The Hunted Assassin (12 page)

As they reached the end of the first block, Gillette finally slowed, and by the time Jaxon caught up, it was too late. The assassin caught sight of them and whispered something into his sleeve, almost certainly calling for backup.

Without hesitation, Gillette turned down the crossing street, veering away from their destination that was now just in sight.

Jaxon hoped Gillette knew a different path but was relieved that they were out of the assassin’s sight for the time being.

As they neared the end of the next block, Jaxon assumed that it would lead to yet another cross street, but it didn’t. It dead ended at a rock wall, course drill markings on its surface, indicating the extent of the coring rig used to dig out the city streets.

“Wrong turn, buddy,” Jaxon said as he crouched near a side wall.

“Yeah, I see that. I thought this would double back toward the surface stairway. We’ve got to go back and then up the next street,” Gillette said as he slid along the side wall.

Jaxon cursed under his breath at the clear misjudgment on Gillette’s part. If he’d thought any less of Gillette, he might have considered that his buddy led him right into a trap. In the end, he heeded that Gillette’s furtive abilities were just out of shape, and it was an honest mistake.

He fell into stride behind Gillette, and as they reached the edge of the street again, their perilous situation became clear. There were now two assassins on each of the three intersecting streets, and they were all heading in their direction.

“Shit, man. What did you get us into?” Jaxon asked.

“You don’t think I did this on purpose?” Gillette demanded.

“I don’t know, did you? Your sudden change of heart to help me out should’ve been my first clue,” Jaxon snapped. He stepped around Gillette, trying to get a better handle on their situation. He needed a way out.

“Listen up, Jaxon. Think what you want, but I’m right in the middle of this with you. This is just an unfortunate circumstance that we need to get through. Are you with me?”

Jaxon didn’t have any other options. He was unarmed in an unknown environment. “What do you have in mind?”

Well, it’s you that they’re after, so I’m going to try to get past them and cause some kind of diversion. You just need to hang low until you see the sign.”

“That’s your plan? Save your ass while you leave me here, cornered?”

“If you have anything better, I’m all ears,” Gillette said, holding steady.

Jaxon thought through their situation. Neither of them had a weapon, and they were cornered in the alley. There was no other option. “Okay. Go on, then. What’s the sign going to be?”

Gillette smiled. “You’ll know it when you see it.” He stood up and walked out into the intersection. Confidently, he glanced up and down the adjacent street then nodded his head. As he nearly reached the other side of the street, shots were fired from an unknown direction. The first shot went wide, glancing off of the metal ducting at the side. The second shot hit Gillette, dropping him to the ground.

“Gillette!” Jaxon called out.

Gillette rolled along the ground until he was behind a stack of shipping crates. He leaned up against the wall and motioned for Jaxon to get down.

Jaxon was thankful to see that Gillette’s injuries weren’t life-threatening. He did as instructed, lowering himself as close to the ground as possible. Then, Gillette reached into his daypack pulled out a cylindrical device that Jaxon recognized instantly. It was a concussion grenade, and he wondered why Gillette didn’t tell him about having weapons earlier.

Wasting no time, Gillette removed the cap from the grenade and pressed the trigger button. He held it for several seconds before launching it into the air, toward the approaching assassins.

The grenade dropped to the ground and detonated, easily deafening anyone in its vicinity. Jaxon was prepared and had tucked his head between his biceps. As the reverberations subsided, Jaxon peered through the drifting smoke toward Gillette. Once the vapor began to clear, Gillette peered back, having just uncovered himself from debris.

“Run! Run, now,” Gillette yelled as he crawled along the building’s edge.

Jaxon wasted no time and sprinted toward the surface access point. As he reached the corner of the next street, he heard several shots being fired behind him. He turned and saw Gillette convulse with each bullet. His body dropped to the ground, face down and lifeless.

Until that point, the death toll had consisted of only the killers after him. Now, it was Gillette’s blood that had fallen, and all he could think about was avenging his death. But he knew it would be suicide. He still had no weapons and he was still in an unfamiliar area. All he could do was run.

He turned up the street and saw the entrance to the surface stairway less than a block away. He dug deep and increased his speed toward the door.

As he reached for the door handle, he hoped that there would be no unforeseen obstacles on the other side. He gripped the handle and wrenched it open, blindly springing himself into the stairway. It was dark, but it was thankfully vacant.

Maintaining his momentum, he shot up the first flight of stairs. As he turned at the first landing and began to ascend the second flight, the door behind him opened and closed.

They’re right on my heels.

Not wanting to slow his pace to see if his suspicions were correct, he barreled up the second flight of stairs at twice the speed. As he climbed, he glanced up the center of the stairwell and could see that he had at least a dozen flights of stairs before he got to the top.

That’s when he realized he had yet another problem: how to don his environmental suit while running up the stairs. He carried it in the backpack slung over his shoulder and had figured all along that he’d have time to put it on long before actually arriving at the moon’s surface. His only hope was that he had more stamina than those following him and that he could somehow have time when he reached the top to adequately protect himself from the moon’s lack of atmosphere.

As he turned the next landing, he unslung his pack, pulling the suit out in the same swift motion. He gripped it and slung it over his shoulder before dropping the duffel on the stairway. He decided that after banking the next landing, he’d pause long enough to slip his feet into the legs and continue climbing as he finished slipping his arms into the sleeves.

When he reached the fifth landing, he stopped and quickly dropped his right foot into the first pant leg. As he raised his left foot, something dropped from above, catching his attention.

It struck the landing and bounced down the stairwell before it detonated. The explosion of the grenade nearly knocked him to the floor.

The closeness of the explosion stopped Jaxon in his tracks. He knew that there were killers coming up from below, but who dropped the grenade from above? Hopefully, the grenade took out at least a few of his followers down below.

Suddenly a second grenade dropped and landed right next to his feet. Before he could grab it and toss it away, it detonated, the flash causing near blindness. The blast launched Jaxon several meters into the air, and he fell hard against the steel stair treads. Jaxon was still conscious and was surprised that he was still alive after such a close detonation.

It must have been a flash grenade,
he thought, as he had few injuries. He tried to stand but quickly fell back from the dizziness.

He tried again but had the same result, falling down the stairway even further.

As he lay there, only marginally aware of his condition, the edges of his vision continued to blur. Within seconds, he was almost to the darkness in front of him when he saw several pairs of combat boots approach. Then he blacked out completely.

19

Eighteen years ago — Live training, mission number one, Ixtapa, Mexico.

Objective: assassinate Ignacio Guzman (El Tonto).

Timeframe: Immediate.

Threat level: Severe.

Operatives: Saber.

Method: Sniper Rifle.

The gentle roar of the ocean crashing against the sandy beach rolled in from my right. The salty air thick with humidity caused beads of sweat to constantly roll off my skin. Any perspiration that remained quickly evaporated, leaving a sticky residue in its place.

Concerned about a potential malfunction, I cycled through my rifle’s chamber. Or was it out of nervous habit? I lifted the bolt up and back, ejecting the .50 caliber bullet from its chamber. I caught it in midair and examined the condition of the casing before reinserting it. I drove the bolt forward and slapped it back down, confident that for the fiftieth time, everything would go as planned.

I readied the rifle to my shoulder and peered through the scope. At the center of the crosshairs, the world moved at an exaggerated rate as I swung the rifle, slowly, from left to right.

There wasn’t a soul in sight in the luxurious courtyard, but it was early. Having gone through nearly four years as a cadet, and an additional year and a half of specialized training, I was ready. Eager, but ready. I just hoped that I wouldn’t fuck it up.

I continued to study the patio and the surrounding veranda, alternating between my scope and a pair of binoculars that had inferior optics, but gave me a bigger picture of the situation. In between endlessly scanning the area, I continued ejecting the cartridge from my rifle. I was nervous.

Then, just as I’d taken a moment away from my obsessing, I leaned back in my chair and noticed the door burst open into the courtyard across the way. A quick glance through binoculars and I knew it was time. One by one, people started coming through the open doorway. The first half dozen men through were armed guards, most likely there to protect El Tonto. Then, a handful of women and children scampered out into the courtyard. Finally, El Tonto walked out and into the brutal sunlight.

After many weeks of intense training, I was finally at the precipice of death. I had visualized the man’s face in my crosshairs thousands of times, and here I was, at the moment of his departure. Strangely, I froze. I suddenly saw a real person in place of what I’d only envisioned as his likeness, an image of himself. The person in front of me was now a living, breathing individual. I began to panic.

A crackle in my ear brought my wandering attention back to the present.

“Eagle’s Roost, to Saber, do you read?”

I touched the skin beneath my ear and pressed down, activating the implanted hypo-comm device. “I hear you, Eagle’s Roost. Loud and clear, over.”

“Roger that. Are we ready to dance? Over.”

“That’s affirmative, Eagle’s Roost,” I said. “The ballerina is on the dance floor.”

“Understood. Do you anticipate any difficulties? Over,” Eagle’s Roost asked.

Ignoring my concern of the humidity or my own psyche, I said, “There’s a slight breeze, but it’s nothing that the digital sight compensator can’t handle. Over.”

“Copy that. You now have full authorization to proceed. The time is finally here, Saber. You’ve had a great training run, and you’ll be a prized asset. I’m going radio silent now, but I will be monitoring the comm line.”

I took a deep breath and raised my rifle to my shoulder. He was right. I did have a great training run, and I knew it. I felt like a natural and nobody was going to take that away. I had anticipated this moment for so long, I only feared the sadness that would come after it was done.

Forcing the thoughts out of my mind, I sighted through the scope. It was a nice one, far nicer than my personal rifle back home. This model had digital readouts, showing distance and wind speed, and it was even equipped with optional low-light compensators. It truly was the Cadillac of sniper rifles.

“Distance to target: 200 meters. Windage: 2 kilometers from the south.”

I lowered the rifle and verified the auto-adjustments on the scope before shouldering it once again. I panned through the crowd until I found my target. El Tonto. He was standing in the middle of several men, full of arrogance and gusto, speaking excitedly to the crowd. Those that surrounded him cheered and joined in the celebration. It was his birthday, and if you were present, you were part of his personal entourage, or you were family. Both of which were very important in their culture.

I thumbed the safety latch to off and slid my finger around the trigger. It was time. I monitored my breathing, taking in a slow, deep breath before exhaling fully. When my breath was completely exhausted, I refocused my scope on the target and firmly squeezed the trigger.

A teen boy ran across the patio from just outside of my scope’s view. At the precise moment I squeezed the trigger, the child crossed through and into the crosshairs. It was too late. The report of the rifle echoed throughout the city, startling birds into the air. Instinctively, the multitude of people in the courtyard cowered at the sound. I knew timing was everything, and I needed to be on my way before the echo of the gunfire subsided, but I had to see. Did I hit the kid or did I take my target out?

I shouldered my rifle once again and peered through the scope at the calamity across the city square. It was chaos. People were running franticly, screaming in fear. The armed guards took defensive points around the wide open courtyard. They were scanning the surrounding buildings, looking for the killer. The assassin. They were looking for me. I focused my rifle on the last position that El Tonto stood and found no one there. I lowered my scope slightly and found two bodies lying on the floor, both of them covered in blood. I scrutinized the scene, and it was horrific. El Tonto was down, and the left side of his chest was obliterated. The wound was deep, wide, and covered in blood. Mission accomplished. I panned my rifle to the second body and cringed. It was a boy, probably around sixteen, and the side of his face was covered in blood. His condition: unknown.