Precipice

by J. Robert Kinney

  If they waited until everyone entered the vault, there was too great a risk of harming Dominic and Shannon, an outcome he wanted to avoid at all costs. Shannon, vital to this mission, understood the risks when she signed on, but didn’t deserve to go down with Yemi’s sinking ship. If they held off their assault until everyone exited, it would come as less of a surprise and draw Yemi’s full attention. They needed to move in now with the target’s team split and their advantage maximized.

  Signaling his team with a flick of the hand, he strode out into the middle of the hall, gun raised. The others flanked him.

  “Federal agents! Everyone freeze!”

  The impact of his booming voice set off a shockwave. No one obeyed.

  Nichols ducked behind a small protrusion in the wall, plunged his hand inside his jacket and drew his weapon from a shoulder holster. The big Scandinavian man, who’d vanished with Yemi into the room, reappeared, a gun in each hand. Dax appraised them as short-recoil Glocks.

  Roth drew her weapon as well. Dax only had a millisecond to notice, but he registered surprise at the Beretta 71, modified for .22 long rifle ammunition. A Mossad weapon? She fired once, eliciting a painful grunt from behind him, and ducked behind another outcrop in the wall

  A puff of smoke burst out of the muzzle of his standard-issue semi-automatic and Dax’s first bullet missed, sending a shower of plaster and drywall raining into the corridor. He fired again.

  Bullets flew fast and heavy, whizzing past in both directions. One plowed through the broad chest of the Scandinavian and he fell. Dax felt someone next to him fall as well. A sudden, sharp twinge in his shoulder caused him to yelp and cringe, but he kept firing.

  Shannon and Dominic dropped to the floor. His hands appeared to come untied, as though by magic, as he caught himself. His sidearm was knocked loose and skidded out of his reach, sending him scrambling after it.

  Dax led the charge toward the vault, his team flanking him. The fire slowed as the first round of clips began to run out. Someone behind him scrambled to reload; a loud grunt and then a yelp of pain interrupted their efforts.

  In his peripheral vision, he spotted Shannon, from her prone position, get a grip on her gun. She fired at Roth, but missed as the assassin turned tail and ducked around the far corner. Shannon scrambled to her feet in hot pursuit.

  Anders, already down, lay unmoving.

  To his right, Sloan engaged Nichols, a beefy fist knocking the big man’s gun from his hand. The two men grappled. Sloan’s heft and age were a hindrance against the toned musculature of Nichols, but he was holding his own. The agent might have packed on a few pounds, but he hadn’t forgotten his training.

  The Director readied his weapon, looking for a clean shot, but couldn’t find one, so he just watched, waiting for an opportunity. Nichols looked to use his length, so swung hard and fast, but Sloan managed to deflect the blows with his forearms.

  One fist finally got past the outer defenses and sank into the flab around Sloan’s ribcage, but he reacted quickly and pinned it there with his arm. A quick twist and the big man let out a yelp as his elbow bent the wrong direction.

  That slight edge and loss of concentration was all Sloan needed. With a hand on the man’s wrist, he wrenched the arm behind the man’s back, yanking it back and up. Putting more pressure on the already injured elbow caused another cry of pain. Sloan used his leverage to shove the man to his knees, locking his wrists together with a pair of handcuffs. He toppled him with a well-placed knee between the man’s shoulder blades.

  With the last man subdued, Dax edged forward, eyeing the carnage. Something was out of place. Someone had been lost in the fracas. Olayemi was missing.

  Heads spun on a swivel to the vault door. It had closed during the firefight. Sloan stepped forward, attempting to force the wheel to spin, but to no avail. It had wedged shut.

  ***

  Shannon could hear the soles of her shoes slapping the tiled floor with every footfall as she tore after Roth. Her firearm wasn’t much use while running full speed; to slow down enough to take an accurate shot would cost her precious distance and hitting a moving target like that was no guarantee. She preferred a ground fight over a difficult shot like that.

  Her long legs allowed her to make up ground and once within range, she dove. Her shoulder impacted Roth in the back of the knees, sending both women crashing to the ground. Guns dislodged from their hands upon impact with the tiled floor and went skidding out of reach.

  Roth writhed beneath Shannon, fighting for position, ultimately succeeding in rotating to face up. Shannon swung a left fist that was easily deflected by the assassin who grabbed her by the wrist. After a quick twist and a sharp jab to her elbow, Shannon felt her arm pop out of joint. She yelped in pain and reflexively sunk a right fist into Roth’s momentarily unprotected face.

  The blow broke the assassin’s nose and both women quickly separated to regroup, scrambling to their feet. They eyed the loose weapons on the floor. Too far away. Shannon’s arm throbbed and the pain temporarily sent shockwaves through her body, but she ignored it. The appendage was useless at this point.

  “Traitor,” Roth rasped through blood that dripped from her nose.

  “Give it up, Jillian. Backup is probably already here. You can’t fight your way out of this.”

  “I’ve been in worse,” she snarled.

  “Please, Jillian…” Shannon pleaded. “Turn yourself in. Cooperate. With your help, we can put Yemi behind bars for life.”

  “We both know there’s no judge in the world who will accept that deal. I’m wanted in a dozen countries.” She wiped a sleeve on her face, smearing the blood across her chin.

  “I’m sure we can work something out. We can help you.” With a dislocated elbow, the last thing she wanted was to continue their fight. She was likely overmatched, even at full strength, by a professional killer.

  “That’s the problem with people like you. Always optimistic, hoping things will work out in the end. But that’s not true. The universe is cold and chaotic, uncaring.”

  “So you’d rather die? Because we both know that’s what will happen here. Even if you escape this hallway, your path ends here. You’ll never get past the gate.” Shannon spoke softly, but forcefully. “Surely, you have someone in your life who doesn’t want you dead…”

  “Emotions are a sign of weakness. So are relationships.” Hatred radiated from Roth as she growled, burning with disdain for her opponent.

  “That’s not true. When you find that soulmate, that one who connects you to the world in a way that you’ve never felt before, you change. You become stronger, better. Because of them.” Shannon felt a tear emerge from the corner of her eye. She was unsure if it was due to the pain in her elbow or something deeper.

  “And when that person is taken from you? Is brutally killed because you were distracted?” Roth snarled, her face twisting into a cruel, bloody smile. She reached to her waistband, slowly lifted her shirt slightly, and dislodged a knife that had been hidden there. “What exactly do you become then?”

  A darkness crept over Shannon’s face at the taunt and she reached behind her with her good arm, revealing her own knife. Her voice fell into a dry monotone, “I guess we’re about to find out.”

  Roth took a step forward, knife in her left fist, and swung. Shannon took a step back, the blade whistling beneath her chin. She barely had a millisecond to react, as the assassin reversed course on a dime and sent a sharp backhand right at her head.

  Shannon ducked beneath it, this time feeling the blade catch for a moment in her hair. But Roth followed with a well-aimed right fist which slammed into Shannon’s jaw. She fell backwards, but managed to throw up her arm and bump Roth off balance on the follow through.

  This gave her a couple seconds to let the stars subside as Roth straightened. Shannon’s anger flared and she jabbed with her knife at her opponent’s midsection, but a quick sidestep caused her to miss. Roth followed with a left hook. Shannon’s arm sn
apped upward and caught the attack, pinning it against her body.

  She took advantage of the opportunity and sent a swift kick to Roth’s side, her shoe sinking into the soft tissue between ribcage and waist. Using the pinned arm as a lever, Shannon spun right, hurling Roth into the corridor wall, dislodging the knife in the process.

  Roth stumbled and her head hit the wall hard, leaving a slight crack in the plaster, but she bounced off the wall into a roll, just in time to have Shannon’s follow-up kick fly past her face.

  From her knees, the assassin launched at Shannon, catching her in the hips and taking them both back to the ground. The two wrestled for position, but Roth managed to grab the agent’s dislocated elbow and wrench it backwards.

  Pain exploded through the arm, and across her shoulders and Shannon screamed. Roth quickly used the injured arm as leverage and pinned it behind Shannon’s back, while simultaneously wrapping her arm around the agent’s neck.

  Shannon flailed, flopping her head back and forth trying to get air, any small jot she could. Her good hand clawed frantically at Roth’s arm, failing to pry it away from her throat. “Don’t…do…this…” she managed to gasp.

  “You could have just let me escape, you know? Take down Yemi, become a hero.” Roth shifted her weight and her arm slipped for a second, giving Shannon an extra gulp of air, before clenching the vice once more. “But you had to come after me. Did you think you had nothing left to lose after you lost your fiancé? You were wrong. But now you’re about to lose the only thing you actually had left.”

  “Say hello to your fiancé for me,” Roth hissed as she flexed and leaned into the chokehold.

  Shannon’s lungs burned, desperate, begging for oxygen. But Roth was too strong. That cinching grip was too tight. All the scratching and tugging and clawing in the world wasn’t going to break that vise. Blackness began to cloud the corners of her vision and Shannon frantically fought to latch her gaze onto any light she could. The bulbs overhead, the whitewashed walls reflecting their beams, the shimmering glint off the blade of the knife.

  The knife. It had fallen to her side in the struggle. She’s forgotten about it in the pain and struggle to breathe. Shannon stabbed her hand at the knife, grabbing its handle and, closing her eyes, packed all her strength into one final backward thrust.

  A second later, Roth’s grip relaxed, then fell away. Shannon gasped, parched for air, and scrambled a few feet away before turning to find where her knife had landed.

  Only the handle was visible, its blade completely buried in her ribcage, near the heart. A quickly growing dark circle surrounded its protrusion. Too much blood. The knife had done its job.

  Roth fell back, her breaths gurgling in short bursts. She moved her hand to the wound and pulled it back, coated in red. She had seconds, not minutes.

  “This is your first, isn’t it?” Roth rasped. “Your first kill, I mean.” She paused for a coughing fit, spewing droplets of blood onto the floor.

  Shannon just stared.

  “I thought so.” Another cough, more blood. “I remember my first. I was a lot like you before that,” she tried to laugh, but couldn’t manage it. “But you lose something when you kill someone with your own hands. A part of yourself dies too. The most important part.”

  She smiled as blood dripped from her lips, took a final, bubbly breath, and sank to the floor, her eyes lifelessly staring.

  Chapter 41

  The ambulances would arrive shortly. Dax glanced around the scene, taking a quick assessment. Yemi remained locked in the vault, but there was only one exit from that room and he was standing in front of it.

  Sloan, with a bloody ear and a gash on his shoulder, would require treatment, but he still managed to pull Nichols’ arms behind his back and secured them with handcuffs. Nichols had a graze on his forearm, a blackening eye, and was favoring his left leg.

  The Scandinavian behemoth sprawled on the ground, a bullet hole ripped through his torso. It had probably pierced his heart.

  A few steps away, Dominic lay on his side. His upper arm was bleeding profusely from a bullet wound, but Shannon had stepped in to wrap the injury after returning from tracking down Roth. Amadi was on his knees, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed, breathing hard. A darkening red patch soaked through his pants, just below the knee.

  It wasn’t until Dax gazed further down the hallway that his stomach turned. A lone body lay prone in a small pool of blood. Krieger! He hurried down the corridor and slid to his knees, the red liquid immediately absorbing into his clothes.

  “Hold in there, General.” He ripped off his shirt to try to wrap the wound.

  He was too late. First aid wasn’t going to help. And no ambulance could get here fast enough. Dax listened to strained, rasping breaths as Krieger struggled to draw in enough oxygen to maintain consciousness. His lips moved, but no words escaped.

  As Dax knelt there, Krieger struggled to lift his arm, revealing a trickle of blood running down his wrist, over the image of a cross. His hand came to a rest on Dax’s knee and he smiled.

  A small, ruby bubble formed at Krieger’s lips between gasps. It grew slowly, steadily and finally popped. With its dissolution into thin air, his last, raspy breath evaporated in three tortuous words.

  “Manny,” he choked. “I’m…forgiven…” And as the man’s last thoughts faded away, a smile appeared on his lips and a serene look fell over his face. General Michael Jeffrey Krieger was gone.

  “And the last enemy to be destroyed is death…” Dax knelt at his side in prayer for a few seconds before whispering a goodbye. “I’ll see you in the next life, brother.”

  Gradually he made his way to his feet and moved among the bodies, deep in thought. He had succeeded in pulling off one of the greatest coups in the long history of this town. A powerful, rising psychopath would soon be out of commission and, provided his men rounded up the culprits at the street below, it would be the largest mass arrest since the bust of the Gonzalez-Yang drug smuggling cartel in the 70s. He knew he should be proud of the magnitude of this accomplishment, but as he paced down the hallway, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness.

  Too many lives were ended or shattered by this madman…innocent bystanders, unsuspecting witnesses, and anyone who got in the way. And then there was Krieger.

  A good man, a military veteran, and a civilian who volunteered to join the fight…he died for the cause today. A good cause, to be sure, and his death assisted in bringing a mass murderer to justice, but his passing weighed heavily on Dax’s heart.

  It would continue to do so for many years to come.

  Chapter 42

  In the midst of the firefight and subsequent cleanup, Dominic remained preoccupied. His previous acting experience consisted of a couple elementary school plays, but his performance as a prisoner drained him. But that paled in comparison to losing his gun in the commotion and getting hit in the arm with a stray bullet.

  He’d never been shot before, not even with a pellet or BB as a child. The closest he’d come was with a paintball gun in college. One of his roommates took him and a group of friends to a local facility one Saturday. One of those paint-filled pellets had struck him in the leg. The wound stung, left a small bruise, and remained sore into the next morning. He always imagined taking a real bullet would produce a similar, more intense feeling, though with greater tissue damage. But he was wrong.

  The first thing he felt wasn’t the pain, but the impact. It was as though someone took a full swing with a sledgehammer to his unprotected arm, driving a shock through his entire body. Ten seconds of nothingness, or numbness, followed before a sudden and severe burning sensation traveled throughout the entire arm, like a red-hot poker jabbed under his skin. It only got worse with every passing second.

  When Dominic let out a scream, Shannon had materialized in an instant. She dragged him to the wall and applied direct pressure to the entry wound. This initially increased the pain and he squirmed under her grip. But she held
tight—wouldn’t let him escape—and her pressure eventually alleviated the burning sensation, albeit slightly.

  Only after being bandaged and the clean-up effort began did he think to look around. His boss Sloan leaned against a wall—having already lit another cigar. Director Dax, a man he never saw outside of the office stood with him. They were talking together, discussing some call the director had received. He tried to listen in, straining to hear over the deafening throbbing in his arm.

  The director spoke. “Hiroto Sasori has been notified. He says he’ll be on the next plane eastbound. He’s cooperating fully.” Sloan nodded. “Plus, Ford just radioed in. They were successful as well.”

  “Any casualties?”

  “Nothing serious. Agent Faye’s report was dead on.”

  “How many in custody?”

  “A little over a dozen, including Lynch.”

  “Yemi’s right hand?” Sloan panted, the exertion of the previous moments still obvious.

  “Exactly. And get this…they found evidence on him to suggest Sean Lynch may be an alias for Jesse Ziegler.”

  “THE Jesse Ziegler, from the Helsinki Caper five years ago?”

  “One and the same. If it’s true, we can tack on a few more domestic murders at trial…plus the Finns may want to ask him a few questions. But it gets weirder…he was already unconscious by the time we got to him.” Dax shrugged. “Looks like someone decided to do a good deed and felled him with a nearby two-by-four before we arrived.”

  Dominic’s attention span waned as the conversation continued into topics he didn’t understand, so he let his gaze wander from person to person, unfocused, until his gaze fell upon a kneeling black man. The man faced away, head bowed, but there was no denying his identity. Dominic shook his head to jettison the hallucination, but the vision persisted.

  He nudged Shannon to the side and struggled to his feet, using his good arm to brace himself as he rose. He stumbled across the hallway, his mind still having a hard time believing his eyes. “Amadi?” Anger and betrayal dissipated as the vision became clearer.