Luc Bertrand- American Assassin

by A. F. Grappin

  Luc nodded, but it wasn't his place to compliment the boy. Junior was smart--he'd discovered that quickly--but he was puffed up, no doubt because of his father's position. In all honesty, the boy was probably ready for graduation. He had the knowledge, and he might even have the practical control that would let him take care of a contract on his own. Still, Luc was hesitant to let him loose.

  The door cracked open again, and Luc shook his head. Three times in a day. Senior was very bored and clearly would not learn. Luc dared interrupt class and bring attention to the troublemaker by kicking the heel of his shoe into the door. It rapidly opened another few centimeters before stopping, and there was a slight "umph" from the other side. Without bother to figure out which part of King Senior's anatomy the door had struck, Luc reached for the knob and pulled the door back closed. "My apologies," he said to the class.

  Two of the students--Nina and Dione--snickered softly. Quirky outright laughed. Junior's face was unreadable.

  The knock that came at the door about eight minutes later startled Luc. He made brief eye contact with Mother Heather, who was still lecturing on scorpion venoms, and she nodded. Luc opened the door.

  Standing there was Father David, one of the field assassins.

  "Perfect timing," Mother Heather said. "Time for forms. Desks to the walls, please."

  It was with some great pleasure that Luc watched his students obey. There were none of the complaints that had come up even just two days ago. Quirky was the most eager, pushing his desk to clear the floor and then taking a position near one corner of the room. Nina Falkestav joined him, and then the two Order of Balance professors. As one, they began the weaponless combat form for their order. Mandi and Dione were joined by Mother Heather for the Destruction form, which left the guest--Father David Wendt--for Junior. Wendt was the only other Rejection assassin on site. At least there was another besides Junior's father.

  Luc watched for roughly ten minutes as the initiates and their instructors went through forms. Nodding to himself, he excused himself from the room and headed for his office. He should probably do some forms himself.

  Despite the cramped space, the physical activity was enough to help clear Luc's mind. He had another day--two at most--before the forced vacation came to an end, and Senior returned to his status as a big problem. Scout wouldn't be able to keep the man from contracts, which meant he would, of course, demand to take Junior with him.

  He couldn't stop Senior. Maybe he could stop Junior, though. The boy could potentially take his graduation exam. Apprentice status would free him from the school and earn him a position at some other guildhall.

  But did he want to leave the boy in the cold that way?

  Maybe he had time for one final lesson. Junior had been in the side-along rotation, but he had yet to go with Luc on a contract.

  It was time.

  Frankly, it was past time, but better late than never.

  Stopping his form before it was finished, Luc went in search of Scout.

  11

  Scout warned Luc that it could take weeks for the opportune time to execute his plan. Luc could wait, he told them. It wasn't something he could forget, and he at least had the bulk of the ECAA going in the right direction. A few weeks' delay wouldn't bring everything crashing down. He was certain of it now. Every day Luc spent in D.C. was making him more comfortable, and with that, things were getting better. Quirky's form improved, and with it, his endurance. The boy paid close attention in class. Dione showed a natural stealth that made Luc wonder if Destruction was truly the place for her. One afternoon watching her calmly tear apart a practice dummy with thrown stars destroyed those doubts. Nina and Mandi might giggle like small children during free time, but inside class, they were eager students, ready to show their knowledge. Outside of class, they helped one another understand whatever they were struggling with. They would make good partners during their apprenticeships, if they were assigned to the same guildhall.

  Luc even earned the respect of his professors. Before, they'd shown him deference simply because he'd been placed above them, as principal. After his latest brush with King Roger, though, they clearly could see past Luc's youth to the master assassin buried inside. To further bolster their confidence in him, he told them individually and in secrecy about his future plans for the ECAA. Not a one of them argued or appeared disappointed. Cliff Boand, despite being Order of Balance and predisposed to remain stoic, showed genuine glee and relief at the prospect of relocating. "You mean we'll be out of Roger's power?"

  "You were never truly in it, but symbolically, yes," Luc confirmed.

  It came as a surprise, only six days after Luc's meeting with Scout, that he received a manila envelope. The administrator said nothing, but a note stuck to the front of the envelope had, in clear writing:

  INITIATE EXIT EXAMINATION: KING ROGER THE SECOND

  Luc didn't have to look into the target file to know who he was assassinating. "I didn't expect..." he trailed off when he realized Scout had disappeared. Leaving the folder on his desk, Luc strolled down the hall to the lone classroom. Mother Renee was speaking, and Luc was glad to see all five students were actually there. He didn't wait for his knock to be answered before opening the door.

  "My apologies for the interruption. I need to see King Roger, please."

  At any other school, that would have started whispers and a taunting, hissed, "Oooh, someone's in trou-ble!" The ECAA wasn't any other school, though, and Luc was glad that his students did none of that. They might once he was out of the door, but as Junior rose from his desk and joined Luc, they were dead silent. The initiate silently but suspiciously followed Luc back to his office.

  "Have a seat, Son," Luc said, closing the door. He took his time returning to his desk, just watching the initiate. King tried to look uninterested, but Luc could see the boy's--no, the young man's--eyes return to the closed folder on Luc's otherwise bare desk.

  When Luc sat, he folded his hands over the folder. "I have a contract, King."

  "I can see that," the initiate said abruptly, cutting off anything else Luc might have said.

  Luc raised an eyebrow, waiting.

  King fidgeted after a moment before muttering, "Sir." It wasn't really the proper honorific, but it was at least something. Luc let it slide.

  "I expect you to keep up," Luc said, rising and unlocking a few desk drawers. From them, he took a case of throwing darts, a pistol, and a few well-sharpened knives. As he armed himself, he ignored King's wide-eyed weapon lust. Once properly decked out, Luc tucked the folder under one arm and strode out of his office. He didn't bother to wait for the initiate. If the young man didn't come after him, it would be on his head.

  Junior made the right choice.

  "Who's our mark?" King asked once they entered the warming D.C. day. April was coming soon, and the temperature hinted at a lovely spring and summer. It wasn't there yet, merely a promise. Luc headed north, ignoring the early afternoon foot traffic. Clusters of people didn't exactly part to make way for him, but his way never seemed to be blocked by groups or slow walkers.

  "I asked who our mark was," King repeated. He had the good sense to ask quietly, though his words came separated by short breaths. He wasn't winded, but he'd clearly had to work to keep up with Luc. That was likely in part to Luc's ease navigating the crowd, partly because Luc had more than thirty centimeters of height over the initiate. Leg length made a difference.

  "I heard you the first time," Luc replied.

  "Well?"

  "Well what?"

  "Aren't you going to tell me? My father always tells me who the mark is right away."

  Luc let the words fall behind them. He didn't slow his pace, letting the young man work to keep up. "Which father would that be? Am I not your father? Are you referring to Father Cliff? Father David?"

  "You know what I mean," Junior said.

  Luc drew to a sudden halt, his back against the corner of a building. King took another step before real
izing Luc was no longer next to him. For about forty seconds--not that Luc was counting--he and the young man stared at one another. Had it been a contest, Luc would have won easily. King's eyes kept returning to the folder still tucked under Luc's arm. When Luc took an abrupt step forward again--the WALK sign had finally lit up--King was right with him. For the next ten blocks, Luc kept his silence. In time, he made a beeline for the red building on a corner.

  That was when King fell behind.

  "Solly's?" the young man asked, his voice coming out wary.

  The bar sat on the corner, a sign with its hours showing it had only recently opened. "It is a common location for the target," Luc said.

  King couldn't hide his nervous swallow. "O... kay." He caught up.

  Luc didn't enter the watering hole, instead peering through one window, into the bar. The customers already there faced away from the window. Despite that, one of them was clearly recognizable as the target. The mark took a long pull from a bottle of beer and shouted something at a TV. Turning his head, he shouted something else at the man next to him. The other man shouted back, and Luc wouldn't have been surprised to see a brawl come from the exchange.

  Beside him, King Junior had gone completely pale.

  "You know this place?" Luc asked.

  King nodded slowly, his eyes on the still screaming instigator.

  Luc handed Junior the folder. He didn't miss how the boy's hands trembled. The folder was open before King finally looked down.

  A single paper was inside.

  A photocopied picture of King Roger the First.

  12

  It was in watching Junior's face pale and his shoulders quiver that Luc got his first real look at what was at the core of King Roger the Second. Yes, he was a young man--seventeen years old--but he was far from being the miniature version of his father that Luc had originally thought. Whoever the boy's mother was, he must take after her. He had the same dark hair as his father, but it was finer. What beard the boy managed to grow was little more than stubble on his cheeks and chin, and it didn't quite match the shade of what was on his head. There was a hint of red in that sparse beard. The lines of his face were gentler, his shoulders less broad.

  First and foremost, though, he was still a growing child in many ways. That only made it more important for Luc to press upon him the gravity of his behavior.

  "I... don't understand." King did a poor job hiding the shaking that carried from his shoulders into his voice.

  "Your sire has shown you contract files before, though it was not his job to do so. You know what one looks like. The person inside is slated for assassination at our hands. Release, in my case. Rejection, in yours."

  "But...that's my dad."

  Luc nodded.

  "We can't kill an assassin."

  "And why not? We bleed, just as others do. We are men and women."

  "But...he's one of us. Why would the guild approve a contract for one of our own?"

  "King, the guild is not afraid to cull its own weaknesses. That goes for every stage of an assassin's career. Not every initiate graduates. Not every apprentice ends up a master. At any time, any of us can be removed from the guild. What better way to do it than this? We will prune the weakest shoots with respect and efficiency."

  "But Dad is one of the best--"

  "Your sire is the head of the D.C. guildhall, yes. But administration has cleared this contract for him. That means they see something in him that is better off removed from guild."

  The initiate shook his head fiercely. He attempted to slam the folder shut. Had it been made of sturdier material, he would have managed it, but instead, it flopped shut weakly. "Well, they can't make you do it, right? I mean, you have the right to refuse a contract, right?"

  Luc shrugged. "It does not go well for those who refuse contracts. Everything we do is recorded, reported, and reviewed. Do you think you know better than the entire administrative team?"

  "Scout is--"

  "The entire guild's administrative team?"

  King held the folder out for Luc, but he didn't take it. He looked at it, but his hands remained still at his sides. "What? You have fulfilled contracts before, with your sire. You say you can do it. So do it. I have weapons on me. Take your pick of what you like."

  "What?"

  "This isn't my contract. It's your graduation exam, King. Complete your first official contract, and you move to apprenticeship."

  "But...it's my dad."

  "He is a mark. Fail this, and you have failed your exam. That means expulsion, and likely worse. Failed initiates do not get the freedom to tell outsiders we exist."

  To Luc's shock, the boy managed to go even paler. "You can't make me."

  "This contract came from administration. I am the headmaster of the academy where you are a student. Your graduation exam is completely at my discretion. This is your test."

  "You can't make--"

  "The guild can and will make you kill anyone they choose. Do you realize how fortunate you are to have a parent at all? Before I met you, I thought all initiates were orphans. Such was the case at my academy, and even the field assassins I knew in Europe were all parentless. That does not stop the guild from distancing you from everything outside the family of assassins. I am your father. David Wendt and Cliff Boand are your fathers. You have more mothers than you have any right to, and brothers and sisters in abundance besides. The guild is family. And the guild is not afraid to cut old ties. By the time my graduation exam came, I had been years without my parents, brother, or sisters."

  It was the first time Luc had spoken of them and not felt the sharp pangs of loss. It was old pain, dull, and without sting. "That did not stop the guild from finding a mark that tore me away from the last shreds of who I had been before. My first contract was for the life of a man I respected in my youth. I didn't want to do it, but I didn't want to fail, either. I killed the man, one I had known for years. And, put to it, I would do it again. It is not an easy path we walk, King. But it is a good one."

  The set of the boy's jaw told Luc he was still clearly refusing to accept the reality of the moment. Luc softened his voice. "There is nothing easy about killing. You have seen more than I had at your age. Your language and behavior when we set out showed that. You distance yourself from the targets. Removing the idea that they are human is key. You reject their existence; it is the foundation of your order. Mine is to release them from life's grip. Every order looks at it differently, but the end result is the same. For everyone, at your stage in life, there is one final task. The guild has to root out every trace of emotion for them. Graduation exams are the means used to do it. If you wish to be a professional assassin, you take the contracts assigned to you. Sympathy cannot come into it."

  Luc paused. He'd allowed sentiment to win over his duty more than once. It might not be complete truth he was feeding the boy, but it was close. It was how the guild looked at what the ideal assassin should be. But even they could not remove the human condition completely. The boy could figure that out on his own.

  "King Roger, my son, do you want to be a professional?" He leaned in close and whispered, "Or are you still a student?"

  The boy didn't meet Luc's gaze for a long while. Frantic movement from inside Solly's Bar drew the boy's eye. However it had started, King Senior was engaged in a fistfight. A stool had already toppled over, and things were general chaos inside. When the boy finally did meet Luc's eyes, he couldn't hide the faint glistening of tears that wanted to fall.

  "You won't really make me kill my dad, will you?" The sobs did not hold back the way the tears did. "Can we go? Please?"

  That was probably the closest Luc would get to submission at the moment. He'd made his point. The boy's hand, still clutching the folder with a white-knuckled grip, had fallen to his side. Luc nearly had to pry the fingers open to take the folder back. He took the single sheet from inside, tore it into a dozen pieces, and tossed a few into the nearest trash can. He set off back towards th
e guildhall, hearing the boy following after him. A few more pieces of the torn paper went into another trash can, and the last few into a third a couple blocks further down.

  "I took out this contract, so I can retract it," Luc said. "But the point stands. If this is the graduation exam I wanted you to take, I could make it a requirement to your advancement. Let this be a lesson, King. So long as you are a student under my jurisdiction, you are at my mercy. There are plenty of lessons you have missed, but that is not your fault. It is not even your sire's. Your siblings here have missed those lessons, as well. I seek only to rememdy it, and to prepare all of your for the life ahead of you. It is harsher than you could ever imagine."

  Beside him, King nodded. His sobs had faded to the occasional sniff, but the moisture in his eyes still hadn't disappeared yet. "So, wait...was that all a bluff?"

  "Not in the slightest. I did put this out through the correct channels with administration. It was a genuine contract."

  The boy swallowed. Luc left him to his thoughts for the last seven blocks to the International Spy Museum. He stopped short before entering.

  "I have a new building currently being remodeled, some few hundred miles away. In Virginia." Luc stared up at the second floor windows of the museum. "The ECAA will be moving once the building is liveable. This fall, if we're fortunate. Getting the funds for this contract returned will let me pay to expedite renovations." He turned to meet King's eyes. "Will you come along to finish your education? I think you have potential to be a proper assassin. Give me two more years to make you one."

  "You won't kill my dad, right?"

  "This isn't a bargain, so you cannot make that a condition, but no. I have no desire to see him dead. He is family."