Unstable Target: Six Assassins Book 3

by Heskett, Jim

  “I know exactly how cute I am. And now I know you’re just trying to flirt with me. Is that what this is about? Some sick, perverted fantasy?”

  “You killed a friend of mine, bitch. It’s time you paid for that.”

  She sighed. “Ditto. You didn’t even know his name, but you ended his life so you could make a point. Can we do this later? I’ve got a big day tomorrow, so I’d like to get home and rest up. I’m serious. Can we do this in a couple of days?”

  He shook his head. ”Not a chance.”

  "You know you're not allowed to have a lead pipe in the parking lot of a Post Office. The no-weapons rule applies to the immediate vicinity, too. I could turn around and wave to my friend there watching from the security camera if you like. He'll be pretty upset if you make him miss lasagna night, though."

  “Go ahead,” he said as he took a step closer to her. “They won’t get out here quick enough to save you.”

  Ember drew one foot back and raised her hands in a fighting stance. She didn’t have her guns or her favorite knife, but she didn’t think she would need them. Hopefully. Her muscles were taxed from the extended gym session earlier.

  “Okay, then. Let’s go, Mr. Pipe. I hope this is the last time I have to kick your ass.”

  He rushed to close the distance as he hoisted the pipe above his head. Ember had to resist the urge to let her eyes follow the pipe. That’s what he wanted. Instead, she kept her gaze straight, locked onto his torso. Less than a second later, he appeared in front of her.

  Her focus paid off. At the last second, he tried to fake with the pipe and jab with his other hand. Ember pivoted away from the punch and launched her own jab at his nose. Her knuckles smashed against his face, sending a shockwave back up her arm.

  But it broke his momentum, and his body arched away from her punch. He was off-balance, and that would buy her a second.

  As she drew her hand back, pain exploded in her right shoulder. He'd swung the pipe down and connected, somehow, outside of her peripheral vision. But now, he was leaning forward, off-balance the other way.

  Ember seized the opportunity. She grabbed the pipe with one hand and pulled back, making him lean forward even further. With her opposite hand, she snatched it away from him and jumped back a step.

  He paused, panting, arms wide, fists balled. His eyes flicked down to the pipe in her hands. Ember tossed it aside, heaving it as far as her weakened shoulder would allow. It clanged onto the gravel and rolled to a stop against a truck tire.

  “If you go for that pipe, I swear to God I will kill you,” she said. “I’m tired, I’m hungry, and I am not willing to entertain your misguided revenge fantasy right now.”

  “What makes you think you can—”

  Before he could finish the sentence, she lunged forward and jabbed three fingers into his throat. The guy’s eyes bulged as he stepped back, gagging, hand to his neck. His tongue lolled out and he spread his feet wide to steady himself.

  “Get in your car and leave,” she said through clenched teeth. “If I see you again, you’re dead. I mean it. Dead. If you bring the other guy with you, then he’s dead, too. Understand?”

  He took a few steps back as he gasped, trying to heave a breath. With the angriest sneer she had ever seen, he turned and fled through the parking lot.

  Ember rolled her shoulder a few times. It wasn’t broken or dislocated, but she would earn herself a nasty purple bruise, for sure. As the adrenaline faded, her racing heart sent a shudder up her spine.

  “Anyone else here want to kill me?” she yelled to the empty parking lot.

  No one replied back.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  EMBER

  Day Six

  Ember knocked on Fagan’s door, and between the first and second knock, it opened. There stood her mentor, dressed in a silk robe that seemed a little too feminine for Fagan’s tastes. It didn’t exactly jibe with her half-burned face and dead eye. But, it did show off a physique that had continually surprised Ember, given that Fagan appeared to be on the wrong side of sixty. She was one of those ageless wonders, apparently.

  “Morning,” Fagan said.

  “Yes, it is. Nice robe. Were you shopping from an airplane magazine?”

  Fagan waved her inside. “It’s comfortable. You don’t know everything about me, November.”

  “Fair enough. Tea ready?”

  “Of course. Poured it when I heard your car pull up.”

  Ember entered, immediately smelling the tea wafting from the kitchen. She sauntered over to the table where two mugs awaited owners, steam rising up like the dual curls of twin snakes.

  "I can't talk long," Fagan said. "Someone tried to kill Wellner a couple of days ago."

  “What? Really? Jeez, I’ve been out of the loop. But, I guess that would explain the dire-sounding memo he sent out about rooting out all the corruption in the Club.”

  “It gets worse. The hitter was someone from the Boulder Branch.”

  Ember sat. “Oh, shit. Who was it?”

  “Conner. They found him and have been interrogating him since last night. He’s going before the Board in an hour, and I’m representing Boulder at the meeting. I have a feeling it’s going to get ugly.”

  “Conner, huh? Wild. That guy always did have some serious anger issues. But, it's not all that surprising. The whole world's gone crazy lately."

  Fagan dabbed a spot of saliva from her lips with the corner of a napkin. "Yes, it has."

  "Call me after. Let me know how it goes.”

  “I can do that,” Fagan said as she sat.

  “Why isn’t the Board doing anything about Charlie’s death?”

  Fagan shrugged. “I was told it’s now become part of the corruption investigation. Anyway, how are things with you?”

  “Did you ever lose something and not want to look too hard for it?”

  Fagan raised an eyebrow. “Not sure if I follow.”

  "When I was in high school, I was pretty artsy. I wrote poetry, I was in drama club, I wore my hair down over one eye… you know the drill. I had this prized-possession journal full of deep high school thoughts and whiny poetry, and one day I couldn't find it. I looked around for about two minutes, checked all the most common places, but I didn't look all that hard. A couple of weeks went by, and I still hadn't looked for it. I used to wonder why I didn't tear my parents' house apart trying to find it."

  “And?”

  "And I think I didn't want to accept defeat. If I gave it a thorough search and couldn't find it, then I would have to admit it was gone for real. As long as I didn't look, there was still hope. It took me a couple of weeks to get to the place where I could face the possibility of losing it."

  Fagan nodded. “I think I understand. I don’t know exactly what I’m supposed to take from that, but I get that you’re under a lot of pressure, and have been, for going on three weeks now.”

  “Yeah, no shit. You’re more perceptive than you look, Fagan.”

  “I have my moments. Also, I have information about Quinn.”

  “I’m listening.”

  "He's rich. He has multiple houses, apartments, all in different names. His parents weren't only Wall Street types; they were in real estate, like house flippers. All done through shell companies. Mostly in the US, but he has others overseas, too. There's nothing concrete I can pin down for sure, but there are whispers and plenty of circumstantial evidence."

  “That explains why I haven’t been able to find him. But, I don’t get why he’s in the DAC if he’s independently wealthy.”

  The older lady shrugged. “Some of us just like killing people. The Club provides an excellent excuse, particularly for the ones who can’t make it in the military, but they still have to exorcise those demons somehow. Quinn certainly wouldn’t pass a psych eval.”

  Ember nodded and sipped her tea. She didn’t have anything to add.

  “What’s the plan?” Fagan asked.

  “The plan is to kill him and free any hostage
s he has.”

  “And you do that… how?”

  “Quinn told me I’m supposed to meet him at this ballpark in Broomfield. I think he’s talking about one off Oak Circle, near Highway 36. It’s the only thing in the area that meets his description.”

  “Think he’ll show this time?”

  “I do.”

  “He’s lied twice about that,” Fagan said.

  “But now, he’s running out of time. If he doesn’t kill me by tomorrow, he voids his contract. I think he’s going to set up another trap with the last of his three kidnapped women.”

  “The last of the three, as far as you know,” Fagan said.

  “True. He talked about the dead one from the bar as Gamma and the escaped one is named Beta, so I’m guessing he’s down to his Alpha.”

  “That suggests she’s his prized possession, if he’s used them in reverse order of importance.”

  “Yeah, it makes sense. And I haven’t found any proof he’s got henchmen or an accomplice, so I have a hard time believing he’s got a dozen young women stowed away somewhere. It’s too much to manage. And, someone like Quinn wouldn’t work well with a partner.”

  Fagan offered a grave nod. “I agree.”

  “I think I’m going to walk up to this park with Alpha trussed up in some crazy and elaborate torture machine, and he’s going to be nearby. He’ll bait me into trying to rescue her, then he’ll hit me with a stun gun or something in the back. He’s not the type to meet me one on one in the open field. He’s more guerilla style.”

  “I agree with that, too. But, I’m still not hearing a plan.”

  “Gabe. He’s the plan. I’m going to put him up a tree with a sniper rifle.”

  Fagan raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “He’s been practicing. He’s not bad, actually. And, it doesn’t even matter if he’s not accurate. He just has to distract Quinn. All I need is for our sicko to turn his head for one second.”

  “Start at the beginning.”

  "Gabe and I meet up at sunset, on the west side of the park. There's a thick line of trees, and he can perch somewhere along there with a clear view of the whole park. He waits until Quinn makes an appearance, and then he pulls the trigger. Hopefully, he won't accidentally shoot me, but he'll put Quinn off guard long enough for me to subdue him."

  “You going to send Gabe early, have him wait in the tree for a few hours?”

  Ember shook her head. “No, I think if we do that, Quinn will sniff him out. It’s much better if we can provide a coordinated distraction for each other. I can show myself and keep Quinn’s attention on me while Gabe gets into place. It has to be bang-bang, but I think we can pull it off.”

  “I see,” Fagan said, letting a long and slow sigh eke from her lips. “It could work.”

  "I'm running out of time. I have a feeling if Quinn doesn't get to fulfill his contract, he might cut his losses and split. Especially after what you've told me now about his non-US residences. And, if he does that, he'll sacrifice any hostages he has left. This has to work. I won't get another chance."

  Fagan leaned forward. “If it has to work, then let’s go over it one more time.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  WELLNER

  The president opened the door to the large and dark conference room where the Review Board met. Shades over the windows were drawn. His Vice President Jules Dunard sat in the chair next to his. Her eyes were down, scanning a notebook clutched in her scheming hands. Historian Kunjal was there next to her, along with the other members of the Board and reps from all six Branches. Each of them sat with their gold token on the table in front of them. No one spoke; each looked at Wellner to lead the charge.

  There were three extra bodies at the table, aside from the usual invitees to Review Board meetings. Two of them were armed security guards in suits, hanging back, Beretta APX 9mms clutched in their hands, with the noses pointed at the floor.

  The third person was the prime focus of this meeting. A black man with a bald head and a trimmed mustache who had not come to this meeting by choice. His hands and feet were bound, with a piece of duct tape over his mouth. He also had a token sitting in front of him, but Wellner hadn’t decided yet if he would allow this man to speak.

  Wellner rounded the table and put his gold coin down in front of his spot. He thought about the object he'd stashed underneath his chair before the meeting, and he still wasn't sure if he intended to use it or not. There were infinite paths this meeting could take. He had to be prepared for the worst possible option.

  His heart was already racing in his chest, however.

  “Has he been questioned this morning?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Jules said.

  “Was there anyone else in the room with you, Jules?”

  Now she finally did look up at him, wounded. Or, at least, appearing wounded. Her lips parted, and her eyes darted back and forth over his face before she spoke.

  “Yes, there were four Branch reps in the room with me.”

  Wellner pointed at the bound man. “Let’s hear from him.”

  The rep from Golden Branch leaned over and ripped the duct tape off his mouth. The man gave no reaction, even though Wellner could see that part of his mustache had come away with the rip of the tape.

  “What’s your name and Branch?” Wellner asked.

  “Conner,” he said through gritted teeth. “Boulder.”

  Wellner watched him closely, looking for any sign of the man’s eyes flicking over toward Jules for confirmation or direction. “Do you understand the crime you’ve been accused of?”

  Conner nodded. "Yes, and I did it. I broke through your security like it was nothing, and I tried to kill you in the parking garage. And I almost got you, didn't I, you shitty little weasel?"

  Wellner took a breath and readjusted his glasses. His heart rate was like a rattling machine gun. He still hadn’t taken his seat yet, instead choosing to lean over the table. Hands shaking, he pressed them on the table to force the vibrations to stop. “You don’t seem to have any trouble admitting what you did. Why is that?”

  Conner shrugged. "I knew I'd get caught. I knew I would get punished. And I knew it would all be worth it. I just didn't know I would fail. I wouldn't have if that white girl with the big tits hadn't jumped in front of you and saved your corrupt ass."

  “You’re one of the most active members of your Branch, right?”

  Conner nodded.

  Wellner glanced over at Fagan, the hideously burned older woman who was Boulder’s most senior member. Fagan stared at Wellner with her one good eye, but no readable expression on the portion of her face still capable of making one.

  “Did you work with or receive instructions from anyone else in the Club to carry out this assassination attempt?”

  Wellner couldn’t be sure, but he thought he’d heard Jules let out a flittering sigh at the question. Still, Conner did not look over to her.

  Wellner kept his eyes on the man being interrogated.

  Conner struggled to sit up higher against his restraints. “No. This is all me. And do you know why I tried to kill you, Wellner?”

  “You will refer to him as Mr. President,” Jules said, and Wellner now eyed her. There was a strange look on her face, and he felt his skin tingle and crawl as he stared down at her.

  She put on a good show, but he could see through her charade. Jules had clearly paid Conner to instigate the attack, which would have worked if his secretary Naomi hadn’t been there to intercede.

  “Why did you do this?” Wellner said, ignoring Jules. He could feel his shoulders rise and fall, his jaw flexing. Lightheadedness passed through him in waves. He thought again about the object under the chair, which no one knew about but him.

  "Because, almost two weeks ago, a maniac from Parker poisoned a dozen people at my Branch. Two died—two good people. And you write a memo about it? You don’t deserve to be president of the Denver Assassins Club. You tarnish our good name. I wanted you to pay f
or your shitty response, but since that’s not possible, I’ll settle for a record of this meeting living on in the archives.” Conner looked directly at Kunjal, furiously scribbling notes. “Wellner is not qualified for this job. He should be convicted by the Board and removed like the coward he is. For Hank, for Sarah, for Charlie. Their blood is on your hands.”

  He had a point about Charlie. Wellner had not prioritized the investigation into the Boulder member’s death. Too much else going on.

  Wellner leaned over the table, gripping it so hard his hands ached. Kunjal pivoted toward him, worry on his face.

  This was pointless. This man was a trained assassin, resistant to interrogation. If Jules had paid or otherwise persuaded him to put out a hit on Wellner—which she obviously had done—they would never get it out of him. And now, sitting here, letting him spew his manifesto in front of all these attentive Branch reps? It made Wellner look weak.

  He was tired of looking weak. Every day, all of these people around him watched his authority degrade over time. How much longer until they realized his power was all theoretical and no one had to listen to anything he said?

  No longer. It ended today. Starting right now, Wellner vowed to take the power back.

  “Do you have anything to say before I carry out your sentence?” Wellner asked.

  “David,” Jules said. “Sentence? We haven’t even—”

  Wellner’s voice climbed, bordering on a yell. “Do you have anything to say, assassin?”

  Conner set his jaw. “You’re going to get what’s coming to you. Maybe not from me, but from someone else. That’s what I have to say.”

  Wellner had to steady himself to keep from falling over. His face flushed, heat coursing through him. He had to do this. This had to be done. Everyone was watching. Judging. Expecting him to show his strength. His prolonged weakness was why Jules thought she could usurp him in the first place.

  No longer. The weakness ended today. Right this second.

  He crouched down and removed the pistol from the holster underneath his chair. He might have grown slow and flabby, but he still remembered how to pull a trigger.