A Necessary Kill (3 page)

“You got any ideas as to how you intend doing it?” he asks me.

I look back at him from across the room. “You’re probably best off not knowing all that much about it. Plausible deniability an’ all that. But Ash, you gotta know that if I do this, at some point somebody’s gonna trace it all back to this conversation. The less you know, the better. I just need a few names, then you’ll never see me again.”

Case nods. “Alright. I reckon I know a couple of people who might be interested…” He moves over to the desk, opens a drawer, and takes out a pad and pen. He leans over and scribbles down some information. After a minute, he tears off the page, walks over, and hands it to me. “There you go. Four names.”

I look at the list. I’ve heard of one of them.

I glance up at him and frown. “Are these newbies? I don’t recognize any of these names, except the European—and he’s a bit of a prick, if I’m honest.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, he can be. But he’s a damn good killer with very few morals. As for the other three, no, they’re not new to the game. They’re exceptionally talented, in their own…
unique
way. But I should warn you, Adrian, some of these folks are a little… eccentric, shall we say. That last name, especially. Maybe use ’em as plan B, okay?”

I stare at the list. “Jesus, they even
sound
a little crazy.”

“Ha! A little? Let me tell you, Adrian—they haven’t just roamed off the reservation, they’ve left the goddamn planet! But I figured you might find use for someone who thinks outside the box, y’know.”

He smiles and I laugh with him. “Yeah, it might come in handy. Listen, thanks for this, Ash. I make it through this, I owe you.”

“Hey, you owe me whether you make it through or not. I ain’t gonna forget this.”

We shake hands, and I fold the paper up, tucking it into my pocket.

Well, this is a step forward. I have a few names of people who might be up for helping me out. The next step is to—

There’s a very urgent knocking on the door. We exchange a glance and I instinctively move my hand behind me, feeling the cold reassurance of my Beretta on my fingertips.

“Who is it?” asks Case.

“I-it’s Naomi,” comes the flustered reply.

He moves quickly to the door, opening it wide. The waitress from downstairs is standing there, looking very concerned.

“What is it?”

She glances at me before replying. “There are some men downstairs, asking for him.” She points at me.

“What do they look like?” I ask her.

She shrugs. “Just normal guys. Black suits, sunglasses, three of them. Big, black SUV parked out front, too.”

Shit.

“Ash, that’s the CIA,” I fight to keep any panic from my voice. “I don’t know how they’ve found me, but I need a way out of here, now!”

After what I’ve just told him, I can see he understands how bad this is. He turns, quickly looking around his apartment, before his eyes settle on the far corner by the computers.

“The window,” he points. “Directly below it is the canopy over the entrance.”

I move over to the window and glance down. The canopy is maybe seven feet below, and it’s a good eight feet from the ground.

This is going to hurt, isn’t it?

Well, never mind that. Focus, Adrian, come on!

Right, I’m going to need a ride…

I look back over my shoulder, intending to ask, and see a set of keys flying toward me. I react fast, flinching slightly as I catch them. I stare at them, then back at Case.

“It’s an Audi, black, parked round back,” he says. “Scratch it and I’ll shoot you. Return it first chance you get.”

I smile. “Thanks, Ash. For everything.”

He nods. “Now get the hell out of here, you crazy sonofabitch.”

I stuff the keys in my pocket, hook my bag over both shoulders, and slide the window up. The warm breeze hits me as I poke my head outside. I grab the frame and climb out, one leg at a time, resting my weight on the wall. With one last look at Case, I drop down. I land on the canopy, which is made of a thick plastic sheet, and bounce off it like it was a trampoline. I spin around as I fall and hit the ground face down, like I’m doing a push-up.

I grunt from the impact, but I can’t allow myself time to recover. I spring to my feet and dash around the side of the restaurant to the parking lot. There’re only a handful of cars here, so it’s not hard to find Case’s Audi. It’s a convertible TT, and the top’s already down.

I run over as I’m unhooking my bag from my shoulders. I throw it onto the back seat as I jump over the door and land hard behind the wheel. I scramble in my pocket for the key and fire up the engine, gun the gas, and speed off, the tires screeching and leaving their marks on the surface of the blacktop behind me. I draw level with the entrance just as the three G-men burst out onto the street, guns drawn.

I duck as low as I can while turning right, narrowly missing an oncoming car. The needle’s pushing eighty as the first shots ring out—the high-pitched ping of the bullets ricocheting around me. One cracks the door mirror next to me.

I wince. “Ah, shit! Ash is gonna kill me—assuming these assholes don’t!”

The gunfire stops as quickly as it started, and I sit up again, focusing on the road.

“Okay, we’re good.”

I glance in my rearview and see the black SUV swing into view behind me, quickly gathering speed and closing the gap between us.

“Huh, maybe not.”

I lean forward and reach behind me, taking out one of my Berettas. Up ahead, I see a junction. The sign tells me I can take a left and join I-95, which I’m pretty sure takes me west toward Massachusetts. That works out well, because the first name on my list has a last known address of Manchester, New Hampshire, which is over that way.

Unfortunately, I need to shake off these shitkickers following me first.

Ahead of me, the lights are turning red.

There’s not much traffic—screw it.

I navigate the lanes and approach the intersection with the needle pushing a hundred. I weave between two cars and slam on the brakes, making a hard left. The tires screech loudly again, and smoke builds up behind the car. I level it out and step back on the gas, merging onto I-95 at speed.

Behind me, the SUV is keeping pace, relentless in its pursuit.

I need to get rid of these guys, and fast. It won’t be long before they get their friends to join them, and even I know I can’t take on the entire CIA all at once.

The road ahead is straight as an arrow, and reasonably clear, so I ease off the gas a little and allow them to close the gap. I can see the look of grim determination on the driver’s face in my rearview.

The lane next to me is empty…

I whip the wheel to the right and stamp hard on the brakes, causing the Audi to spin clockwise, off to the side. The SUV goes shooting past me. I quickly turn the wheel the opposite way, fighting to regain control of the vehicle, which I manage to do as I’m completing a full circle. The back end fishtails, but I straighten up and position myself directly behind the CIA agents.

Phew!

I pick up my Beretta, which I’d temporarily dropped onto the passenger seat, and rest my hand on the top of the windshield. I fire five rounds in quick succession. At this speed, aiming is tricky, but all bar one hit the mark.

The SUV swerves uncontrollably as the bullets impact the back of it, cracking the rear windshield—the driver maybe not expecting me to shoot at them.

Seriously, I figured they would’ve done
some
research on me, or something… I’m a little insulted!

They regain control and move to the left, slowing to draw level with me. I think they’re going to try ramming me, which, given I’m doing 110 miles per hour, and they’re in a much larger, heavier vehicle, isn’t likely to end well for me.

I move alongside them, looking across and smiling at the agent riding shotgun as he rolls down his window and leans out, slowly bringing his weapon into view. Checking that the road immediately ahead is clear, I whip my own gun up and stare at him. I see in his eyes the exact moment he realizes he wasn’t quick enough to beat me.

I aim just to the right of where I want to hit, to compensate for the speed I’m traveling, and pull the trigger once.

The noise is drowned out by the roaring wind, but the effects are just as devastating. The agent’s head snaps back violently as the bullet strikes him between the eyes. Again, the vehicle swerves, struggling to maintain control as the agent’s body lurches backward from the impact, hitting the driver.

I know they’ll be distracted for a few more seconds, so this is my chance…

I slam on the brakes and push myself up slightly in my seat, keeping one hand on the wheel so I stay straight while I take aim. As the SUV carries on ahead, I fire twice, hitting the front tire with the second round.

The rubber disintegrates almost immediately. The SUV jolts violently before sliding sideways and flipping over, rolling away from me. It smashes into three other vehicles. The sound of metal tearing and colliding with more metal is ferociously loud, grating through me like nails on a chalkboard.

I speed up, navigating the minefield of debris scattering itself across the interstate until I draw level with the vehicle, which has come to a stop, spinning on its roof, away from the other cars. I bring my gun up as I move past, trying to time my shot with the revolution of the SUV…

Bang!

I fire once as the exposed gas tank presents itself, and the resulting explosion shakes the ground around me, filling my rearview with smoke and flames. I drop the gun on the passenger seat again as I refocus on the road. The acrid smell of burning fuel is strong in the air.

In the distance, the faint sound of sirens drifts across the interstate.

Time for me to be somewhere else, I think…

Traffic is slowing to a crawl as people on both sides of the road stop to look at the remains of the SUV, barely visible among the flames. I weave my way through and take the first exit.

I need to ditch this car and swap it for something less conspicuous. Aside from a few bullet holes, it’s still in good condition. I’ll call Case once I reach New Hampshire and tell him where his wheels are.

I just hope the assholes who were chasing me didn’t call back to the mothership with my whereabouts before they blew up.

How the hell did they even find me? I’ve been so careful…

Well, no sense worrying about that now. I’ve bought myself a few hours at least. I need to get another car and track down the first name on this list. I don’t have time to waste.

15:42 EDT

President Cunningham was sitting at the head of a long, polished table in the Situation Room, underneath the West Wing of the White House, meeting with members of his National Security Council. Opposite him, mounted on the wall, was a large display screen, currently switched off. He leaned back in his chair, listening to the discussion as he took a sip from his bottle of water.

On his immediate left was Elaine Phillips, the secretary of state. She was a strong woman in her early fifties with graying blonde hair. She was known for being very forthright and direct. From a political point of view, Cunningham held her in high regard. She was strong-willed, frightfully intelligent, and widely respected by both parties. He knew he couldn’t simply replace her the way he had many of the others. Consequently, he exercised caution whenever she was present at meetings because she wasn’t privy to his ongoing agenda.

Sitting across from her was Gerald Heskith, Cunningham’s chief of staff. He was a loyal and long-standing friend who had been instrumental not only in getting him elected as president, but also in helping him shape his vision for a new future. He was a little overweight, with the excess sitting primarily on his gut. He was a highly intelligent man, and many within the administration believed him to be a natural successor to Cunningham, when the time came.

Beside Heskith was the secretary of defense, Bruce Fielding. He, too, was committed to helping President Cunningham in his goal to usher in a new era of peace. He had been brought in to replace Ryan Schultz, who Cunningham had felt simply wasn’t the right fit to be included in his plans for the future.

Fielding was currently deep in conversation with General Pat Green, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, who was sitting at the opposite end of the table facing the president.

“I understand what you’re saying, Pat, I do,” said Fielding, his voice deep and authoritative. “But there’s no sense in sending large numbers of our troops overseas at this stage. GlobaTech Industries has it covered, and I believe our priority should be the ongoing safety of our own citizens.”

General Green was used to clashing with Fielding over issues regarding the armed forces, often feeling his advice was redundant or unwanted, despite his position and military history. But in light of recent events, he was struggling to exercise his usual level of diplomacy.

He shook his head. “I can’t fathom why you would disagree with me on this! Why sit and wait for any problems to come to us? If we take responsibility and get involved
now
, we can help the countries that need it. At the same time directly contributing to the prevention of further conflict.”

Both men fell silent, sensing the stalemate.

Cunningham sat forward in his chair, taking a deep breath as he contemplated both viewpoints. Despite completely agreeing with Secretary Fielding—primarily because he had
told
Fielding what to say before the meeting—he knew the importance of acting like any other president would to keep up appearances.

He looked to his left. “Elaine, what do you think?”

Secretary Phillips was slightly taken aback. “Mr. President, it’s not really my place to comment on matters relating to our country’s armed forces. I—”

Cunningham held up his hand. “As my secretary of state, I’m asking for an informed opinion on the current state of foreign diplomacy as a whole. Will sending our troops overseas make any significant difference, in your opinion?”

She nodded and took a breath. “At the moment, I think GlobaTech is doing a fantastic job. Aside from the foreign aid and security it’s providing, it’s the PR equivalent of celebrities visiting an orphanage on Christmas Day. With both China and Russia so drastically affected by 4/17, the UN peacekeeping force has been crippled. Forgive my frankness, Mr. President, but the way things are right now we might as well privatize the entire United Nations and give GlobaTech the contract. It’s representing this country, and we as a nation are pretty much exclusively rebuilding the world. I don’t know what kind of threats our country might face in the future, but I don’t see that our immediate involvement would make enough difference to justify it, sir.”