Luc Bertrand- American Assassin

by A. F. Grappin

  Luc cocked an eyebrow. "If I've won, it means I operate on my own. You do not stop me."

  Statford shook his head. "Deal was you leave Melzer alone permanently, and the vow. I thought you had honor. Quit trying to slip one by me. Not gonna happen, Frenchie." At Luc's glare, he tilted his head in a pleading pout. "Oh come on, man. It's a godsdamned baby. Just let it go. Quit twitching. I know you've got other weapons. Don't be a sore loser. You can kill me, probably, but it will be the last time you kill anyone. Just take the loss. It's not gonna be that big of a deal. And trust me, it's a lot better for your health this way."

  The adrenaline rush was beginning to fade. Luc's muscles, particularly his arms and torso, were wanting to tremble. This had to end. "Very well. What shall I swear on? A bible?" He cocked an eyebrow at Statford, struggling to rein in his shaking body. He wasn't yet losing the clarity of his vision, but it was coming. The pain in his side was only increasing, making him more aware that there was still a knife--one of his own knives--sticking out of him. It was a bluff, of course. He hoped Statford would dare make him swear on a bible. Luc had lost his faith in God years ago. It had gone up in the fire that had consumed his home and his family's bodies.

  "Too simple. You swear to who I say. And on what I say." Statford held out Luc's knife, not bothering to conceal his own trembling arm. It looked like he might drop the blade. Statford's own blood on the blade shone in the streetlights. "On this. And to Insidia."

  "Who or what is Insidia?" Luc asked.

  "Just swear it. You and those you oversee will never kill another innocent."

  "Very well. I, Luc Bertrand, swear to Insidia and on this blood that I and mine will abstain from the release, destruction, dread, balance, or rejection of any innocents from now until the end of time." He stared into Statford's eyes. "Does that satisfy you?"

  "It satisfies me," a woman's voice said in Luc's head.

  "And us," said a chorus of voices afterward.

  11

  He swore he could see Statford's stupid, self-satisfied smirk, but it was a ghostly image in his mind's eye. What sent shivers all through Luc's body was what he was truly seeing now. Gone was the night sky of Virginia Beach, the traffic of Atlantic Avenue, the parking lot of Umbra Motus.

  Luc had never had those wild days of experimenting with drugs, and he never intended to. What he was experiencing now was, he imagined, the draw for giving over control to a mind-altering substance. Or perhaps what made children--again, never Luc--want to be astronauts when they grew up. Luc floated weightlessly in a void, his every nerve and cell tingling with nothingness. It was the ultimate of meditative peace, but Luc couldn't grasp it. He was out of control, spinning lazily in the black. There was no sense of up or down, but Luc's mind strained to find gravity so he could right himself. His stomach should be churning in motion sickness, but even that escaped him.

  Existence resolved itself, and Luc's spin slowed to stillness. A face filled the void before him, extending forever in all directions, but it somehow wasn't so massive he couldn't take it all in. A single eye was larger than he was, but he could still see the whole face at a glance, though it was within arm's reach, and he shouldn't be able to see past the nose. Physics failed, making his brain ache, yet he could fathom the woman before him.

  "You may call me Insidia," the woman's voice said. It made his whole body vibrate as it gently caressed his brain. "You fear ambush and deception. It is right for you to do, as those are my domains." She let out a soft chuckle that rattled him to his bones. "You may worship me, if you like. It would be a wise move on your part. You have already dedicated yourself to me, with your words. I will hold you to your vow, Luc Sebastien."

  "And just who--" Luc found himself asking, but the rest of his question was interrupted.

  "Rosenda Suero, Order of Rejection."

  "Shaw Fergus, Order of Destruction."

  "Iason Demokritos, Order of Dread."

  "Isidor Grigorovich Lagounov, Order of Balance."

  "Fadi Al-Nejem, Order of Release."

  He'd meant to ask who the other voices in his head had been. Only once all five had spoken and the last words had echoed into oblivion did they appear. The five were ageless, and they seemed perfectly comfortable with their lack of grounding. Five sets of eyes--well, one of them was missing an eye--stared into Luc's soul. He could feel them weighing him. Without asking, he knew who they were.

  These were the founders of the Assassin's Guild, the ones who had created the Orders and all they stood for. They were naked, but some trick of the void blocked out any definitive features of their bodies. How ancient were these people?

  "Your word was given," Insidia said.

  "And accepted," said Shaw Fergus.

  "It is binding," Suero, Lagounov, and Demokritos said together.

  "I will be watching, Luc Sebastien," Insidia said. Her voice was like warm caramel on his skin.

  The void returned, gradually overtaking Insidia's massive face and the forms of four of the founders. For an extra few moments, the distinct face and indistinct body of Fadi Al-Nejem remained.

  "Do not shame my order," he said, and disappeared.

  Luc's return to reality was nothing like he expected. He felt thin and weak. The bedsheets around him were warm and damp from sweat.

  "Welcome back, Father," the ECAA medic, whose name somehow escaped Luc at the moment, said. "We were worried."

  Luc blinked up at her. "What--"

  Nearby, Scout Sujyot sighed with relief. "I'm sure you have questions. Let me guess before you strain yourself talking." The administrator bit their lip for a moment. "Frederick found you unconscious in the parking lot with a stab wound and called for meds right away. You've been out since then. I know you're going to ask how long..."

  Luc nodded, fearing the answer. Scout had still had a week of vacation left, last time he'd checked.

  "Ten days. Almost to the hour, actually. You had one hell of a fever, Father. But your side's in good shape. Going to be a nice scar. Not infected. Your fever broke earlier this afternoon. You're out of danger."

  Luc opened his mouth, but the medic held up her hand. "Unless you're ready to take in some actual food and water, I want your mouth closed. No talking for now. You've been in bad shape, Luc. No strain while I get you back to strength."

  Clamping his mouth shut, Luc nodded. He hated being spoon-fed, but the soup was welcome. After that and a bit of water, he felt more like himself.

  The next week gave him time to recover, but his mind was still strained. How much strange truth had been in that delirium of his? A few probing questions to Scout told him that his vision of Insidia and the founders had provided accurate names for the original assassins. Luc had never learned that part of the Guild's history. How had his blood loss and fever-addled mind created facts he'd never known? It made him cringe.

  Once he felt recovered and received clearance from medical, Luc got straight back to work. A simple contract handed to him from Scout took him to nearby Norfolk, Virginia. Terry Mixon was an easy enough mark to find, but when Luc's opportunity came, the poisoned throwing dart refused to leave his hand. Standing with his fingers wide open and his palm upended, the dart stayed there, refusing to submit to reality. Daring exposure, Luc pulled a gun, but the bullets would not fire. Awash in confusion and more fear than he liked to admit, Luc hurried away, driving faster than he really should have.

  He didn't return to Umbra Motus and the ECAA. Instead, he turned down a different street, making for an address he'd memorized but hoped he'd never have to use.

  Despite the gripping terror in his throat, Luc still knocked rather than bursting down the door. He didn't wait for a response before entering, though. Thomas Statford was looking straight at him when the door opened.

  "I was wondering how long this would take. Coffee?" Statford said.

  12

  "Have a seat, Luc," Statford said.

  "What did you do to me?" Luc demanded.

  "I stabbed you
in the side. Seemed fitting after you did it to me."

  "Don't play the imbecile with me, Statford. You know what I mean."

  Statford shrugged. "If you want all the details, you really will want to sit down."

  Luc narrowed his eyes at the private investigator. "What did you do to me?"

  Shrugging, Statford took a loud slurp from his coffee mug. "Other than stab you, I didn't do shit. Insidia is the one who did whatever it was to you. Well, you really did it to yourself. You said the words." He leaned back in his chair. Luc hoped he'd lean back so far he fell over. "I have to know though. What happened? How did she stop you?"

  Luc could feel his face turning red. Statford was a mixture of poses. The man's body screamed relaxation, security in the advantage of his knowledge. But his eyes were locked on Luc like a child waiting for his birthday surprise. "She broke physics. I was unable to loose so much as a dart."

  "Ha!" Statford jerked forward in his chair and slapped his knee with laughter. "I bet that was awesome! Anyway, here's what happened. You made a vow to a goddess. She's gonna hold you to it. Simple."

  "There are no gods," Luc said.

  "Bullshit," Statford shot back. "The gods--every single damned one of them--is as real as you or me. Most of the time, they'll leave people alone. As a whole, anyway. But they still meddle. You're on their radar now, Frenchie. And not just Insidia's."

  "What is that supposed to mean?"

  "Zeus. I'm sure you've heard of him. Greek, bearded, thunder and lightning, can't keep it in his pants."

  "I am aware of Greco-Roman mythology," Luc said, straightening in his chair. Wait, when had he sat down?

  "Well, then you know he and his wife are particularly volatile. You just got caught up in one of their...marital spats."

  Luc frowned. "I do not follow."

  "Melzer, man! Jimmy Melzer is one of Zeus's...I would say love-children, but let's be real. He just wanted Jenny. But that didn't stop him from wanting to protect the kid. Hera has this nasty habit of trying to kill Zeus's bastards. Which was where you came in."

  As absurd as this all was, Luc's mind was fitting the pieces together. "You are saying that the Greek queen of the gods hired me to kill that baby?"

  "And Zeus hired me to protect him." Statford shrugged. "I'd say unstoppable force meets immovable object, but you passed out. You seemed pretty movable to me."

  "And now you have me beholden to this Insidia." Luc paused. "I have not heard of her."

  "I'm sure you'll get to know her very well. Just keep in mind she can kill you at any moment. That goes for your students and shit, too. I don't know if she'd sooner take them out or you if someone steps out of line, but...you know. That's your risk to take." He paused. "Yeah, it's a lot to take in. Maybe lay low for a while, let it sink in? Take a vacation. Eat a fish stick. Or some snails. Whatever it is French guys do to unwind. You like that stinky, runny, moldy cheese, right?"

  Luc glared and got to his feet. "Stay away from my club. You set foot on my property again, I will kill you. Insidia or no."

  He was almost to the door when Statford said, "Tell Renee and Cliffy I said hello."

  Luc's mind raced with all the horrific things he would like to do to Statford as he drove back to the ECAA. Renee and Cliffy? His staff, of course. But what would Statford want...

  It clicked. Luc had arranged a diversion with them before Statford had shown up at the club. He'd never had the opportunity to call them off. Had they gone through with things?

  The moment he reached the ECAA, he called the two professors to him. "Report. What happened with Statford?"

  The two assassins exchanged a glance. "He knew," Renee said. "But I think he was playing with us. I went to 'hire' him, and he demanded twenty million billion dollars up front. In cash."

  "Twenty million billion?" Luc repeated. "That doesn't make sense."

  "He also asked for a pony," she said. "As part of his fee. All I could do was sit there, like an idiot. That's when he opened his window."

  "And...did what?" Luc asked.

  Boand scratched at the bald crown of his head. "I was out there, concealed, of course. Waiting for the show to start. He looked right at where I was hiding, I swear. And I heard him holler at the top of his lungs, 'Come on, Cliffy! She's right here! Come and get her!'"

  Luc blinked.

  "It wasn't until we got back that we found out you'd been injured and were unconscious. No one told us before we left. It was early..." Renee's cheeks colored in embarrassment.

  Waving a hand, Luc dismissed it. "No worries. I'm glad you're both safe. Things are...resolved between myself and Statford, at least. He won't bother us anymore. Go ahead and get back to classes. And send Scout in if you see them."

  The administrator was sitting across from him a moment later. "You wanted to see me?"

  "Future contracts," he said, "will need to be...vetted more carefully. I am going to be changing our standards here a bit. Release for the greater good is," he chose his words carefully, "no longer good enough. Anyone approved as a target from now on has to have actually committed a crime, whether legal or otherwise. No more innocents."

  Scout nodded slowly. "Okay...I'll let Betty know."

  "Betty?"

  "Betty Ferriby. New administrator backup coming here in a couple days. Relocating from the Nebraska guildhall. Did you not see your email yet?"

  "I am still getting caught up," Luc admitted. "I was unconscious for over a week."

  Scout rose. "Well, I'll go back through contracts pending and reevaluate them. Give you time to get caught up."

  He couldn't thank Scout enough for not asking why he was making the change.

  It took an hour just to get through the junk emails Luc knew he could ignore. Contracts that had been forwarded to him went straight into the trash, since Scout was back. The email notifying him of receiving a second administrator was in the mix, too. He spent about ten minutes reviewing Ferriby's file before nodding. She was capable and experienced. She'd fit in well here.

  In the mix of emails, he found one from TStatford@TomStatfordInvestigations.net. The subject line was "Invoice."

  As much as he wanted to delete it outright, Luc opened the email.

  The attached invoice was for twenty million billion dollars. The number of zeroes was ridiculous. The funds were labeled as "for one ass-kicking in the parking lot."

  Also listed was "One Belgian pony."

  Luc glared at the two listings. "Mon Dieu, I hate him."

  Lesson Eight: Assassin's Deity

  1

  It seemed like every month, one of Luc's students got it into their head that what they were doing was wrong.

  "I mean, it's one of the Ten Commandments. Thou shalt not kill," Dwayne said for the third time.

  For the third time, Luc nodded. "The Bible says a lot of things," he said. "Far be it from me to argue against what words are in that book. The question is: how strongly do you believe those words should be followed?"

  The young man furrowed his brows. "The Bible says you go to Hell if you break the rules... I mean, it's one thing to learn about poisons and weapons and stuff, but to actually do it… That's somethin' different."

  "That is what we do," Luc replied. "We are assassins, Son." He paused. "You are concerned that your final exam is near, aren't you?"

  Dwayne scratched at the unruly beard he'd begun growing last spring. For an eighteen-year-old, Luc had to admit he was impressed at the growth of it. The beard and glasses made him look far older than he was. Yet Luc remembered the wide-eyed, dark-skinned boy who had first come to the ECAA right after it had opened.

  "I cannot tell you what is right or wrong. It is something we all have to reconcile within ourselves."

  "How do you deal with it, Father?"

  Luc sighed. "I do not believe in God. I gave up on him a long time ago."

  The young man drew back. "Oh... So killing... doesn't bother you at all?"

  "Every time, it 'bothers' me, Dwayne. I do no
t act lightly. You must remember that our administrators do validate that those whose contracts we take are worthy of leaving the world. No innocents. And remember the tenets of your Order. It is not murder. It is..." he trailed off to let the boy finish it.

  "Rejection," Dwayne supplied. "Rejection from among those living." He seemed to deflate a little. "I know. But it's still a sin."

  "That is between you and your god," Luc said. "I can tell you it's a never-ending mental struggle. I would be worried about you if you did not question. No one should enjoy our trade. It is weighty."

  That only seemed to marginally comfort the young man. Luc swiveled his chair just a bit to the side and began clicking things on his computer. A second later, he scribbled a name and address on a notepad, tore off the sheet, and handed it to his student.

  Dwayne accepted it and read the few lines of Luc's spidery handwriting.

  "I would suggest speaking to this man about your concerns. If you need spiritual guidance, he is far better suited than I."

  "Father Martin Jackson, Church of Christ United Faiths. Um... I'm not Catholic."

  "It is a non-denominational church. You don't have to be Catholic. He is, at least, understanding and confidential with us, and he will do his best to help you reconcile our work with whatever denomination you are. But I can vouch for your safety should you visit him. You can speak freely of anything that troubles you."

  Dwayne folded the paper and slid it into a pocket. "I kinda thought you'd tell me to ditch religion."

  "I am your teacher. Not a priest. Not a guardian angel. My purpose is prepare you for taking lives in a way that is efficient and respectful of the targets and safe for you. I do not do faith. I also don't teach money management or fashion sense. I can recommend someone for those, as well, if you need it." He pointedly looked at Dwayne's jeans, with their intentional holes and rips.

  That elicited a slight chuckle from the student, who gave a small smile and stood from his chair. "Thanks, Father Luke." Even after five years here, he still pronounced Luc's name too hard. Most Americans did. Luc didn't bother trying to correct him.