The Hunted Assassin (28 page)

“Listen, you bitch. Tell me where I can find my husband this very instant or there’ll be hell to pay,” Camille said, portraying the role of a jealous spouse.

Madame Elina looked Camille up and down before speaking again.

“Listen, Missy. I’m not completely dispassionate to your pleas. I, too, was once a woman scorned. But you have to understand, of the hundreds of men that come through my door, only a small fraction of those are men that wander. I can’t have you coming in here, making wild accusations. Perhaps if you describe your husband, I can tell you whether or not he’s even here.”

Camille stepped up to the podium and looked Madame Elina in the eyes. “He’s just short of three meters tall, black hair, grayish eyes, and somewhat stocky. His name is—”

“I don’t need a name, sweetie. Besides, we like to keep things anonymous. I remember seeing your man. He and another gentleman went back about forty minutes ago. Something about a threesome?”

“I think you’re mistaken. My husband would never partake in anything so … unthinkable,” Camille said, pouring on the naïve wife role thick.

“Regardless of what you think, I’m telling you what I saw. They left me two thousand credits as a retainer on her services and walked through that doorway,” Madame Elina said. “Strangely, though, the younger gentleman that went back with them came back out shortly after. I don’t think he was back there for even ten minutes.”

“Well, tell me which room and I’ll go get him myself.”

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Madame Elina said. “I should send somebody else back. You know, privacy concerns and all.”

Camille stood in front of the podium, staring at Madame Elina. Although she’d hoped that she might be able to catch a glimpse of the horrors that Francisco described for herself, she knew it was a long shot being allowed back into the catacombs of the brothel on her own. Finally, not seeing any other resolution, Camille nodded.

“Okay, fine. But just don’t tell him I’m out here. Make up something else, because I want to see his lying and cheating face when he sees me standing here,” Camille said, confident that she sold the story well.

Madame Elina smiled scornfully before disappearing behind the velvet curtains.

Camille anxiously paced around the plush foyer of The Pleasure Gauntlet, fighting the urge to rush back and see the atrocities that Francisco had described.

After several minutes and no sign of Oliver, she began to think something might have gone wrong. She couldn’t imagine what would cause such a delay getting Miles dressed if he, in fact, was in the sack with the hooker.

Suddenly, the dimmed lights brightened fully, and a strip of red began to flash at the junction where the wall met the ceiling. Faintly, she could hear a repeating alarm, honking on and off. Then, the entry doors burst open, and the sound level increased dramatically.

“What did you do?” Francisco asked, stepping in.

“I didn’t do a thing,” Camille pleaded. “I … just told her a small fallacy to give her a little motivation on getting Miles out here.”

“What did you say?” Francisco asked, concerned.

“Wasn’t anything big. I just said that I was his wife and that I was irate that he was in here screwing one of her whores. See? Just a little lie.”

Francisco whistled with astonishment. “Couldn’t you have just said … I don’t know, maybe that you’re colleagues, and the ship was getting ready to leave?”

Camille sulked and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I suppose. But my story had much more pizzazz.”

“Not if she just called security on you for being a crazy, jealous, whack-job of a wife,” Francisco pointed out.

“Yeah, well … just wait outside and we’ll be out in a minute … hopefully.” Camille hoped that she didn’t jeopardize the mission with her antics.

No sooner than Francisco closed the front door, Oliver came stumbling through the curtains, followed by Madame Elina.

“… and I don’t care if you were finished or not. The party’s over!” Madame Elina said as she continued to chase after Oliver. “This him?” she asked.

“Yeah, that’s my man,” Camille said sullenly. “Did you sound the alarm because of me?”

“What? Oh, no. I don’t know what that’s for. Probably some brawl going on in the casino or who knows where else,” Madame Elina said. “Now you two just get out of here. And honey, do yourself a favor and keep control of your man if you don’t want him wondering back in here on his own.”

Oliver looked at Camille with a confused look.

“Later,” Camille said as she grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out into the promenade.

As soon as they were out of Madame Elina’s sight, Camille released Oliver and gave him a wink. A few moments later, Francisco joined them, flinching at each sound of the alarm.

“What’s going on?” Oliver asked, tucking in his shirt.

“Not sure. We thought the Madame sounded the alarm after I came in asking for you. But …” Camille said, trailing off. “But I think it might be something to do with Jaxon.”

“Weren’t you two supposed to be together?” Oliver asked.

“Yeah, but we split up after a fairly frightening ordeal. I’ll explain later. Right now, I think we should get to the ship and activate his tracer.”

“You activated his tracer?” Francisco asked. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“Slipped my mind,” Camille said as she started toward the other end of the promenade.

Despite the loud sirens and the flashing lights, most of the patrons along the sidewalks were either oblivious to the impending danger, or they knew something that the team didn’t know. Regardless, the grating sound caused just a bit more urgency in their step.

As soon as they made it to the grand staircase, the emergency must have been taken care of, because the lights returned to normal, and the blaring alarm ceased completely.

“Dammit,” Camille said. “I wish there was a way we could communicate with Jaxon.”

“I don’t know. I think he’ll be fine,” Francisco said. “I know I’ve only known him for a few days, but … I think he knows how to take care of himself.”

Camille chuckled. “And sometimes, that’s all he takes care of.”

They climbed the stairs and made for the docking bay. Not surprisingly, the security getting out of the space station was nearly as strenuous as it was getting in. They each got a full pat down and body scan. Once they were cleared, they cycled through the airlock and were back in the Buddha.

“Clay, I need you to start tracking Jaxon’s tracer. How sensitive is the reading?” Camille asked.

“If I remember my training well enough, I think it’s based predominantly on proximity to the receiving device. If we’re close, the sensitivity is tighter. Within a meter or two. But at a distance, I think we can scan for him up to a few thousand kilometers. But then, the accuracy is scaled proportionately.”

“Great. I last left him on the fiftieth floor below us. We’ll maintain dock until he’s on board. But I want you to watch his every movement.”

Francisco nodded and disappeared into the control room.

“Miles, I want you to get through your preflight check. Get everything ready to go, so the moment Jaxon comes aboard you’re releasing the docking clamps. Something feels … wrong. I can’t put my finger on it, but I think … I feel that we’re in trouble.”

“You got it, boss,” Oliver said, following Francisco up the ramp.

Camille stood in the main hold for several minutes, contemplating her next move. She was reluctant to follow through with her next action, but she knew that she had to. She had to call this in.

She retreated to her quarters and withdrew a compact, long-range radio and fingered the mic.

“Bluto, come in. This is Olive Oil, do you read? Bluto, come in.”

47

Jaxon began to stir, and when he opened his eyes, he only saw darkness. He blinked several times, hoping to clear his vision. As the rest of his senses returned, he determined that his eyes were fine, but he had a hood draped over his head. He tried to pull it off, but his arms were bound behind his back.

Shit. Not this again.

Determined, Jaxon dropped his head between his knees and worked his leg pressure in concert with the strategic twisting of his neck until he was able to work the hood loose. Once enough slack was at the top of the hood, he was able to pinch just enough of the cloth between his knees to pull it all the way off.

With his sight returned, he looked around. He appeared to be in a bunkroom quite similar to the one back on the Buddha. There was a single bed along the wall and a small desk opposite it. There was a small portal halfway up the wall, looking out into space.

“Mffer,” Jaxon tried to say, but the ball gag strapped to his mouth prevented any legible words from escaping.

He swung his feet to the ground and looked at them, expecting to see shackles. Thankfully, he thought, he was only bound at the wrists, with a gag to keep him silent.

He stood and wobbled about from sudden dizziness. He sat back down until he regained his balance. As he waited for the room to stop spinning, he took stock of the rest of his condition. His head throbbed, and various parts of his face ached. No doubt from the last thing he remembered—being punched in the face. He looked down at himself and saw that he was still wearing the tuxedo he’d purchased on Beta Station.

After several minutes, Jaxon stood, slowly, and began walking in circles in the small bunkroom. He’d always thought better when he paced, and thinking was exactly what he needed. He began to determine the depth of the shithole he was in.

First, he was clearly no longer on Delta Station, made obvious by the spaceship bunkroom. Furthermore, when he leaned his head against the bulkhead, he could sense a gentle vibration caused by the ship’s engine.

Thoughts of escape flooded Jaxon’s mind, and he knew that he’d be fighting an uphill battle with his hands tied behind his back. He knew what he had to do, and his stomach tightened at the thought.

Slowly, Jaxon bent over at the waist and pulled his left arm tight against the restraints. Once he felt the resistance at its extreme, Jaxon jerked his head hard to the right, dislocating the left shoulder. The pain was severe, but it allowed him to loop his arms down past his lower back and legs. Finally, Jaxon leaned back and fell onto the bunk as he lifted his feet in the air, allowing his bound hands to pass over freely.

Perspiration began to flow as Jaxon stood once again, his left shoulder slumping unnaturally. He walked to the bulkhead and raised his left elbow so that it was perpendicular to his torso. The position was painful, but he knew it would be over soon enough. Once his position was set, he rammed his shoulder back into its socket by driving his body sideways. The pain was most severe at that moment, but it subsided quickly once everything was back in its proper place.

Jaxon craned his neck from side to side, cracking his vertebra in the process.
Much better,
he thought.

He reached up and touched the skin beneath his ear and felt his tracking module still in place.
At least they didn’t take everything,
he thought.

With a sense of clarity returning to him, he went to the portal and peered out, hoping to see something, anything, remotely familiar. There were no space stations or other ships in sight. All he could see was darkness. A moment later, the door to his bunkroom whisked open.

Jaxon turned and saw a familiar face, but he couldn’t quite place him. After a few seconds, though, the battle injuries on his arm and face gave it away. He was one of the killers on Taloo Station, an obvious survivor from the grenade barrage he’d unleashed just outside his apartment door.

“You’re up,” the disfigured man said as he stood at the threshold. “Come with me.”

The man grabbed Jaxon firmly by the shoulder and shoved him out into the corridor, slamming him into the adjacent wall. Jaxon was prepared for the hit and twisted his body at the last moment, avoiding a face-first collision.

The killer followed after Jaxon and continued to thrash him forward, down the corridor and into a large holding room, quite similar to the one back on the Buddha. Strangely, the ship’s layout was actually quite similar to his own.

As Jaxon tumbled into the main hold, there were two other men, both dressed in the same black ninja suits that he’d seen on every other man or woman trying to kill him. At least he now knew who his captor was. All he could think about was how he could get away.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Rasner. You are, no doubt, thinking of a way out of your situation, but I assure you, there will be no escape for you today,” came a voice from the control room door.

The man walked down the ramp, his hands neatly clasped behind his back. He maintained eye contact with Jaxon.

“Who are you?” Jaxon asked from the grasp of the killer at the center of the main hold.

“My name is Theodore Johansson, and I’m so very pleased to meet you,” he said as he walked right up.

“I’d say likewise, but … all I know is you guys have been trying to kill me for—”

“Don’t hold that against us, Mr. Rasner. We were only doing our job. It really wasn’t anything personal. Besides, the assassination order on you has been retracted now that we have you in custody.”