at eleven hundred. ETA eighteen hundred.” He raised an eyebrow. “It takes longer when you don’t have a spaceship.”
Ethan looked at his watch. “Fourteen thirty.” He stood up. “Sir, have your team meet the plane. Use a blacked-out vehicle and run the op as if they have a passenger. Secure the safe house for real.”
He got a nod of confirmation.
“Tell them to be careful,” Ethan said.
“My agents are always careful.”
“Against a consummate killing machine?”
SecNav looked at him steadily then nodded. “I’ll tell them.”
“I’ll get my team in play.” Ethan walked to the door and stopped. “I’ll need wheels and weapons.”
SecNav picked up the phone.
Despite flying first class plus in the Gulfstream, Andie hadn’t slept. She’d spent the trip analyzing the data she’d hacked from Factory Number Nine’s computer systems. So when she walked down the steps at Andrews, she looked like she’d been awake for thirty-six hours straight.
The team met her on the runway, and not even Loco mentioned how rough she looked. There was hope for the man yet.
“I wasn’t expecting a welcome committee,” she said. “Not that I’m not—” She saw Ethan scouring the rooftops alongside the runway. “What are we looking for, sir?”
“Top,” Ethan said, with a quick glance at her.
Andie looked around nervously. “What are we looking—”
“Chuck, you and Winter take the petty officer to the safe house.” Ethan turned to Loco and Smokey. “You two run interference.”
Andie took a small step back. “What’s going on?”
“Gunny will fill you in. Get off the tarmac and into the vehicle.”
Gunny and Winter flanked her until she was in the back seat of the blacked-out Mercedes SUV; then they climbed in the front and drove away, followed a few seconds later by Loco and Smokey in an identical SUV with SecNav’s team following in a black Suburban.
Ethan watched them go, then took another look around. This was a secure US air base; no hit man, even an Olympic gold killer, was going to get in. But he looked anyway.
Akio stepped out of the BMW parked on the apron and joined him on the tarmac. He looked around too, thinking the same thing. “You think he’s here?”
Ethan shook his head once. “No, but he’s close. I’ve got that itch.”
Akio nodded and walked away without speaking. He had the itch too. It came with the job.
Ethan stayed by the Gulfstream for a while, running through the op again. Then he took a long slow breath, closed his eyes and sighed. What was it that Brit detective always said?
Right. The game is afoot.
Jimmy Detroit leaned back in the seat of the yellow cab he’d parked at the edge of the grass by Pearl Harbor Gate and pretended to study a plastic folder while he watched the two black Mercs pull up almost next to him, ready to exit onto Dower House Road, one would turn right and the other left.
He raised his pistol a fraction above the open window and fired twice, the cough of the air cartridge lost in the noise of his old cab’s engine. He smiled for as long as it took him to blink. The best he could manage. The trackers had punched into the soft steel just behind the rear wheel of both SUVs. He didn’t congratulate himself on his marksmanship. They’d landed where he’d expected them to. It wasn’t a surprise.
He let the Suburban turn left and go on its way with little more than a glance. That was the decoy vehicle.
He put the yellow cab in gear, checked his mirrors and brought it around in a wi
de curve, then turned right out of the base. Right or left made no difference, he’d picked right just because he wouldn’t have to cross traffic. That was all that tipped it.
He followed the SUV at a quarter mile, his tracker telling his on-board navigator exactly where it was. No hurry. In his whole career he’d only rushed a job once. And that taught him a lesson he’d learned well, and given him scars that still throbbed in damp weather.
He followed the SUV northwest across the city to Chevy Chase, where it turned left towards the golf course. Not stupid. Near open terrain and close to the Bethesda Hospital in case anything went wrong. It looked like these boys had at least a smattering of tradecraft.
The SUV turned up Parkway and then into a short dead-end street leading to the golf course. There the signal stopped moving.
“Hon, we’re home,” he said to himself, and drove slowly past the end of the street.
He looked at the cracked clock face on the dash. He had time to get a bite and maybe some sleep before he went in. Three thirty in the morning was his time. Experience had fine-tuned it.
But first he’d have to drive over to Sixteenth Street opposite Rock Creek Park and reconnoiter the second house. If the golf course target proved to be a trap, he’d have time to move to the real location.
It didn’t cross his mind that he might fall into the trap. That was a road he’d traveled too many times to concern himself with it.
He put his foot gently on the gas and turned on the radio to listen to the ball game.
Jimmy Detroit
Ethan walked up to the treeline at the edge of Rock Creek Park, stopped and turned to look back across the quiet street towards the house with the black SUV parked out front. It was some time a.m., but that was nothing new, it came with the job. A soft bed would probably be as uncomfortable as a pile of rocks after all his years in the Corps. One of these days he’d retire and live the dream.
He leaned against a tree and continued to watch the house. He’d tried the retirement thing and it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Seen a lot of the country though, but mostly because he’d discovered there was nothing for him out there in the world. He’d been a soldier for most of his life. Scrub that. For all of his life. It was in his blood or something like that. He smiled a tired smile. And here he was again, waiting for combat.
Maybe he really should give it up; hell, he was getting too old for it anyway. Sure, and take a job in a grocery store, stacking cans of beans. Hey it was a living, somebody had to do it. Just not him. Not today at least.
He took his night-vision scope from his pocket and scanned the approach road and the woods, but nothing moved. Decent folk were tucked up in bed after a good meal, beer and a movie. With their partners. And that was another hole in his life. But how could he connect with a woman when this shit was his life? It wasn’t fair to her. Right, it was all about her, not about a total lack of commitment.
There’d been one woman who could’ve distracted him. Kelsey Lyle. He smiled and this time it was shaped with warm memories. She was NCIS. Still was, as far as he knew. He’d call her when this gig was over. She was in Washington, so it wouldn’t be hard to link up. Maybe rekindle old laughter. Yeah, he’d do that. As soon as this gig was over. Probably. If nothing else came up.
There was a movement on the road to his right. A yellow cab, its roof light off and rolling up as if looking for a pickup.
Ethan stepped back behind the tree and focused his night scope on the cab.
Jimmy Detroit watched the side streets move past his open window and scanned them quickly. He was driving as slow as he dared. He’d look like he was checking addresses, but that wouldn’t hold for long. His satnav should’ve taken him right to it and any watcher would know that.
That there was a watcher wasn’t a question, it was a fact. The men he’d seen exit Andrews were sharp, a bit long in the tooth maybe, but they moved like they knew what they were doing. So there’d be a watcher.
He looked around slowly, still maintaining the charade of a taxi on call. The watcher would have NVGs at least. He didn’t see him, but hadn’t expected to. It was worth a shot. People make mistakes. The trick was for it not to be him making them. So far he was batting a thousand, but nobody could keep that up for the whole season. Sure, he’d make mistakes, but the rule was always not tonight.
As he eased his foot down a little on the pedal, he saw the SUV in a driveway a little way up a side street. The Merc. He drove on without looking back.
Now he knew which house was the decoy, the one with the goat tethered beneath the tree. If these guys were as good as they looked, they wouldn’t have made the dumb mistake of leaving the shiny black Merc out in front for anyone to see. The goat.
Ethan stepped out from his hide and lowered his scope to watch the taxi drive away. It had a taillight out and a dent in its rear fender. He quickly put the scope to his eye and focused on the rear screen, saw what he’d expected, lowered it and ran towards the house.
Chuck leaned on the window frame and looked out at the dark street while he sipped his scalding black coffee. The caffeine wasn’t to keep him awake, he had no problem with that when he was working, he just liked coffee. Who didn’t?
He glanced up at the almost inaudible sounds coming from upstairs. Winter doing the rounds with the grace of a baby elephant. He’d mention it to him in the morning. The girl—he caught the thought. Correction, the petty officer. Nobody was listening, so the girl would be asleep, tucked up in her bed in her jimjams with cartoons on them. Probably from Frozen. Girls liked that movie. He couldn’t see what the fuss was about. Lot of singing and wailing and being shitty to each other. Bit like the Corps. Except for the singing.
He pulled his Sig from its holster on his hip and checked the safety. Didn’t want to blow his dick off, not that he’d miss it much. Hell, when was the last time it saw duty? Tel Aviv? No, before that. Don’t screw the Israelis, they have brothers who can kill you with a tampon. Shit, they have sisters who can kill you with a tampon. Scary people, the Israelis. Good to have on your side.
It’d been Puerto Rico. Hell yeah. Latin girls are the best. Right, when that’s all you’re getting, anyone is the best. He’d have to do something about it. What was it they said? Use it or lose it. Yeah, something like that.
He sipped his coffee. Man, you’re working too much and lovin’ too little. There’s a song in there someplace. A sad one, have the girls crying into their beer.
He stepped back from the window. The coffee would have to wait. He put the mug on the windowsill and glanced up at the silence above. Okay, Winter had seen it too. It didn’t surprise him. Jerry was a miserable asshole but sharp as a stropped razor and a man to be standing next to in a firefight.
And that was just what was coming.
He’d seen the yellow cab pass the end of the street like it was doing what a thousand cabs were doing, but this one had a crushed rear fender and a crack in the rear window that scattered the streetlight.
Same cab that had been by the gate at Andrews. Could’ve been just a coincidence. Yeah, coincidences happen all the time. To other people.
Deborah Crichton-Cruz was working late in her cluttered office in the plush office building in uptown DC. Long days and late nights came with the territory, she’d known that. What she hadn’t known was how much she’d get to like being alone in her office in the early hours. Nobody playing stupid politics from upstream or down. Nobody trying to trip her up so they could step up the ladder over her professional corpse. Nobody telling her she was the best while laying traps for her at every step. Just her and the night. It worked.
She sat back in the oversized leather chair and watched the blip on the map filling her twenty-seven-inch monitor. The blip was the Jackal. She sipped a sand-dry martini and allowed herself a half smile. She’d given the asset that cover, not to protect his identity, because nobody knew he existed, but because thinking of him as Edward Fox in the movie meant he scared her a little less.
/> She put her drink next to the keyboard and leaned forward. He was here in Washington right now. She felt a shudder and looked over at the window. It was closed. What was it that bothered her so much about the assassin? She could have him eliminated at any time with just one call. But that would be a criminal waste. He was the best. Better than the best. She’d known the organization’s finest, sent them on impossible missions, given her condolences to their grieving partners. But this one. This one always came back. Never failed. Never even stumbled. Like a machine. A killing machine. Better than the best and wasn’t part of the organization, so had no hidden agenda. A huge plus.
She’d met him once. That was enough. He had haunted her dreams ever since and she wasn’t a woman easily rattled. She was at the top of the organization and nobody got even halfway if there was the slightest whiff of fear or hesitation. But Jimmy Detroit. She took another drink and felt the olive against her lip. Jimmy Detroit. She’d had her people crawl all over him, but they’d found nothing, not even his name. A ghost, they’d called him, but a demon would’ve been more accurate.
Now you’re just being silly.
He’d looked at her and through her with those blue eyes that were so pale it was like looking into Arctic ice. The man hadn’t been phased by her authority, or the certain knowledge that she had his life in the palm of her hand. He’d just looked her over slowly from head to foot, locked eye to eye, turned and walked away across the 9/11 Memorial.
She’d had to sit and calm down. Told herself she was shaking with anger at the lack of respect, but she could’ve lied to herself until hell opened a snow park and it still wouldn’t have changed anything. Jimmy Detroit was the first truly terrifying person she’d ever met. She never wanted to meet another.
The blip had moved north-west around Rock Creek Park and was now stationary in Chevy Chase. The Jackal had found his prey. Wouldn’t be long now. She sat back, watched the blip moving very slowly now that its holder was on foot, and waited for the call to say her problems were over.
