Steel Assassin

by Geoffrey Saign

  Angel should have felt elated, since he had Christie’s brother and one of the kidnappers in the trunk. Tossing the truck, SUV, and bodies down the mountainside would keep all of it hidden, or at least slow down any investigation.

  Things were going smoothly, even by his standards—which were high. Except he had reservations about killing the Colombian man and the four soldiers.

  He was glad he had placed a little seed of hope in the Colombian man’s heart before shooting him. Renata had told him that was very important for their souls to have a better death, and he always listened to her in everything.

  Still the killings bothered him and he wanted to talk to her about it. In all his years of killing for Diego, he had never doubted himself before. Why now?

  The answer came to him quickly. These latest victims were not his usual targets. Diego’s ruthless competitors were murderers, but the young Latino was an ordinary guy who loved his sister, as he loved Renata. And the soldiers looking for Harry were not bribed or caught up with the cartel. Honorable versus despicable. It also explained the uneasiness and uncertainty he had experienced before this job.

  He called Renata.

  “How are you doing, dear brother?”

  “Excellent, for the most part.” He explained what had happened, and finished with, “Do you see any danger coming my way from this?”

  She was silent for a few moments. “I see a flash of red. Maybe a car.”

  Angel considered that. Someone might have seen him exiting the dirt road. He could run and hide or face them and end it. “I favor facing them.”

  Renata was quiet again and Angel waited patiently. It was never wise to rush her if she needed time to explore options.

  Her voice was cautious. “If it doesn’t turn out as expected, leave. I sense you will be in more danger by staying.”

  As always her advice resonated to some degree with what he was feeling. “I agree.”

  “You said Excellent, for the most part. Something is bothering you.”

  “I hesitated in killing the Colombian. I doubted myself. And even killing the soldiers bothered me, Renata.”

  “We have been on a dark path together for a long time, Angel. I began feeling remorse months ago about our work for the cartel, and you are beginning to feel it too. We need a change.”

  Her words struck a chord in him that was unsettling. “What are you thinking?”

  She paused. “I’ve never been to the Bahamas. Would you be happy there with me for a few weeks?”

  “I would love the Bahamas!” he exclaimed. She loved snorkeling in the ocean because of the beautiful fish, and her body could be free of her chair.

  He added, “When I return I think we need to find a new home close to the ocean, where there is warm water and good snorkeling.”

  “You would do that for me?”

  “Of course!” Renata was often alone, with little to do, and he realized abruptly it was time for him to give back to her. Especially since she might only have a short while left to live.

  He felt guilty that it had taken him so long to see this obvious truth. “Get one-way tickets. Don’t use our real names. Pick one of our aliases.”

  “You will leave your job?”

  He considered her question carefully, realizing that his recent reservations over killing were related to deeper desires. “I need to get out. I won’t tell Diego or anyone. We’ll just leave. He’ll never find us.”

  “He will feel betrayed, Angel. He will never stop hunting you. You will have to kill him, dear brother. The other cartels will turn against him for killing Antonio anyway, so they will be happy if he is gone.”

  “Antonio’s son might put a contract out on my head for his father’s death.”

  “I don’t know how, but I see that resolving itself.”

  “That would make us safer. Talk soon, dear sister.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  He hung up, considering his betrayal of Diego. He didn’t want to kill him. The man had treated him like a brother. But Renata was his sister. There was no comparison. And Diego’s wish to enslave him for as long as possible was based on the man’s greed and thirst for power, not for any concern about him.

  His rearview mirror showed a mile straight stretch of road with no cars following him. He maintained speed until a small side road allowed him to turn off. He parked far enough from the highway to be able to see it, without easily being spotted.

  While sitting there, he regarded the majestic slopes of the mountains, their blend of bluish hues, and their size. Priceless. Feeling privileged, he enjoyed the view. The scenery calmed his emotions.

  In fifteen minutes a red car flew by.

  He gave them a short head start, and then drove back onto the highway and followed them, slowly putting together a plan. Wondering who it was, he realized he might not want to kill them. But if he died or was caught, Renata would be alone with no family.

  He refused to imagine her in a nursing home. He had always taken care of their finances and other matters, thus she would not have access to their money, nor be able to find it. It was another mistake to have not given her that information.

  He had no choice now. To protect his sister, he would have to kill anyone who threatened his life or his freedom.

  CHAPTER 28

  Clay felt fear creep into his bones. Outside of heights there wasn’t much that could produce that sensation in him. But the killer following them had achieved it. He wished he had called Meera again.

  “You’re sure it’s him?” Dale sounded incredulous.

  “Not one hundred percent, but close enough. Don’t change your speed. We don’t want him to know we’ve spotted him. At least not yet.” He had noticed the car far off the road, sitting and waiting. Dale had used the rearview mirror to watch it follow them onto the highway.

  “Should we call the police?”

  Clay had considered that. “They won’t be here before he makes his move.”

  Dale scoffed. “He’s damn arrogant to think he can do us the way he did—”

  “Four Special Ops soldiers who knew how to handle themselves?” Clay shook his head. “What kept you alive in Afghanistan? I always thought your arrogance would send you back in a body bag.”

  Dale’s voice calmed. “We had a team leader that told me I was going to die on my first mission unless I stopped talking and started listening. This guy had a lot of mission successes so I shut up and listened.”

  “So I’m going to tell you now, little brother, I’m more scared of this man than anyone I ever faced in combat. If I’m right, he just killed five guys, he somehow knows we’re following him, and he has no issues with trying to kill us. He has high confidence, high skill level, and has done this before.”

  Dale licked his lips. “What are we going to do?”

  “He has to hit us before we reach Estes. He might try a drive by and shoot us while passing, but that can get sloppy.”

  Clay took the SIG Sauer out of his belt and grabbed an extra mag from the glove compartment. “I think he’ll do something more creative. Whatever he does, please listen to me, agreed?”

  “Yeah, okay, Clay, I’ll listen. Just promise me we’re going to nail this guy and free Harry.”

  “That’s the plan, little brother. Get your gun ready.”

  Dale pulled the Glock from his belt and set it on his lap. “He’s hanging a quarter mile back. What’s he waiting for?”

  “No traffic and a straight stretch.”

  They rounded a corner into just that.

  Dale glanced at the rearview mirror. “He’s coming up fast now, Clay.”

  “Get ready to brake hard if he tries to pass us and duck your head down. I’ll be the shooter.” He released his seat belt and twisted sideways in his seat, the SIG pointed at Dale’s door. He braced his right foot agai
nst the floor board.

  Dale took off his seat belt too. “He’s making his move, Clay!”

  Through the rear passenger window, Clay watched the car accelerate, trying to time his next words: “Brake hard, Dale!”

  Dale slammed on the brakes just as the killer’s car pulled even with them. The killer’s passenger window was open, and in the fraction of a second that they were eye-to-eye, Clay glimpsed a machine gun aimed at him.

  They stopped, tires screeching.

  Fifty feet past them the black car also braked hard, burning rubber too. The black sedan slowly pulled over into their lane, and then off onto the shoulder and parked.

  Clay wasn’t sure what was happening. “Back up onto the shoulder and keep it running. He’s got a machine gun. Maybe an FN P90. Be ready to do a U-turn and run.”

  “Hell.” Dale backed up onto the shoulder, but kept the car running and in drive.

  “What kind of car is that?” Clay ran through scenarios in his mind. He tried to ignore the steep drop of the terrain past the shoulder.

  “Looks like a Chevy SS, but the logo is missing and the trunk seems customized. I’m not sure.”

  It was the first time Clay had ever heard Dale say he didn’t recognize the make and model of a car.

  The man got out of the car, smiling and holding the P90 in one hand, pointed up at the sky.

  Clay guessed he was Hispanic, but light colored. “Dale.”

  Dale backed up another fifty feet.

  The killer tossed the machine gun through his open driver’s door window, and then held up both empty hands. Next he took off his suit jacket, laid that on the open window, and slowly turned around, still smiling.

  His black dress shirt was fitted, betraying no lumps. No guns were tucked into his belt.

  “Do you think he wants to bargain with us for Harry?” asked Dale.

  “He didn’t kill five men to bargain with us.” Clay knew he was viewing a rattlesnake pretending to be a corn snake. The man had jet black hair and looked strong, but not bulky. He moved fluidly, effortlessly, with a smile that would be taken as friendly in any other situation.

  The killer walked casually to the trunk of his car and stood directly in front of it, facing them.

  “Let’s take him,” said Dale.

  “That’s what he wants. It’s a trap.” Clay swept his gaze up and down the man's body.

  “He’s unarmed.” Dale sounded eager.

  “He just killed four Special Ops soldiers.” Clay sensed there was something they weren’t seeing, but he couldn’t figure out how the man could come at them. Even if the killer had an ankle holster, they would have two guns on him. The idea of Harry lying in the man’s trunk, maybe the woman too, made him angry. The car’s tinted windows hid anything else inside.

  “Maybe there’s another shooter in the car.” Clay decided that had to be it.

  Dale turned to him. “We’re so close to Harry, big brother. We gotta try, don’t we?”

  Clay agreed. They had to try. “Okay, Dale. Drive up slowly and be ready. If he goes for his machine gun or a car door opens, we back up. There’s no way we can compete with a P90.”

  “You got it.” Dale slowly eased the car forward, his right hand on the wheel, his left on the SIG Sauer resting on his thigh. “I say when we get close enough, we shoot without waiting for him to move.”

  “Agreed. But let’s play his game first. When I tell you to stop, be ready. Wait for my signal.”

  “He’s going down.” Dale gripped his gun.

  “Don’t hit the trunk, in case Harry’s in there.”

  Dale frowned. “Crap. That’s why he’s standing there, isn’t it?”

  “I think so.”

  “You’re the best shot, Clay. I’ll go high, you go low.”

  “That’s a deal.”

  Dale slowly pulled up until they were seventy feet from the man. The killer was still smiling and standing casually, as if he was waiting for friends.

  Clay felt a needle of fear in his chest over the man’s carefree attitude. He said softly, “Stop.”

  Dale stopped the Malibu.

  Clay opened his door, holding his right hand high to show it was empty. He was left-handed like Dale. Though he could shoot just as well with both hands. He kept the SIG hidden, down at his side.

  The killer smiled and called out to them. “So good to meet you, Clay and Dale. You want your brother Harry back alive, correct?”

  “How the hell does he know our names?” asked Dale.

  Clay was caught off guard by that too. He worried that the killer also had the names of his wife and two boys. He wanted the man dead.

  The killer kept talking. “I would like to give your brother back unharmed. All I want is to talk.”

  “What do you think, Clay?” whispered Dale.

  “He’s lying. Forget it.” Swinging one leg out, his gaze on the killer, he stood up. The killer’s hands slid slightly behind his back. It sparked a sense of urgency in Clay and he whispered, “Now, Dale.”

  He swung his gun up, and Dale stuck his gun out the window, leaning his head out, but their movements seemed eerily slow in comparison to what Clay saw before him.

  The killer brought his hands out faster than them and strode forward, gripping two silenced Glocks and firing before they squeezed off a single shot.

  Clay couldn’t figure where the guns had come from, but instinctively knew he wasn’t going to be fast enough. He launched himself backward to get the door between him and the man’s guns, firing his gun on the way down, aiming at the killer’s head—the only thing still in his line of fire.

  Dale shouted. Clay thought he heard his brother get off one shot, but he saw Dale either lean sideways or fall over, he couldn’t be sure which.

  He hit the ground hard on his back and grunted. His sense of where he was escaped him for a few moments. He couldn’t register sound. The top of Dale’s head was visible on the passenger seat.

  Too dizzy to get up, he stared beneath the car frame. He saw the killer’s dress shoes twenty feet away, approaching the front of the Malibu on Dale’s side. Knowing Dale had only seconds, Clay rested his hand on the pavement and fired the SIG under the car at the man’s ankles. His vision was clouded and his hand trembling, but he emptied the gun, moving his hand in a line left to right.

  His hearing partially returned. He heard retreating footsteps. A car door opened and slammed shut. An engine roared. He got out the extra magazine, ejected the empty, and loaded it. His hand still trembled as he sat up.

  He couldn’t figure out what was wrong until something trickled down the side of his face. Gingerly he put his fingers up to his head, feeling a furrow of skin dug up along the side of his skull. The bullet had just grazed him.

  “Clay, you have survived another day,” he murmured. The killer was not only fast, but accurate with both hands. He remembered glimpsing something else on the way down to hitting the ground, but he was too consumed with Dale to remember it.

  He called out, “Dale? Dale!”

  Silence.

  Panicked, Clay rose to his knees, his shoulder against the car for support. He saw the other car speeding away, already far down the road. There were three bullet holes in the windshield of the Malibu, all about where Dale’s head had been.

  Dale lay half in the passenger seat, his left hand bloody, along with his left shoulder. But his head seemed free of wounds.

  Using the car door to pull himself up to his feet, Clay leaned in to examine his brother more carefully. And froze. There was a gouge on the left side of his brother’s neck. Blood seeped down his back, staining his brother’s jean jacket a dark color.

  “Dale!” Clay knew he had seconds.

  He took off his jacket, then his t-shirt, which he ripped in half. Pushing the thick end of the torn shirt against his bro
ther’s wound, he wrapped the rest around Dale’s neck as hard as he dared to stop the blood flow without choking him.

  He called 911 and gave his position. Estes Park had a medical center. He had looked it up in case they had any hiking accidents.

  Once off the phone, he used his other hand to check Dale’s pulse on one of his wrists. Nothing. “Dale!”

  He turned his brother onto his back and began chest compressions with one hand, while keeping pressure on the wound with the other. Five minutes later he was still working on his brother when the ambulance and police arrived.

  They asked him to move out of the way so they could take over. Dizzy again, he wobbled on his feet as he stumbled around the back end of the car. His skin was suddenly cold and clammy.

  One of the medics steadied him by holding his arm and guiding him to the back bumper of the ambulance. He sat there while they checked his vitals and head wound.

  Dale’s gun was lying on the street by the front door of the Malibu. Guilt flooded him. He was responsible. It was his plan that had failed.

  Abruptly he remembered what he had seen. When the killer had stepped forward, it seemed like part of his trunk lid was open. But the main trunk had remained closed. The man had a small compartment built into the outside of the trunk that blended perfectly with the trunk’s design. That’s where the guns had come from. That’s why they never had a chance.

  The killer was in Steel’s class, someplace he and Dale didn’t belong.

  Dazed, he watched while they worked on his brother. Please let my brother live.

  Sometime later they placed his brother on a stretcher, his body covered with a sheet. He stared, feeling numb.

  Dale had survived Afghanistan, but not Colorado. And now he would have to tell Christie and his parents that he had gotten his little brother killed, when he was the one who was supposed to protect him.

  Tears ran down his face.

  CHAPTER 29

  Harry woke up to Isabella whispering his name. Disoriented in the dark, he was quickly brought back to reality by his throbbing shoulder and arm.

  “What happened?” He was surprised he had passed out again.