by Heskett, Jim
Helmut was hunkered down, climbing the western cliff. He had a pistol in one hand, using the other to grab at rocks and tree roots to help him keep his footing.
Layne stayed low and followed him. He shifted over to the left so he could reach the same canyon rim without having to climb up as Helmut had done. Instead, he used the gradual incline that began before the canyon wall, always keeping his target in sight and himself out of view as he trailed.
Layne took care not to rush, trying to tune out the disarray nearby. Bullets and shouts from the skirmish back at the mansion echoed all around, bouncing off the canyon walls and turning into a mess of revolving sound. He couldn’t hear anything out here, and he knew Helmut wouldn’t be able to, either.
Layne kept locked on Helmut, staying fifteen or twenty feet back, matching his pace. He was now atop the canyon wall on the west side, with a twenty-foot drop down below him.
Then Layne saw them below. First, Marcus came rushing out of a hidden tunnel exit from below the house. Marcus was running flat-out, a gray coat tail whipping around as he ran. A few seconds later, Ember followed.
Did Ember already have the phones? She hadn’t said anything over the walkie about it. Only some scratchy message about going inside the house a minute ago. Layne had tried to respond to her, but he didn’t think the transmission had worked.
Had she abandoned the mission completely? For a brief moment, Layne considered heading into the house and searching for the phones himself. But he couldn’t do that. Ember was in pursuit, and that meant she needed help now.
And Layne still didn’t know exactly what Helmut’s plan was, but out here, from this elevated position, Layne could guess what Helmut wanted.
As he’d predicted, the big man stopped and perched, sinking down to one knee. He raised a pistol and closed one eye. The barrel of the gun tracked Ember as she ran after Marcus.
Layne couldn’t wait any longer. He bared his teeth and sprinted along the canyon wall, closing the distance. He hefted his shotgun and pointed it at Helmut’s head, now standing five feet behind him.
Layne closed one eye and slowed to steady his aim.
One second. Layne hesitated, only to adjust and ensure he wouldn’t miss.
Unfortunately, it was too long.
The giant European whipped around and flung something at him. Layne ducked, but didn’t get out of the way in time. A wet mass of snowball hit him in the face, momentarily blinding him.
With his eyes forced closed, he felt the shotgun being ripped out of his hands. One moment it had been there, the next, stolen by powerful hands.
Layne shot out a fist and connected with something, most likely the brute’s stomach. For having a bit of a pudge, Helmut’s torso was surprisingly solid.
Layne roared and delivered a second fist with as much raw force as possible. The blow wasn’t enough to stop his opponent, though. As he readied his other fist to punch, Layne heard the crack of a bullet, and felt pain sizzle through his stomach. He’d been shot. Two more bullets followed, one in the chest and another one in the stomach.
He stumbled back, unbelieving. He blinked a few times, still trying to fathom how the guy had gotten the jump on him. Helmut didn’t wait around to gloat over his victory, however. He turned away and skulked back toward his position.
Layne couldn’t breathe. He sat down in the snow, gasping for breath. Pain and heat radiated from the three bullets to his torso.
Then Helmut disappeared down into the canyon.
Chapter Forty-Nine
EMBER
As a kid, the assassin remembered watching an old TV show where a frontier sheriff would always shoot with unrivaled precision to wound an enemy in the shoulder. Sometimes, he would even shoot the gun out of some outlaw’s hand. One pull of the trigger would have the bad guys dropping their guns on the ground and crying over the perfect new holes in their palms.
Ember knew that, in real life, doing such a thing was nearly impossible. That’s why they taught aiming for the chest at the FBI Academy; bigger target equaled a higher chance of success.
Still, as she ran, she pointed one of her guns and closed an eye to aim, hoping for a spoonful of that old sheriff show luck. She didn’t want to kill Marcus, only disable him. He was fifteen paces ahead of her. They’d come out of the tunnel, into the canyon behind the house. Thirty yards ahead, the snowmobile sat under a cluster of tree branches and inside a pile of snow. If Marcus got there first, he could fire that thing up in seconds and blast along the relatively flat canyon floor to escape.
Ember couldn’t let that happen. She wasn’t done with him.
Aiming proved to be more difficult than she’d thought, especially since they were both running at top speed over rocky, snow-covered ground. She wanted to blast him in the lower thigh or calf. Not an easy thing to do.
Ember relaxed her finger on the trigger and gave it a tap.
The bullet rocketed through the falling snow and struck Marcus. Not in the leg, but in his lower back. Hard to see exactly where because of his flailing coat behind him.
He cried out and stumbled, landing on all fours.
Ember raised both guns, fingers on the triggers. She jogged slower, now within ten paces. But when she moved forward to take the next step, her foot stopped. The toe of her shoe had unintentionally found an iceberg sort of rock — one living mostly below the surface. A rock large enough it could refuse to budge when something tried to kick it out of the way.
The rock stayed firmly affixed to the ground, but Ember hit it nearly full-speed and completely lost her balance.
She fell. She tumbled forward, but had the presence of mind to curl into a ball at the last second. Snow whipped around her head and she somersaulted forward and landed on her back. But then, her head smacked immediately after.
She felt her vision closing in, and then things went black.
When she opened her eyes, Marcus was standing over her with a deep wince on his face and a Glock in his hand. The barrel of the gun was pointed at her face. His shoulders pumped up and down, his eyes were wide and brimming with fire. Teeth bared, nostrils flared, he looked more like an angry bull than a human.
He limped as he moved and looked to be in great pain, but — as she’d feared — still standing.
Probably well enough to put a bullet through her head, too.
She’d lost.
Ember scooted back a foot and put her hands on the icy ground. She pushed herself up into a seated position, but didn’t attempt to stand. Panting, head buzzing, she had to work to draw an even breath.
Marcus stood three feet away, hovering over her. The canyon was fifty feet wide, with low cliff walls on either side, about fifteen feet tall. The snowmobile sat dormant, ten feet behind Marcus.
He bared his teeth. “You shot me in the ass, you… bitch.”
“I was aiming for your thigh.”
“You missed.”
“I know. But you can eat shit, Marcus. You deserve a hell of a lot worse than that.”
Marcus shook his head, trying to smile but failing. “It’s not going to work. You’re not going to win this time, Allison.”
“My name is Ember.”
“Yeah, I know you believe you’re some souped-up fancy assassin with a new identity now. I don’t really care, though.”
“Why are you here, Marcus? Why did you go through all this trouble?”
He winced again, and it threatened to overtake his face. For a moment, she thought he was going to cry.
“You… broke… my heart.”
She hadn’t expected that. For a moment, he stood there, panting, and she could actually see the sincerity written in his eyes.
Ember broke the silence. “That’s it, then? All of this is over some stupid affair? All of this death and destruction over one sweaty mistake we made in your office years ago?”
Marcus gave a rueful grin and shook his head as his breathing normalized. The emotional pain in his eyes subsided and returned to their steely,
arrogant normal. “No, it’s not about that. Not just about that. It’s about money, like it always is — like everything is, Allison. I had a good thing going with the DAC, and you’ve messed that all up. I can’t let that go unpunished. You breaking my heart was just that extra nudge of inspiration I needed to make sure you got what you deserved.”
“And Isabel Yang was collateral damage? Just another person who got in the way?”
He shrugged. “Something like that.”
“I know about Omar White. I know you hired him to kill Isabel.”
Marcus smirked, but still kept the gun pointed at her. “So what? You can’t prove it. I know you were harassing Tyson Darby this week, trying to find a connection between us.” He took a step closer and angled the pistol down on her. “In another second, it’s not going to matter. Goodbye, Ember.”
Something shifted on Ember’s left. A patch of snow moved and grew taller, taking the shape of a human. Marcus turned his head in that direction to see.
The snow stood to full height, then a person emerged. He tossed the white blanket aside amid a powdery aftereffect of snow particles disseminating in the air. He was holding a phone with an external microphone in one hand.
Jacob Wood, retired FBI Special Agent, former mentor to Isabel Yang, the contact Serena had arranged to help Ember.
“Jacob?” Marcus said, his head cocked in confusion. Ember hadn’t realized they knew each other.
Jacob had retired early during Ember’s tenure at the FBI, one of those living legends people whispered about in the hallways and reminisced during nostalgic lunches, but she hadn’t realized that they’d ever worked together.
Maybe they had history. Maybe that’s why, half a second later, Marcus was still staring.
She didn’t hesitate. Couldn’t lose the opportunity.
Ember lunged forward and snatched at one of Marcus’ legs. She wrapped her fingers around his calf and gave it a tug.
Marcus flew backward, the pistol still in his hand as he thunked down on the hard snow and let out an annoyed grunt.
He wriggled and writhed, trying to get back up, but she could immediately tell he was in severe pain from landing on the ground on his butt.
Ember leaped to her feet and planted a boot firmly on the hand holding his gun. Marcus tried to slither free, but he couldn’t move his arm. He winced as Ember applied pressure with her foot. She twisted just enough to feel a slight crunch, and Marcus wailed in agony.
“Did you get it?” she asked Jacob.
“I got it,” he said, thumbing a button on the phone to turn off the audio recorder.
“You — you think you have something?” Marcus said, his voice rising to a fever pitch. She twisted again on his wrist, but he barely winced this time. “You don’t have shit. I haven’t said anything I can’t fight in court. Try me.” He flicked his eyes left and right, landing on Ember and Jacob in turn. “Like always, Allison. You won’t win.”
Ember glared at him, feeling absolutely no pity, no remorse, no sorrow. This asshole had been the cause of far too much grief over the past few years.
The gunshots and explosions behind her in the distance began to fade, and she knew the fight was all but finished. No telling which side had won, or if the ones still standing actually counted as survivors instead of winners.
But her focus was not on the DAC or the Firedrake crew. She leaned over and plucked the gun from his hand, then tossed it aside. “It’s over, Marcus. I can place you at the top of a criminal conspiracy to kill a federal agent. You’ll get the death penalty if you’re lucky, multiple life sentences. I’ll make sure it isn’t a white-collar prison, too.”
Hot steam exhaust shot out from the three pairs of lips into the frigid air. The people on the canyon floor seemed frozen in time for a split-second.
Ember glanced over at Jacob, who was frowning at Marcus. Likely wondering how a man with such potential had fallen so far. Had he always been corrupt? Had the greed of power gone to his head over time, or had it been there all along?
Marcus’ free hand suddenly shot inside his waistband, down toward his crotch. Concealed carry holster.
Before Ember could react he drew a second pistol. A .38 Special. He clutched it in his gloveless free hand and tried to point it up, toward Ember’s face.
She reacted quickly, her eyes flicking down to the gun.
Marcus’ finger closed over the trigger.
Ember shifted her arm over and pressed the trigger of both her Enforcers, one time each. The bullets entered Marcus’ chest, square in the middle.
His eyes flashed open as a spot of blood jumped up in the air and landed on his chin. His gun arm lowered, but he still held the weapon.
The hand holding the compact revolver jiggled upward once more, and Ember anticipated a shot, aiming her Enforcer again at his chest.
But before he could pull the trigger, his arm went limp and fell to the side.
He gasped, choking for air and trying to lift his head, the veins on his neck popping out. Eyes flaring, mouth strained as saliva leaked from the corners of his chapped lips.
Marcus wheezed to draw a breath to say something, but nothing came out. Instead, his eyes turned glassy and his head smacked onto the cold ground.
She hadn’t intended to kill him — she much rather would have sent him to a long, drawn-out misery of incarceration and eventual electric chair — but she also hadn’t expected him to have a backup pistol. That hadn’t factored into their plan.
He was supposed to leave the mountains in handcuffs, delivered to the FBI field office in Denver first thing in the morning.
Didn’t matter now. Marcus was dead. But, if Jacob had gotten his admission of guilt recorded, then Ember supposed it didn’t matter. Marcus wouldn’t face living judgment for his crimes, but there still might be justice for the death of Isabel Yang, at least.
“Time to go,” she said.
Ember looked up toward Jacob, to see his eyebrows raise and his mouth drop open, looking past her.
And then she heard the sound of boots in the snow behind her.
Chapter Fifty
EMBER
Ember felt the bullet strike her before she’d even heard the shot. It punched a hole through her left bicep. Like a white hot flame, pain raced up into her shoulder, making her stumble to her right. Her feet scrambled to find stability on the slippery ground.
She spun around to see Helmut standing a few feet down the canyon from her, panting, stooped, moving in her direction. His gun was pointed a little low, toward her feet. He seemed to be wheezing, lurching, face drawn down. Maybe the altitude had gotten to him.
The big brute stopped and spread his legs out, then he lifted the pistol to take aim again. But his heaving shoulders prevented him from easily finding a clear shot.
That first bullet had probably been intended for the back of her head.
Ember turned in his direction, hurrying to raise her weapons and aim through the blanket of falling snow. Left arm aching and numb, she couldn’t hold it up. And the weight of it pulling against her shoulder didn’t feel much better, either.
Helmut’s finger tensed on the trigger. But then, a figure appeared behind him.
Layne.
His jacket was open, and he held one hand on his stomach. Grimace on his face. Layne shot out a foot and kicked Helmut in the back of his right calf, groaning as he did.
Helmut cried out and sank to his knees. His gun went off, but the shot missed wide and to the right. Disoriented, Helmut swung his gun arm around, trying to locate his target through the densely falling snow.
Ember lowered her gun as Layne scooted out of the way. She pressed the trigger one time. The shot cracked, the sound echoing off one canyon wall, and then the other. The heavy round sailed easily toward her target, landing a mere nanosecond after it left her barrel.
A hole appeared in Helmut’s temple, with a streak of blood cascading out. His eyes were crossed, looking up toward the hole. Then, like a grandfather c
lock pushed over, he stiffened and fell. The solid mass slammed into the ground, face-first.
“I’m sorry,” Layne said, breathing heavily. “I didn’t know where he was going. Tried to stop him before, but...”
Ember studied Layne’s wounded stomach, although she couldn’t see any blood. “Are you okay?”
“A little hard to breathe, but I’m fine. Vest caught all three, but I think I broke some ribs. I’ll have some nice purpling and look like a marbled steak for a bit, but it’s better than taking three shots through the vitals. You?”
Ember looked down at the hole in the left sleeve of her jacket. She could feel blood rushing out to warm her arm, but she was still able to stand on her own two feet. “I’ll be fine.”
“Did you get it?” Layne asked Jacob.
He nodded. “We have Marcus on tape, admitting to hiring Omar White. I don’t know if it’s enough to pin the whole conspiracy on him, but it’s a good start.”
Ember spun when she heard a commotion behind them. A few hundred feet to the south, a cluster of people came rushing over the stone fence. They must’ve heard the gunshots.
Ember counted ten of them. Some she recognized as members of the DAC. No surprise that, in a war between DAC, Helmut’s men, and Marcus’ guards, that the assassins would be the ones to outlast everyone else.
These were career warriors and mercenaries at the top of their game. They had been trained from day one to be ruthless and effective killing machines, to never stop as long as victory remained in sight. Many had begun their time as contract assassins after a stint in the military, some even ex-special forces. This was the way of the Denver Assassins Club, one of the factors that had made it so appealing to Ember three years ago.