Luc Bertrand- American Assassin

by A. F. Grappin

  The obvious exit was the window. But were the latches and tracks to open it at all functional? So many windows went neglected. A single creak or squeak would give him away. And if the window was stuck closed...

  The door slammed into him, pressing him hard between it and the wall. A string of profanity fired in Luc's head, punctuated by the suddenly-resumed whistling. The brute wasn't stopping. And the pressure from the door continued.

  "Found you, pretty boy. Such a pretty..."

  This was unthinkable. A cold sweat broke out on Luc's forehead. In over a decade of fulfilling contracts, Luc had never been detected. Not by a target, not by anyone. Not like this.

  "...pretty..."

  He'd been through some horrific situations, but they always involved other assassins. He'd never been caught. It occurred to him in the span of half a second that he didn't know what happened to assassins who were discovered or caught. Would his capture expose the entire guild?

  "...pretty..."

  The easy answer to that question was to simply not get caught. He couldn't risk the window, but there was always the front door.

  Rotating his shoulders, he gave himself a fraction of a second of space to wiggle before the door closed on him again. In that millisecond, he slipped past the doorknob and into the bedroom proper. Planting a foot, he pivoted and pushed hard for the doorway. The bodyguard was right there, definitely the brute he'd seen before. Luc sneered at him, wishing--not for the first time--that he was Order of Dread and wore a mask to hide his face. Oh well. Let this whistling buffoon see him. He had before. Hadn't he already said Luc was blond? So he knew what Luc looked like. No stress. Luc would be his death, if he got in the way.

  They collided, the bodyguard going down. Luc managed to keep himself upright, but only because he'd planned for the run-in. A hand grabbed at his ankle, but he was already moving, swiftly opening a gap between himself and the other man. In seconds, he was at the door. The moron hadn't locked it behind him, so there was no pause to unlatch anything. He was through the door and down the stairs outside, probably before the man was even back on his feet.

  Sprinting, Luc covered two blocks before he realized he was going the wrong way to get back to his car. Had he put enough distance between himself and the other man to slow to a jog? He could keep up this pace for another few minutes, maybe. He would have to stop eventually, though. No matter how long he ran, he would eventually have to turn around and take a longer path around to get to his car.

  He ran another three minutes, just to make sure. Every crosswalk he came to stabbed tension into him. If he had to wait for traffic, that was wasted time, a chance for his pursuer to close in. Luc turned corners when he had to, crossed streets when he could.

  More than an hour after his escape from the apartment, Luc finally unlocked the door to his car and slid into the driver's seat. The entire drive back to Umbra Motus and the ECAA, he considered his next move. This contract was going to be harder than he first expected.

  It was about time he had a challenge.

  5

  Luc hadn't been back to the basement of his club for three minutes before he was in his office, pulling up his email. He hadn't bothered to change out of his running clothes. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, ready to start typing the instant the computer caught up to him.

  His brain caught up to him first, and he reached to the second computer--the one that was always running--and looked at the security camera feeds he'd installed in and around his club. He spent a good fifteen minutes staring at them, scouring every feed for sign of the car the man had chased him with before. It wasn't as if he'd given the man an opportunity to follow him here. His winding path away from the apartment complex to his car had left Luc finally feeling unobserved. Then, he'd driven a second winding route back to the club, just to make certain. No way he'd been followed.

  His breathing slowed when he decided the brute had, in fact, lost track of him. All was normal in the parking lot, the club, and the rest of Luc's bit of property. Nothing was out of order.

  Spinning his chair back to his primary computer, he began his first email. It was easy enough to compose his message. Who the hell might be running a bodyguard operation counter to the Assassin's Guild in Virginia Beach? Had anyone else in this area run into this sort of obstacle while on a contract? What entities might have a presence here that would suddenly act against him and his people? And, he even swallowed his pride and asked what he had hoped to avoid: who had taken out the contract on James Melzer? And why, if there was any explanation given?

  Message written, then came the hard part. Luc had kept the ECAA so contained these last few years that he had no idea who to contact regarding this sort of thing. Biting back his pride even further, he addressed it to his professors, hoping they might have answers, or be able to point his queries towards people who did. Clicking "SEND" took more nerve than he'd anticipated. His staff would know now that he was neither infallible nor perfectly in control. How badly would this affect their opinions of him? He'd been young when he was granted control of the ECAA. He was still young. Was this failing going to prove he'd been unfit all along, as he'd feared?

  Well, it was too late to take the email back now. Furrowing his brows, he began a second email. He knew immediately who he was sending this one to.

  * * *

  Scout,

  I apologize for contacting you during your vacation, and I will understand completely if you ignore this due to being on holiday. However, I am sorely missing your expertise.

  * * *

  He paused, trying to decide how much to burden his administrator with before getting down to the basis of his problem.

  * * *

  I will give you more information upon your return to work, but the crux of things right now is that I find myself in a struggling position. A contract I have taken on is being impeded by a brutish Neanderthal I cannot seem to avoid. This barbarian has shown up twice as I attempted to gather information and release the target. Not only has he gotten in my way, he has threatened me. Any information you may have on who this uncouth savage is would be most beneficial.

  I wish I could give you a name, but all I have at this time is a description. The troglodyte is roughly 1.8 meters tall, dark-haired, Caucasian. American, judging from his accent. Built sturdily, but somewhat lighter in movement than I would have expected. He does not comport himself as one of us, though he is clearly skilled in confrontation. I believe he carries a pistol. Annoying. He whistled while stalking me, as if giving me warning.

  Sadly, that is all I can give you. Whatever you can give me would be helpful, even if it is only a general direction to look for this brute.

  Your reply is anticipated, but I still urge you to enjoy the remainder of your vacation.

  Luc

  * * *

  He sent the second email off and sat for a few minutes as if waiting for an instantaneous response. It didn't come, of course, and Luc finally gave up waiting. His shower took a whole ten minutes--twice as long as normal--and he emerged clean to slip into his normal club-owner garb. It was time for a drink, a meal, and to feel back in some semblance of control.

  Before he even got to his bedchamber door, though, it returned. That feeling of being followed, or watched. He paused with his hand nearly to the door and listened.

  Nothing.

  Shaking his head, he headed upstairs for a late lunch. He'd take his time, giving those he'd contacted a chance to respond.

  By that evening, Luc felt better. He'd made himself take not only a late lunch, but an early dinner at Umbra Motus, and everything had been perfectly fine. He'd eventually managed to relax, even.

  There were a handful of responses waiting for him in his inbox. They were all from his professors, simply acknowledgements of his requests, with promises to keep eyes out for the bodyguard. Nothing useful.

  Damn.

  Well, it had been a long shot to hope for clear answers out of nowhere.

  Luc s
ighed at his computer screen. He could always continue on, take another shot at Melzer and hope to either succeed or to prompt the savage into appearing. He'd take that man out if he had to.

  His computer chimed with a new email notification. Tightness leaked out of Luc's shoulders. It was from Scout. He hadn't expected it, of course, but he'd certainly hoped to get a reply. He couldn't open it quickly enough.

  Of course, his vague description hadn't done a thing to help Scout narrow down his human complication, but they did have an idea. The administrator suggested checking local security and detective services to see if he could find the "Neanderthal." They also went on to say that if Luc hadn't made any progress in the next few days, to contact someone named Tyra Martin. She was an administrator further inland and could help in a pinch.

  Had Luc been the sort to beat himself up for his failings, he would have slapped his forehead. Of course, he should look for security and detective providers. A simple search pulled up local security firms, and Luc scanned websites for about twenty minutes before he realized every single one was listed as "corporate security." A second search for personal security services only returned three firms, and quick glances told him they were most likely not what he was looking for. The prices were exorbitant, and he'd seen Melzer's apartment. The woman's second- or third-hand furnishings told him she didn't have the money to spend on these firms' fees.

  There were a good deal more private investigation services in the Virginia Beach/Hampton/Newport News area than there had been security providers. This was going to take longer to sort through. However, he felt a glimmer of hope when the first business he clicked on showed a photograph of the detective on the website.

  It wasn't the man he was looking for.

  A fair number of local detectives were women, whom Luc immediately discarded. His adversary was quite clearly a man. It was in looking at the page of one Bryan Hall that Luc felt a pang of panic. Hall, while not the man he was looking for, listed his experience as including a few years on the Newport News police force. What if Melzer's bodyguard was an officer? That would make things more complicated.

  It was a few more results down the search list before Luc finally got a break. The website TomStatfordInvestigations.net was the business page of Thomas Statford, a local to Virginia Beach. More importantly, Luc knew the face grinning idiotically from the detective's photograph.

  That was him.

  6

  Just having a name to put to this human complication helped Luc a great deal. In browsing the man's website, he quickly came to the conclusion that he was, in fact, not as much of a threat as he seemed to be. Naturally, Luc had held a fear that Statford was one of the Knights Templar. He could be a fatal threat returned from Europe and Luc's youth, finally come back to finish the job they'd started. That cold-sweat-inducing panic subsided instantly. This Statford fellow didn't have the bearing he associated with the Templiers. The wording in Statford's information on the site was positively comedic. Why anyone hired a man with such disregard for propriety baffled him.

  Then again, it really went right along with that interaction with him at the apartment. Pretty boy. The whistling. The off-key singing. Statford was a clown.

  And then he understood why Melzer probably hired him. Clownish private investigators could not be in high demand. Statford was, therefore, very likely cheap to hire. He was probably all the woman could afford. That would, though, potentially make Statford more dangerous. If he wasn't in high demand, any job would be precious to him. He would need to get paid. His time and resources wouldn't be stretched between jobs. His whole attention would be on protecting James.

  That gave Luc an idea.

  Twenty minutes later, Professor Renee Bardwell-Wiseman was sitting across the desk from him. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, her face schooled to the standard expressionlessness of the Order of Balance. "What can I do for you, Father?" she asked. If she felt any awkwardness at calling a man more than a decade younger than her "Father," she didn't show it. She never had.

  "I have a small assignment for you, Renee," Luc said. "I need you to act the part of one of our targets."

  Had she belonged to any other order, she probably would have looked puzzled. "One of our targets?"

  He nodded. "You saw my email regarding the human obstacle I have been contending with. I have managed to identify him, and I'm in need of an obstacle for the obstacle. I need you to hire him for personal protection. I need you to engage him, at any cost. Funds will be made available. If he's making a priority of protecting you, even for an hour, then he won't be in my way as I take care of my own contract."

  She nodded her understanding. "This shouldn't be an issue, Father. But wouldn't one of the students be better suited for this?"

  "Probably," he admitted. "But I wouldn't want to put any of them at potential risk, nor would it be believable for a teenager to have potentially tens of thousands of dollars at their disposal."

  "Risk?"

  He nodded again. "You are qualified as a master assassin. You've gone through the master exam."

  Her eyes widened minutely. If he hadn't been looking for it, he probably would have missed it.

  "Consider this a review session, then. Would you be willing to undergo something similar again?"

  After a moment, Renee nodded. Luc mirrored her. "If you will excuse me for a moment, then." He stepped out of the office in search of the other piece of his plan.

  The master exam had been a sham. Luc had undergone it out of necessity, a good twenty years earlier than was normal for an assassin. It was an exercise that pitted him, unarmed and alone, in a 24-hour chase against a dozen other assassins. Ordered not to kill, he'd been the target for those after him. He could die, but not defend himself. The paranoia of those twenty-four hours remained with him. Only once he was safe had he realized no one had been after him in the first place. Surely Renee had come to that realization herself after her exam. Still, the memory of it was uncomfortable. Sham or not, it was a trial. He was asking a lot to put her through it again, even on a smaller scale.

  Professor Cliff Boand was in the common room, reading, when Luc found him. "Might I borrow you?" Luc asked.

  Cliff marked his page, nodded, and followed Luc into the office. The 60-something Cliff sank into his chair, but Luc was still standing when he opened the conversation. "Father Cliff, I need you to try to kill Renee."

  "I'm...what?" The man's eyes bugged out, not at all like a Balance assassin. Luc nearly laughed. The man had completely lost his composure. Paired with his ring of white hair, it made him look positively goofy. As Luc outlined his plan, though, Cliff's face settled. The two professors exchanged a look and nodded.

  "You will need to make it believable, if this is going to work," Luc added once they'd agreed.

  "What if this Statford fellow gets in the way?" Cliff asked.

  "I hope he does. It will mean he's not in my way. Your prerogative is to keep him occupied. But I trust your risk assessment, both of you. If it gets too bad, get out. I won't lose either of you. Not for real. Even just an hour will give me plenty of time."

  Renee scratched at her chin. "When are we doing this?"

  "Early tomorrow. First thing, in fact. I want us all rested. You two, particularly. If you're going to make this convincing...come to think of it, Renee, how well can you make yourself up to look as if you haven't slept out of fear for your life?"

  "I think I can make that happen."

  "Then I want you waiting outside Statford's office first thing in the morning. Cliff, you know what to do. Make this urgent."

  7

  With a plan in place, ready to be executed, Luc felt much better about things in general. His heart rate settled, and the invisible band he hadn't realized was constricting his chest loosened. He could breathe. Luc had never been claustrophobic, but the sudden release of stress felt like emerging from a coffin into daylight. At least, that's what he imagined such an experience would feel like.


  His body and mood much lighter, Luc forewent his own advice to his professors. He wasn't going to be able to rest. Or, not sleep, anyway. Lying awake in bed didn't appeal to him. That would only invite the stress to return. Things would go well, he told himself. Besides, it was only a few minutes after 9 P.M. The evening was young. At least, upstairs it was. A second light dinner and another Corpse Reviver to sip on would be a welcome distraction, along with the thumping music and mind-numbing warmth of the club air.

  The usual evening's party was in full swing at Umbra Motus. The wave of contained body heat smashed Luc in the face the moment he emerged from his faux office. Luc gave a brief nod to Samuel, the closest bouncer, and followed the man to his--as always--empty booth. His Corpse Reviver appeared on the table a minute or so later, and the promise of another repast from the kitchen had him maintaining his relaxation. The slow beat of the current song helped regulate his pulse. Forcing his body to keep the slow rhythm, he felt every thump in his chest and found himself breathing in time with the wordless music. He was in control. Tomorrow, his professional activities would return to normal.

  Abruptly, the song changed. The pounding yet somehow lethargic beat morphed into a pounding and energetic one. A cheer erupted from the crowd, and the dance floor rapidly filled with twice as many bodies as before. The music swelled, punctuated by heavy breathing as friends, lovers, and complete strangers postured and ground against one another. Clothes might not cover everything, but they covered the important bits. Luc made sure the dress code was strictly enforced. This may be a club, but it wasn't a place for lewd public displays of affection. Kissing and groping were fine so long as they were consensual, but if someone moved so much as a toe out of line, they were out. That included couples getting too close of their own volition, too. Physical relations were for elsewhere.