Chimera

by Orion Gaudio

  Chimera

  A James Turner Thriller

  Orion Gaudio

  Chimera

  A James Turner Thriller

  Book One

  Orion Gaudio

  1

  When he closed his eyes at night, he could see the expression of horror on the faces of every person he had ever killed. People always told him killing would get easier, but it never did.

  It was hard for him to fathom that he’d offed fifty-seven people since starting at NIA, the National Intelligence Agency. The man sitting three booths down from him in the dingy diner would be number fifty-eight. He was just waiting to make his move after following Fei Hung for the last week. Turner had kept his distance until following him into the diner, and he was sure Fei hadn’t spotted him.

  Turner reached for the stained cup of in front of him and took a sip of the brown sludge that they passed off as coffee. He choked it down and set the cup back on the table as Fei stood up and walked toward the bathroom. The light above his booth flickered twice, but stayed on. Turner set three dollars on the table, stood up and glanced around the diner. It was the middle of the night and the only other customers were a young couple focused on each other as they ate their greasy food after a night out on the town. They didn’t even glance up at Turner as he walked by them.

  Turner pulled the syringe from his pocket as he reached the bathroom and pushed the door open. Fei was standing at the urinal relieving himself. He walked up behind the smaller Chinese man, jabbed him in the neck with the needle, and emptied the syringe of potassium chloride. Fei spun around and swung his fists wildly. Turned managed to duck the first swing, but the second one caught him right in the eye. He dropped the empty syringe and prepared to defend himself. Fei dove at him and pushed Turner into the tiled wall on the other side of the bathroom. He could feel the air leaving his lungs as he fell to the floor. Fei reached into his jacket for what Turner assumed had to be a gun, but then froze as he clutched his chest. Turner stood up and watched as the smaller man fell to his knees. Fei slouched over on the floor and Turner bent down to feel for a pulse. Nothing.

  He picked up the syringe from the floor, shoved it back into his pocket, and brushed himself off. It wasn’t exactly how he’d planned for it to go, but other than the black eye that would develop over the next few hours, he was relatively unscathed.

  Turner walked out of the bathroom and headed for the door. The couple was gone and the waitress was busy wiping down the booth Turner had occupied just a minute earlier. She didn’t look up as he walked out of the diner and disappeared into the darkness.

  Sirens pierced the calm air. Turner ducked into the nearest alley and waited until the ambulance and cop car passed him. The waitress must have found the body. He stepped back onto the sidewalk and made his way back to the flophouse. The beauty of the potassium chloride is that it would appear as though Fei had died of a heart attack while relieving himself. He had kept his head down in the diner, so even if the cops suspected foul play, they’d have no chance of tracking him down.

  Turner walked through the front door of the place claiming to be a hotel. The man working the night shift didn’t look up from his phone as he walked by and headed for the stairs. Turner went into his room on the third floor and closed the door behind himself. He peeled off the fake mustache and set it on the table, along with his fake glasses, and baseball cap. It was enough of a disguise that nobody in the flophouse or the diner would be able to identify him if it came down to that. Turner hadn’t had a close call like that in years and he wasn’t in the mood for anything of the sort in the immediate future.

  He sat down on the bed, took out his laptop and launched his VPN before connecting to the dark web and posting a message using his agent codename.

  Merlin

  Job complete.

  He waited for the response he knew would come shortly.

  Gyr

  Await confirmation and further instructions.

  The messages disappeared within seconds, which was standard operating procedure to erase any trace of their correspondence and the mission.

  Turner closed the laptop and put his head on the pillow. The bedsprings creaked in protest as the mattress sunk. Adrenaline still coursed through his body, just like it had the previous fifty-seven times he’d killed someone. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep anytime soon, but the guys at NIA wouldn’t get back to him for at least a few hours—they would want to confirm that Fei was indeed dead, and that Turner wasn’t a suspect. He hoped the turnaround would be quick. The stench of the flophouse, and New York City as a whole, had started to wear on him and he was anxious to get out of the city as soon as possible.

  He stood up from the bed and paced around the small room. There was a tiny table and a bed. Nothing else. The shared bathroom was down the hall and it was more rundown than the room. Turner had stayed in worse places, but he wasn’t eager to spend any more time there than necessary.

  A feeling of unease started to grow in the pit of his gut. Fei had reached for a gun in the bathroom of the diner. None of the intel provided to him indicated the man would we be armed. He had been a scientist after all… not exactly the type of guy who normally carried protection. Fei had been selling military secrets to the Chinese government, hence why Turner had been brought in. Nothing out of the ordinary. It was a matter that could have been easily handled by the CIA, but they often turned to the NIA when they didn’t want to get their hands dirty. It was his job, and not the first time he’d been tasked with that sort of assassination, so he hadn’t given it a second thought.

  Shouting.

  Turner walked over to the door and put his ear against it. It wasn’t unusual for there to be commotion in the flophouse, given the kind of people that rented rooms there, but he was on edge.

  He heard running in the hallway and then someone speaking in Mandarin. The noise stopped. Turner stepped to the side just as the door flew open and a man stumbled inside. Turner reached out as the man tried to aim his CF-98 pistol. He swung his hands up just as the gun went off. Ringing filled his ears as the bullet missed him and buried itself in the wall. He kicked the Chinese man in the knee. The smaller man crumpled to the floor and screamed out in agony. Turner kicked him in the face and he went silent.

  Turner picked up the CF-98 and looked into the hallway. Two more men rushed toward him. He fired a round in their direction. It struck the first man in the thigh and he went down. Turner ducked back into his room and slammed the door closed. He picked his backpack up off the floor, tossed in the pistol, and slid his laptop in. He was out the window and already going down the fire escape when he heard shouting in Mandarin and the door to his room open.

  He dropped the last eight feet to the ground and took off running. Turner looked over his shoulder, but didn’t see anyone following him. He shook his head and stopped to catch his breath. He had left his disguise sitting on the table during his hasty exit, but he knew there was nothing he could do about it—the men would sweep the room and take anything useful… and would likely stake out the flophouse in case he tried to return.

  It was becoming clear to him that something else was going on—Fei wasn’t just a scientist and someone knew exactly where he was. He was sure he hadn’t been spotted leaving the diner. He needed to find somewhere private where he could get on his computer and contact NIA.

  Sirens in the distance. Turner cut down an alley and came out on the next street over as the cop cars sped by. He was responsible for them having a busy night.

  Turner made his way to a small park and sat down on a bench. There was a homeless man sleeping on one of the other benches, but he didn’t stir as Turner pulled out his laptop and logged onto the dark web. He typed out another message.

  Merlin

&n
bsp; Compromised. Please advise how to proceed.

  He looked over his shoulder as he waited for a response. Turner didn’t like communicating with them in the open, but he was hesitant to find another hotel in the area because he knew the Chinese would likely be monitoring them and he didn’t want to get into another skirmish. The men that had attacked him were seemingly highly trained and he didn’t want to risk it.

  A response popped up on his screen.

  Gyr

  Await further instructions. Still awaiting confirmation on original mission.

  “Son of a….”

  The homeless man rolled over. Turner froze. He closed his laptop as the messages disappeared off his screen and slid it back into his bag. He knew he needed to keep moving and he’d have to find somewhere more secure to wait for his instructions… somewhere where he wasn’t so exposed.

  2

  The sun was peeking up over the tops of the skyscrapers when he decided he should get off the street and try to make contact. Turner ducked into the first corner store he could find and bought a baseball cap and sunglasses. Not the most effective disguise, but he figured it would throw off the Chinese long enough for him to figure out his next move.

  He walked to Grand Central Terminal, a place where he could easily get lost in the crowd if need be, and sat down in a corner. Turned pulled the cap down over his eyes and took out his laptop. He logged into the VPN and typed out a message.

  Merlin

  Any update?

  Gyr

  Mission confirmed complete. Additional mission objectives required. Yellow 324.

  The message disappeared as he shook his head. It was unusual for him to be asked to complete an additional objective, so Turner knew it was serious. He wanted to get it done as quickly as possible so he could get the hell out of New York City and make it back to headquarters for his debrief.

  Turner stowed his laptop and made his way to a store selling New York souvenirs. He paid thirty dollars for a T-shirt with a picture of the Statue of Liberty and made his way to the closest bathroom to change. It was a reasonable assumption that at least one of the Chinese men had made him, or at least the clothes he was wearing, so he needed to change up his look if he was sticking around. He shoved his old shirt into the bottom of the bathroom trashcan and headed out of Grand Central.

  Turner made the walk to Central Park and kept his eyes peeled for the taxi. It was standard procedure for the intel to be left in a taxi that would be waiting around the park when they had operations in New York City. The taxi with a license plate ending in 324 was parked just across the street.

  A man in an obnoxiously expensive gray suit stepped in front of Turner and grabbed the handle of the door.

  “Excuse me, that’s my taxi.”

  The man ignored him and continued yapping away on his phone as he went to get in. Turner grabbed him by the back of his jacket and pulled him back onto the sidewalk.

  “Hey, what’s your problem?”

  “This is my taxi.”

  He slipped by him and got in before the man could protest. On the seat next to him was a manila envelope.

  “Where to?” the driver asked.

  Turner opened the envelope and quickly scanned the documents. Photographs of a middle-aged Chinese woman. He recognized her as the wife of Fei Hung.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Turner said, under his breath.

  There was an address in Tribeca and a six-digit combination.

  “SoHo.”

  The only other information was a handwritten note that said ‘flash drive from the safe… ASAP’. He recognized the handwriting. Howard Castle. His boss. It was unusual for him to be away from headquarters, which meant that this was either part of the plan all along or something had changed in the previous few hours.

  It wasn’t in his job description to ask questions, but it was one of those times when he wished he had a better idea of the whole picture. He understood why Fei needed to be eliminated, but his intel had established that the wife wasn’t complicit in the activities of her husband. If he were lucky, she wouldn’t be there, and he’d be able to get in and out before anyone knew what had happened. He knew it was unlikely, but that’s what he was hoping for.

  He shoved the documents back into the envelope and slid it into his backpack. He’d dispose of them once the job was done.

  The taxi navigated the congested streets and came to a stop in the center of SoHo a short time later. Turner paid him and stepped out of the cab onto the sidewalk. He’d deliberately asked the cabbie to drop him off a good distance from the target—it would give him time to collect his thoughts and to check to see if he was being followed. He’d been doing this job long enough that it wasn’t hard to spot a tail, but it was much easier to do if he was on foot.

  Turner took off his sunglasses as he turned the corner at the next block and held them in front of him. He could see a half-dozen people walking the same direction as him, using the reflection, and he made a note of their appearances. None of them looked like the men he encountered the previous night, but he knew better than to let his guard down.

  He shook his head as he walked. It was supposed to be an easy mission and things had become much more complicated. Turner reminded himself that it would be over soon enough… he just had to retrieve the flash drive from the safe and he’d be home free.

  After walking for a few more minutes, he again pulled off his sunglasses and used them to check the people walking in the same direction he was. None of the people he saw the first time were still behind him. Content that he wasn’t being followed, Turner headed toward the address in Tribeca.

  It was a five-story brick walk-up. The first thing he needed to do was gain entrance to the building without looking overly suspicious in the process. Turner grabbed a free paper out of the squeaky-hinged box on the sidewalk and stood near the front door. It opened a minute later as an elderly woman walked out. He waited until the last possible second and slipped his foot into the door. She didn’t see him, she was already walking down the street without a care in the world, so he headed inside and took the stairs to the fifth floor.

  Turner walked up to the door of the apartment and knocked. No answer. He knocked again. Convinced that nobody was home, Turner put his shoulder against the door and pushed. It didn’t budge. He leaned back and threw his entire weight against it. Nothing. He looked around. There was a window at the end that led to the fire escape. It was in the alley next to the building, but he still knew there was a chance he would be seen and would need to get out of the apartment as quickly as possible.

  Turner climbed onto the fire escape, walked to the closest window belonging to the apartment, and kicked the glass. It shattered on his second try and he reached through and unlocked the window.

  He paused once he was inside and listened. If there were anybody in the apartment, they would have made their move already. The glass crunched underfoot as he walked through the living room. The apartment was sparsely decorated. Boxes were stacked against the wall, which struck him as odd. The intel said Fei had been in the country for nine months. Several photos and paintings sat leaning against the wall of the hallway.

  Turner headed toward the bedroom. More boxes and a stack of clothes next to an empty box on the bed. They were getting ready to leave. The only piece of art still on the wall was an abstract painting above the dresser that looked nothing more than a mess of shapes and a splash of color to him. Turner lifted it off the wall and smiled. The safe, with a digital keypad, was behind it. He entered the combination he had memorized in the cab. It beeped and the door popped open. Nothing but a passport. Turner pulled it out and frowned. It belonged to Fei’s wife, Ying. No flash drive. Turner knew there was a chance she’d come back to retrieve her passport and have the flash drive on her person before fleeing the country. It was also possible she had learned Fei was dead and she’d try to leave the country without it.

  Turner pocketed the passport, closed the safe, and hung
the picture back up. The sound of a key entering the lock of the apartment door reached him and he froze. The door creaked as it opened. Turner swung his backpack off, pulled out the CF-98, and ducked behind the bedroom door.

  Ying walked into the bedroom, set her purse down on the dresser, and took the painting off the wall. Turner aimed the pistol at her and flicked the safety off.

  “Don’t move.”

  She spun around and screamed when she saw the gun.

  “Please… don’t.…”

  She started to sob.

  “Where’s the flash drive?”

  She shook her head. Turner took two steps toward her and she raised her hands.

  “Where is it?” he asked.

  “I… what do you mean?”

  “There was a flash drive in that safe. Where is it?”

  She shook her head again.

  “Are you with the government?” she asked.

  “Tell me where it is and I’ll let you go.”

  Turner held his finger over the trigger as he took another step toward her. She backed up slowly until she bumped into the wall.

  He lost his patience. There was a reasonable chance someone had seen him breaking into the apartment and he knew that meant he only had a few more minutes before the police could potentially arrive.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Her eyes flicked toward the dresser and then back to him. That was all Turner needed to see.

  “Empty your purse.”

  She complied by opening it up and dumping the contents out onto the dresser. A wallet, sunglasses, some assorted makeup… but no flash drive.

  “Toss me the purse.”

  She nodded and threw the purse to him. As he went to catch it, she turned and bolted out of the room. He let it fall to the ground and chased after her. Turner caught her just as she reached the front door.