Steel Assassin

by Geoffrey Saign

“We could shut it down for a few days. Say it’s maintenance issues.”

  Steel didn’t like it. “Don’t. If Angel was truthful, and you shut down Skywalk, you could tip off the terrorists. They might hit another place or even hit Skywalk another day. If it stays open you have a chance of ending it today.”

  Jeffries said, “I’ll call and tell them to beef up their security without warning anyone off. Bomb detection will arrive there ASAP.”

  “The terrorists could move up their timetable to today at any of their sites.”

  “Acknowledged. Thanks, Steel.” Jeffries paused. “How far are you from Skywalk?”

  “A few hours.” He knew what was coming.

  “You have experience spotting operatives, Steel. You’re one of the best. Why not drive up today and make sure it’s safe? At least for today. Scout the area for a weapons cache too.”

  Steel hesitated. “There’s something I need from you then.”

  “Name it.”

  “Send a helicopter to an address near Billings and take my daughter and ex-wife to a secure location until this mess is over.”

  It was Jeffries turn to pause. “All right. Consider it done. But I expect to be filled in on everything, and I want Angel and Diego dead at the end of this.”

  “Then we have the same goals.”

  CHAPTER 47

  Steel rented a Jetta and drove fast. Jeffries had lifted some of the stress from his shoulders by agreeing to take Carol and Rachel out of the equation. But he still had a knot in his stomach.

  Diego and the pack threatened to ruin their lives. That wouldn’t end until the cartel vendetta was finished. He vowed silently to bury all of them.

  And he still held anger at Carlos—Christie had been cut, beaten, and almost killed twice because of the Colombian. More than that, he still worried that Carlos would release their photos to the cartel.

  He called Wyatt and filled him in on the helicopter coming for Carol and Rachel. Then he settled back to focus on driving.

  If Angel was telling the truth, he didn’t think the terrorists would wait until tomorrow when they learned their counterparts for the planned Yosemite massacre were missing.

  Highway ninety-three took him over the Colorado River. The bridge safety walls hid views of Hoover Dam. He entered Arizona. White clouds formed shadows on the low mountains, while the landscape created a contrast of burnt orange, reds, and browns dotted with cacti and shrubs.

  Soon he was passing through acres of Joshua tree forest. The branches of the yucca trees ended with bushy clumps of evergreen needles reaching up to the sky as if in prayer.

  A golden eagle floated high in the sky and a northern flicker flew across the road ahead of him. He made a mental note that this was a place Rachel would like to see. That put a lump in his throat.

  Pushing the speed limit, two hours later he arrived at the parking lot for the Grand Canyon Skywalk. Two-thirty p.m. He pulled his OTF knife from its sheath and slid it beneath the driver’s seat. The Glock too. It was a relief that he didn’t have to worry about Christie.

  As he walked to the visitor center the heat reflected off the pavement bathed his skin. Turkey vultures circled overhead in the blue sky.

  Guards with leashed dogs were visible, as well as Hualapai tribal police in the parking lots and building. The guards were smiling and seemed to blend in enough to not warn off any potential terrorists.

  He purchased one pass and rode the half-full bus to the Skywalk center, not seeing anyone of interest on the bus. When it stopped, instead of entering the building he walked past all the tables in the outdoor eating areas. If the attack did come at four, he still had time to look outside first.

  Police presence was also visible in the eating areas and along the canyon edge ahead.

  Search dogs and their handlers stood at the building entrance. The dogs could sniff out ammunition and guns so he thought an outside attack was more likely. ISIS operatives were often on suicide missions. Maybe one of them planned to create confusion outside, and then the other would try to get inside the building to create havoc there.

  Not seeing anyone suspicious among the tables, he strolled down closer to the canyon. The plateau descended slightly to the edge. Large rocks embedded in the ground formed natural steps and convenient places to sit and rest. Some people walked up to within a few feet of the lip overlooking the four-thousand-foot drop to the river below.

  He carefully strolled closer to the edge, making sure no one was tailing him. The drop to the first slope of the wall was about eight hundred feet. The canyon was majestic, breathtaking, but he couldn’t enjoy it.

  To his left the horseshoe-shaped cantilevered Skywalk appeared full. A dozen people stood along the canyon edge between him and the wood security fence, which prevented people from getting closer to Skywalk.

  None of the tourists looked questionable.

  If Skywalk was a target, he expected automatic weapons, not bombs. If the terrorists wanted to create more fear, they would escalate the gravity of the attacks over the five days. The brochure said Skywalk could hold over eight hundred people. He hoped it could handle a bomb if he was wrong.

  He ambled farther south, watching everyone. Tourists were scattered over a quarter mile south of Skywalk, their numbers thinning the farther he walked.

  His watch read three-fifteen p.m. He was running out of time. He wanted to be on Skywalk at four.

  A quarter mile farther south, beyond where most of the tourists were congregated, a tall man sat close to the edge, staring at the canyon. Steel was curious. Perhaps he was a single tourist that didn’t like crowds. Deciding to investigate further, he walked at an angle away from the canyon, pretending to be heading for higher ground.

  He kept the man in his peripheral vision. Turning, he put his hands on his hips and looked at the canyon. The man was a hundred yards away, sitting on a large rock, his back to Steel. He seemed to be working at something, his arms moving slightly.

  “Hell,” he muttered. He had no time to waste on being discreet.

  He made a beeline for a spot thirty yards north of the man. From the man’s side-profile Steel put him at thirty, six feet, two hundred pounds, with dark curly hair and dark skin. European. Wearing long pants, tennis shoes, and a baggy green polo shirt.

  Steel slowed as he got closer, trying to see what the man was doing. He glimpsed a nylon rope in the man’s hand for a brief moment. The man bent over, a large day pack resting by his feet.

  Steel checked his watch. Three-thirty.

  The man turned and stared at him but didn’t move.

  Keeping his gaze averted, Steel pretended to be taking in the canyon. Walking away, he headed toward the Skywalk building. He couldn’t cover the distance between himself and the man faster than the man could shoot him—if he had a gun. He needed help.

  Several times he checked over his shoulder. The man was still sitting, but not watching him. Maybe waiting until a few minutes to four.

  Striding farther away from the canyon, he made his way up to the road that the tour bus used. From there he jogged toward the Skywalk building.

  Before he reached it, he stopped and punched in the Skywalk number on his phone to report a man with a gun down by the canyon edge. After giving a description and location, he hung up and hurried to the Skywalk building.

  He was satisfied to see police officers scurrying in the direction he had seen the man. If the man was one of the terrorists—which he thought likely—the police should be able to deal with him.

  Once inside, he headed for the Skywalk entry line. He didn’t think the gift shop and restaurant merited attention. The dogs would have found a bomb. That left the possibility of an attack of some kind on the Skywalk itself. It would get better publicity, but he didn’t see how they could get a weapon onto it, unless Diego had managed to have one hidden there too.

&nbs
p; He had to give up his phone at the metal detector station and put disposable booties over his shoes to protect the glass bottom of the outdoor walkway. Then he stood in line with several dozen people, waiting for vacancies to open up on the Skywalk.

  Peering over the shoulders of the people ahead of him, he scanned the tourists already on Skywalk. Beginning with the end of the walkway and working back, he searched for single males that stood out in any way.

  The ten-foot-wide, horseshoe-shaped bridge extended seventy feet out over the rim of the canyon. It was crowded. The brochure said they limited the number of people to one hundred twenty and it appeared to be at maximum capacity.

  As he surveyed the walkway, his gaze rested on one individual.

  Halfway down the first section of the walkway, a young man with shades leaned against the inner Skywalk rail. Alone. The man checked his watch several times in the course of a few minutes. Six foot, dark tanned, wearing shorts and a loose shirt.

  The man checked his watch again. Steel wanted to bolt at the man. Maybe the watch was meaningless, but he couldn’t help his reaction.

  He quickly scanned the rest of the walkway to the entrance but didn’t see anyone who fit the profile. There was a small knot of tall tourists on the left side that blocked his view of a few people beyond them.

  He smiled at the security guard standing at the entrance ahead of him. “What time is it, miss?”

  The guard glanced at her phone. “Three-fifty-five.”

  “Thank you.” Due to the number of people in front of him it didn’t seem likely that he would make it onto the Skywalk in time.

  He glanced at everyone in line once more. His gut said he had to be on the walkway, one way or the other, by four. Pulling out his billfold, he said to a family of four ahead of him, “I have to leave in fifteen minutes. I’ll give you twenty each—eighty bucks—if you let me cut in front of you.”

  They eagerly took the money from him. Two people in their sixties did the same. A man and his girlfriend in their twenties shrugged and just let him go ahead without taking any money. By then he was at the head of the line.

  The man he was watching slowly meandered to the far side of a young woman looking over the inner rail. The woman partly obscured Steel’s view of the man so he couldn’t see if he was talking to her or not. Maybe the man was with her. Maybe not.

  The security woman waved him through. “You can go, sir.”

  He hurried past her, weaving through the people in front of him, keeping his gaze on the solitary man. The man reached under the back of his shirt and Steel rushed forward. Grabbing the man’s wrist, he strong-armed him against the rail.

  “What are you doing?” blurted the man.

  “Leave him alone!” said the woman.

  “What’s your relationship with him?” asked Steel.

  “My husband.” She came closer. “Get off of him!”

  Steel lifted the man’s shirt. No hidden weapons.

  A shout made him whirl around. Farther ahead, a man near the outer railing was stabbing one of the tall tourists in the back with a black knife.

  Steel released his suspect and bolted for the terrorist. Late twenties, average in height and weight, wearing jeans, a loose, short-sleeved blue shirt, trim beard, and sunglasses. Maybe Middle Eastern descent. Fluid movements.

  People were scrambling away from the man, who stopped in mid-attack when he saw Steel charging.

  Machine gun fire erupted from the canyon edge below to the south. People screamed.

  The terrorist pushed his shocked victim against the rail, grabbed one of his legs, and slid him over.

  The tourist shouted.

  Steel leapt forward and grabbed one of the falling man’s ankles, his stomach against the rail as he held the man’s weight with both hands.

  The terrorist came at Steel from the side, his black knife raised.

  Steel kicked into the man’s abdomen, sending the terrorist flying back.

  Two other tourists rushed forward and grabbed the dangling man’s ankles.

  Steel released the victim and chased the attacker, who had fled, leaving a trail of cut arms and necks in his wake. Victims were either bent over in pain or lying on the glass floor. Steel guessed the terrorist’s knife was ceramic, which would get it past the metal detector.

  More shots from down below. People shouting. The side glass on the opposite side of Skywalk was punched by bullets. Tourists toppled.

  More shots.

  Quiet.

  Steel needed to jump over one woman who had collapsed. He landed just beyond her head.

  The terrorist was within his reach, but the man grabbed a boy and jerked him into Steel’s path. Steel jumped again. While airborne he whirled around the boy—a move he had practiced in the VR sims. When he landed, the man was slicing at him with his knife in a backhanded arc.

  Steel raised an arm for protection, blocking the man’s arm with his forearm. Hitting the terrorist in the ribs, he aimed a low kick at the man’s knee.

  The man lifted his leg to avoid the kick and swung a reverse roundhouse with his heel aimed at Steel’s head. Ducking and charging, Steel jammed his shoulder beneath the man’s raised leg and pushed the terrorist up against the outer rail.

  Gasping, the man drove his knife at Steel’s back.

  Stiff-arming the man’s wrist, Steel gripped it. Squatting, he lifted the man’s standing leg and tossed him over the side.

  Not bothering to watch the terrorist fall, he strode toward the other side of the walkway, mostly vacated by people fleeing for the exit. Three tourists lay on the glass floor, wounded by bullets. Police were coming onto the walkway.

  Steel looked over the side. Several hundred yards to the south, along the canyon edge, police officers and EMTs were swarming to help a half-dozen people lying on the ground. The sight dismayed him. He assumed the terrorist was dead.

  Hurrying off the Skywalk with other patrons, he blended in and soon exited the building. A shuttle bus was parked in the nearby lot with its door open. Climbing aboard, he took a seat, watching police vehicles arriving.

  In twenty minutes he sat in his own car and drove out.

  As soon as he was out of the park, he called Colonel Jeffries and filled him in, ending with, “You better assume timetables will be moved up at the other sites. I’d expect bombs after this.”

  “Angel was telling the truth,” said Jeffries.

  “I’d still keep the Mall of America on alert.”

  Jeffries agreed and hung up to make calls.

  Settling into his seat, he decided to wait to tell Christie. She had enough to worry about with Harry in the hospital.

  It bothered him that the terrorists had hurt people, and it gave him another reason to kill Diego. Even though Angel had helped save lives here, it wasn’t enough to change his mind about killing him.

  PART 6

  OP: THE WOLF & THE PACK

  CHAPTER 48

  Angel sat in the driver’s seat of his Chevy SS, waiting for Lucas to speak.

  Lucas sat in the front passenger seat, with two of his men in the rear seat. Angel’s past student wore a short-waisted leather coat, jeans, and a simple white shirt. He also had a moustache, jet black hair, a strong chin, and dark eyes. Handsome.

  However Angel found him repulsive at the moment.

  Angel had driven thirty-five hours to reach a suburb in Richmond, Virginia and was exhausted. But that didn’t bother him. All his worry centered on Renata.

  Earlier he had met Lucas a few miles from the target’s address. They had driven together to the target’s neighborhood. Angel again wondered if Diego had told Lucas to kill him.

  A second car with four more of Lucas’ men was parked behind them.

  Lucas spoke softly. “Diego wants you to take care of the American general who sent Steel to kill Gusta
vo last year. Send him photos.” He handed a photo of the general to Angel, who quickly handed it back.

  “It will be a pleasure to kill the man who ordered my friend, Gustavo, killed.” Angel smiled. “It’s good we can work together again, Lucas.”

  “It is.”

  Angel stared ahead. “Diego wants General Morris to suffer. How much time can I take?”

  Lucas smiled at him. “Thirty minutes.”

  “Perfect.” Angel left the keys in the ignition and got out. It was good to stretch his legs and the night air was crisp. Stars dotted the sky.

  He was not as relaxed as he usually was before a job. Renata was not guiding him and he wasn’t as confident of what to expect or what might go wrong. Certain this was a test by Diego, he felt he was safe from Lucas for now. When they went after Steel, Lucas would make his move against him. He had some time to think things through.

  He walked down the quiet street, noting the big houses, the nice lawns, and the decor of the neighborhood. Orderly. Peaceful. He wanted his life like this, quiet and peaceful. Thoughts of Renata flashed through him and he had to put them aside.

  The house appeared to his right, and he walked up the long sidewalk to the front door. It was ten o’clock and dark outside. Lights were on inside. Dressed in a suit, he looked professional. He counted on his smile to be disarming, as usual.

  Still he would be surprised if anyone answered the door this late. Through the window to the side of the door he glimpsed an elderly woman dressed in a nightgown staring at him.

  Before he could ring the doorbell she opened the door, smiling.

  “Good evening, ma’am.” He returned her smile. “I appear to be lost.”

  “Well come in then and I’ll get you a cup of coffee.” She stepped back, allowing him to walk in. “It’s so good to see you again. We’ll have a nice visit.”

  He shut and locked the door after he entered, realizing she had Alzheimer’s or some other kind of dementia. Convenient and sad. She had to be General Morris’ mother. Morris was in his sixties and the woman appeared to be in her late eighties.