Steel Assassin

by Geoffrey Saign

  “I think someone tried to rescue us.”

  He was instantly annoyed. “You should have woken me up.”

  “I tried. Anyway, what could you do?”

  Frustrated, he asked, “How do you know someone tried to rescue us?”

  “We stopped and there were muffled words, and then muffled shots. Then our car left.”

  His heart raced with thoughts of being rescued. “It had to be my brothers or the Army.”

  “They’re dead now.”

  That sent a sliver of panic into his chest. “What are you talking about? How can you be sure?”

  “Okay, I’m not certain. But the killer got away.”

  “Maybe they’re just wounded.” He hoped his brothers weren’t lying facedown on the road. If they died trying to save him it would haunt him for the rest of his life.

  Isabella continued to cut up their shirts, working on his shoulder bandage first. Tying several pieces of cloth together to make a binding, she folded two small pads of cloth that she put over the entry and exit wounds. She tied them in place by looping the binding around his neck and armpit. To find the wounds she accepted him guiding her hands with his.

  Harry appreciated that she was gentle with him.

  She made a similar bandage for the knife wound. He had to shift his weight for her to get the patch binding under his arm. In another life it might have been a fun game at a singles party.

  When she finished, he said, “Thank you.”

  She remained silent.

  “Let’s talk about our plan.” He needed to get himself focused.

  “He’s going to shoot us. What can we do?”

  He heard the hopelessness in her voice. He had to stave off his own sense of doom. “It’s likely he intends to torture us to learn whatever he can, and maybe to punish Jack, Christie, and your family. When we’ve suffered enough, he’ll kill us. That’s his plan. We’re going to have our own plan.”

  She spoke grudgingly. “What kind of plan do you have?”

  “How good are you with your knife?”

  “My father showed me how to use it. I’m pretty good.”

  “Did your father organize the kidnapping?” She didn’t answer, and he asked, “Is Marita your sister?”

  She remained silent for a few moments. “You said you have a plan.”

  He let it go, but her silence indicated he might be right or at least close to the truth. “When he stops to let us out, he’ll think we have no weapons. He’ll be less worried about me because I’ve been shot. All that adds up to less caution on his part. I’m hoping he lets us out at the same time. If so, I stumble, pretend I’m very weak, and then charge him. You come in fast and stab him.”

  “I will try,” Isabella said softly.

  “Don’t try. Do it.”

  “Do you want the knife?” She sounded irritated.

  “You have a better chance of surprising him. Stab his eyes, face, whatever is close, and don’t stop until he’s down for good.” That sounded crude and brutal even to him. She didn’t respond so he worried she wouldn’t even be able to try. “Do you think you can do that?”

  “If I stab him a million times it will not be enough for what he did to my brother.”

  He cleared his throat. Not Snow White. “Have you always been this tough?”

  Her voice had an edge. “Typical man. You think women are weak.”

  “I’m glad you’re tough. Women have to be. My sister is.”

  She was quiet again for a minute. “I had some bad experiences with men. In our country many men are still sexist pigs. My father said I would have made a good soldier.” She paused. “Do you have a family?”

  “My wife died of cancer. No kids.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks. She was an amazing woman.” It took him a moment to recover as images of his wife swept through him. He hadn’t talked about her for a long while. “Let’s say instead of taking us both out, he takes me out of the trunk first or takes you out first. Either way, you’re on your own. This guy is fast and very good with his hands, so you’re going to have to surprise him any way you can.”

  “I’m not sure I can do that.” Her voice revealed no confidence.

  “If you visualize how you might do it, the movements, where you’ll stab him, something real that you can do, it will make it easier to carry out.”

  She sighed. “I will practice it over and over in my mind.”

  “Perfect.” Thinking of all the possible scenarios, he didn’t think they had much chance of escaping. His wounds and physical condition played a part in that. But he said, “We’ll make him wish he had never seen us.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “So do I. So do I.” They were both quiet for a minute. He thought he heard her crying. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

  She sniffled. “I was thinking of Juan. His children and wife will suffer now. It makes me sick to my stomach. We caused all of this.”

  “His death was horrible to watch.” He painfully reached out his left hand to touch her arm. “His children have a great aunt to help them with their loss.”

  “You don’t know anything about me!” she said angrily, pushing away his hand. In a minute she added softly, “Gracias.”

  “It’s okay. You’re right, I don’t know anything about you. But I trust my instincts and I know you care about your family, Isabella.”

  “You seem like a good man too, Harry.”

  They were both quiet this time. He yawned. “I’m going to try to get some sleep. If you’re awake, and he stops, next time wake me up.”

  “I will, believe me. I don’t want to face that animal alone.”

  Thinking out loud, he said, “If anyone lived through that last stop, they’ll call the police. Canine units will smell us in the trunk. He might try to kill us and dump us somewhere before he gets to a roadblock.”

  She spoke softly. “That’s pretty bleak.”

  “Sorry. I’m not trying to scare you, but we have to be prepared. He won’t shoot us in the trunk. There’s too much risk of a blood scent, which dogs would definitely pick up. Just be ready to act any time you can. We’ll only get one chance at him.”

  “I will do my best.”

  “That’s all you can do.” As he closed his eyes, he wanted to buoy her up, and whispered, “You have a nice name, Isabella.” Instantly he thought it was a stupid thing to say to someone that had kidnapped, drugged, and stabbed him.

  “I like Harry too. It’s a strong name.”

  As he drifted off, he started to think that maybe they were both feeling the Stockholm Syndrome.

  CHAPTER 30

  Angel drove away from the gunfight knowing he had been lucky. Renata had saved him again. He had recognized Christie’s brothers immediately from the photos Diego had given him the day before.

  Ego might have kept him in a gun battle with the two brothers. However his sister’s warning and hundreds of past instances that supported the accuracy of her sight had made him flee as soon as Clay had fired at him from beneath the car.

  As it was, he had a small nick in his left ear that he put a bandage on. He carried a first aid kit in the glove compartment.

  Clay was an excellent shot and had almost killed him while falling backward. The man had reacted instantly to his guns and was a worthy opponent. Dale was less skilled and more brash. Angel had shot him several times. He had hit Clay with one bullet but didn’t know if it would be fatal.

  He was lucky there were no bullet holes in his car. That would have forced him to dump it, and probably kill the two in the trunk. He was just as lucky that Clay had not shot his foot or ankle.

  Considering what had happened, he felt twinges of remorse again over killing. Two brothers trying to save a third. Decent people, not cartel scum. He didn’t feel go
od about it. It was going to be difficult carrying out Diego’s vendetta.

  Emergency sirens.

  He quickly found a side road to pull onto. In less than a minute an ambulance and police car drove by. Pulling back onto the highway, he accelerated.

  He called Renata and filled her in.

  She was quiet until he finished. “I’m glad you listened to me! I was worried you wouldn’t, you’re so headstrong at times.”

  “I know better than to outguess my sister. Should I hide or try to leave Colorado?”

  “Get out of that state.”

  “I have two hostages in the trunk. Dogs will find them.”

  Renata didn't hesitate. “I sense if you go fast you will be fine with your usual precautions.”

  “All right. Thank you, dear sister.”

  “I’m checking flights for the Bahamas! I’m so excited, Angel!”

  “That’s wonderful! Talk soon.” He hung up, happy for her. She hadn’t sounded this excited in years.

  And it was good timing because he was becoming more interested in a new life too. Killing had been his path for decades, but he had always known that at some point age would increase his odds of failure and he would have to walk away. He had never expected his conscience to push for it too.

  He had plenty of money stashed away for the two of them. Maybe he could even meet someone he could trust and love as much as his sister. Those thoughts surprised him. He must have carried a deep unconscious desire to get out of the cartel for some time now.

  He called Diego, but the call was not pleasant. He filled him in on what had happened since this morning.

  Diego sounded stressed. “Vincente is not answering his phone. I sent men to find him, but I fear the worst for my brother. I am still meeting with our friends tomorrow.”

  “Do you want me to help you?” Angel knew he had no choice anyway.

  “Yes. I have my men, but so did Vincente and I think it is likely he’s dead. I would also like to meet the two you have captured, Harry and Isabella.” Diego paused. “I think I will do some digging. The Aguilar family seeking vengeance, tied to Steel and our cartel. It shouldn’t be hard. Leave your captives alone until you arrive here. We will have fun with them and send Steel a message.”

  “I’ll be there. Don’t worry, Diego.”

  “Gracias, Angel.”

  He hung up and tromped on the gas to get to Estes Park, zeroed in on his escape now. On the outskirts of the small town he kept an eye out for a cabin with a driveway bordered by trees, which would offer privacy from the road and neighbors.

  He spotted one and turned into it, driving right up to the cabin. No cars were there. He assumed on a nice day any occupants would be out hiking as long as there was ample light. It should give him a good hour or more.

  To be safe, with a Glock tucked in his belt at his back, he went up to the front door and knocked. No answer. He walked around back to check the porch and hot tub. All vacant.

  Hustling back to the car, he began peeling the plastic dip off it. He had it painted with plastic dip by a professional to ensure it would peel faster. With so much practice doing this, he was an expert and worked fast.

  Beginning at the edge of a door panel, he carefully peeled enough of the black dip off so he could take off the panel’s covering in a whole sheet without tearing it. Beneath the black was the original paint. White.

  He had the whole car finished in a half hour. Then he buffed out edges and any telltale bits of leftover black with a microfiber towel. In ten minutes he was finished. It looked fantastic.

  From the glove compartment he pulled out two Chevy logos and one SS logo, snapping one onto the front, and two onto the trunk.

  When he had purchased the Chevy SS, he had the logos taken off and the trunk modified for his needs. He preferred the SS because it handled like a sports car and had a massive trunk.

  After tossing all the black plastic dip peelings into a plastic bag, he stuffed it under the back porch of the cabin. Back at the car he stripped off his shirt and pants, grabbed the suitcoat, and stuffed them along with his dress shoes beneath the porch too.

  Grass grew in front of the porch. When he stepped back he was pleased that none of the clothing was visible.

  Returning to the car, he opened the back door. On the back seat were a pair of hiking shorts, hiking boots, and a yellow cotton t-shirt. A western hat rested on top of the pile. He put it all on, except for the hat.

  Moving fast, he replaced the Glocks in the secret trunk compartment, and then walked to the front passenger door, opening it. He lifted up a corner of the carpet on the floor, revealing a thin square of sheet metal, which he also lifted up. A shallow depression appeared in the floorboard metal. He slid the FN P90 into it, covering it with the sheet metal and carpet.

  Lastly he reversed the magnetized plates on the front and back of the car so he had a different license plate showing. It was registered to an elderly man. He drove out of the driveway, not seeing anyone, and smiled to himself.

  Closer to town he pulled into the back of a hotel lot. His tinted windows blocked viewing and there were few pedestrians near the rear parking spaces.

  He opened the glove compartment and took out a small bag. In it was an expensive wig of curly gray hair, gray eyelashes, a gray moustache, and a small bottle of Ben Nye Spirit Gum Adhesive for prosthetics. He applied the adhesive to all four hair pieces. As soon as the adhesive was tacky, he used his mirror to apply them to his head and face. Having done this many times before, it went smoothly.

  He put on his sunglasses and hat, and then checked himself in the rearview mirror. Perfect. An old white man with a tan driving a white car, instead of a forty-something dark-haired Latino killer in a black car. He had a matching California driver’s license.

  One last touch. In the glove compartment was a cheap bottle of strong liquid perfume. He took it out, unscrewed the top, and got out. Canine units might smell his two hostages in the trunk, but the police would focus on a black car driven by a Latino with black hair. Still he dumped the whole bottle of perfume along the crack of the trunk so it would settle into the edges. Dogs hated perfume.

  As he drove out of Estes, heading west, the sun was poking through the afternoon clouds. Beautiful.

  He thought about Steel. If the man had killed Vincente and his men, he was very good. Special. And since Steel had killed his share of men, Angel had fewer qualms about killing him.

  One of Diego’s comments came back to haunt him. The one about having fun with Harry and Isabella. Diego meant torturing and raping Isabella as his men had tortured and used Marita. He wouldn’t participate, but it soured his mood about delivering her to Diego.

  She didn’t strike him as a killer, like Vincente’s girlfriend. He would have to find a way to kill her cleanly to spare her Diego’s injustice. Both of his captives.

  PART 4

  OP: DIEGO & ANGEL

  CHAPTER 31

  Guilt swept Steel as he listened to Clay talk. It was his fault the brothers had been involved, his mess they were trying to sort out. And now Christie had lost a brother. She could easily lose another. As an only child he couldn’t imagine the pain she was feeling. He could only relate to it by assuming it was as painful for her as when his parents had died.

  Staring at the phone, she placed it on her leg, her face pale. She winced as Clay described how Dale had died. Clay sounded distressed.

  It tormented Steel that he had brought such misery into the lives of the woman he loved and her family. Anger at the Colombian made him clench his fist.

  Tears rolled down Christie’s face.

  They had driven out of Sequoia National Park and into a nearby small town. He pulled into the lot of a restaurant and parked at the back.

  Clay finished with, “I gave the police the killer’s license plate and the location of where he killed th
e soldiers. They’re going to put up roadblocks so no one can get out of the area. I kept you two out of it, said I didn’t know where you were, and that we bought the guns off the grid for self-defense while we were looking for Harry. They took the guns. I don’t think I’ll be charged with anything since the guy attacked us. Being ex-military helped.”

  Steel leaned over. “I’m sorry for your loss, Clay. It’s my mess to clean up. Take care of yourself.”

  Clay asked hoarsely, “Do you know who the killer is?”

  “It can’t be the Colombian so the only other option is that the cartel somehow learned that we killed Garcia and that Harry was kidnapped. I don’t know how they did, but it’s the only explanation that fits.”

  “Steel, I’m holding you responsible for killing the SOB that killed Dale. The killer knew our names. He could be coming for our families.”

  Steel heard Clay’s anger. “He’s as good as dead. You have my word.”

  “You take care of my sister, Steel. You hear me? I can’t lose anyone else over this.”

  He swallowed. “I will, Clay. One quick question. Any sign of the woman that Harry said was one of the kidnappers?”

  “None.”

  Christie picked up the phone. “Don’t chase this guy, Clay. He’s a professional killer.” She heaved a breath. “I’m sorry, Clay, for all of this.” She rubbed her forehead, her voice trembling. “Have you called our folks?”

  “That’s next. You should go home, Christie. Mom will need you.” He hung up.

  Christie had tears in her eyes. “I can’t believe Dale is gone. My little brother.”

  “I feel sick about it too.” He held her, her face on his shoulder.

  She sniffled. “It’s my fault. I got them involved.”

  “No. It’s my fault. My mess they got involved in.”

  She pulled back, wiping her eyes. “How did the cartel find Harry so fast?”

  That troubled him. “They shouldn’t have known that I was in Colorado protecting Afia, much less about the Colombian’s blackmail. Yet Vincente knew we were coming.”