Aside from the photo-ops, there were also vacation photos galore. Damian and Gilles on a cruise ship, staring into the sunset. Gilles atop a donkey or mule at the Grand Canyon. The couple in tuxedos, kissing at what must have been their wedding, snowflakes falling thickly around them. Damian, clearly ambushed by the camera, candidly protesting having yet another photo taken of him.
"There are enough photos here for three lifetimes," Luc finally said to break the silence. Gilles's mouse clicks and keyboard clacking had done little to break it up until now.
"These are only the ones I hung up," Gilles replied, a smile coloring his voice. "And I'm not anywhere near a midlife crisis yet."
Luc continued along the wall and its dozens of framed photos, pausing to let out an involuntary laugh at one. "You finally got to meet Chris O'Donnell?"
The typing and clicking paused. "Yeah... That was about six years ago. Before I met Damian. I was blessedly single. Even so...it just wasn't meant to be."
Luc shook his head. The actor had been a serious crush of Gilles's back in their Vienna days. At another frame, he paused. "Who's this?" he asked, pointing to the grinning portrait of a toddler. "That's not Damian. Is it?"
Hesitation tinged Gilles's response. "That's Jules. Damian's son. From his first marriage. He lives in Ottawa with his mother."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to... if it's a sore subject..."
Gilles waved a dismissive hand. "Damian and I get to see him a few times a year. We hope that once we're really settled in, we might be able to make a better case for more equal custody...that and..." he shook his head and turned his eyes more determinedly to his computer.
"And what?" Luc asked, finally abandoning his inspection and sitting across the desk from Gilles.
Gilles didn't look up. "We want to adopt. We want to give someone the chance I never had."
Luc's throat closed. "Growing up outside the Guild."
Nodding to his computer, Gilles replied, "No obligations. No danger. What passes for a 'normal' life. Love." He finally looked up. "I'm not bitter. I've had an amazing life. So far. But it just makes me wonder what if. What if I'd been given a different chance? Don't you ever think about that, Luc?"
"I try not to," he admitted. His throat was still tight. He fidgeted and nodded to the computer. "So, this contract. He said an HP from EA. High priority. From..."
"East Asia," Gilles supplied. "And it looks pretty serio--" He stopped short, his brows furrowing.
"What's wrong?"
Gilles shook his head. "I'm going to have to take care of this one personally. There's an addendum stating this target has eluded four assassination attempts already, across China, India, and Japan. Even killed a few of our number. They suggest a master assassin. Our family here is pretty young, and we don't have any masters yet. I'm sorry, Luc, but this is serious. You understand, right?"
"Of course I do, but no master assassins here? Only you?"
"Not even me, Luc. Most don't even take the exam until they're in their mid-forties. Or later." He paused, eyes widening. "You did, though. Didn't you, back in Vienna? And you passed. Luc...I hate to ask, but...would you help me with this? For old time's sake?
5
Two thoughts warred in Luc's mind at the prospect of going on a contract with Gilles.
First, the master assassin exam was largely nominal. It was more of a mental wellness examination than a real test of an assassin's skill. Being a "master" wouldn't make much of a difference to the successful completion of a contact. Not that Gilles knew that. Luc had kept the Guild's secret about it when he took the test. He'd toyed then with the idea of revealing the sham of the master exam, and he found himself toying with it again now. Gilles's best assassin--or assassins--should take this, regardless of age or master status.
Second, of course he would help Gilles with it. If the man was telling the truth and he was the best the West Coast guildhall had to offer, how could Luc deny him the help?
"I don't mean to rush you, Luc, but the word is that our target was seen boarding a plane heading here that should land at LAX this afternoon. And a bus trip there for us is almost four hours. So, if you want to go, we need to leave now." His voice dropped low. "Either way, I have to leave now."
"I'll come," Luc said just as softly.
The relief that came into Gilles's eyes made him seem tired. "Thank you. What are you going to want from our stores? Do you still prefer darts?"
"I have some on me," Luc assured him. "Just fill me in on this bus trip."
Gilles made a few clicks on his computer, reached down behind the desk, and produced a laptop. A few clicks and some typing on the laptop, and he closed the smaller computer again, stuffed it into a shoulder bag, and got to his feet. "We can both read up on the ride. Let me get myself decked, and we're good to go."
Less than an hour later, Luc and Gilles were crammed onto a bus with a few dozen other passengers, waiting for the bus to get out of city traffic and onto the highway. Luc decided this departure process had to be a solid third of the trip time. He waited it out, leaning back in his seat as well as he could and closing his eyes.
When Gilles gently shook him awake, the bus was traveling at a decent clip. Most of the other passengers had sunk into their phones, iPods, or other forms of boredom defense. Many had headphones on or were simply asleep and snoring. Gilles had pulled his laptop into his lap and pulled up a document.
"Here's what we're looking at," he said.
With a second, slightly more intensive glance over the surrounding passengers, Luc decided no one was paying them any attention. Who could suspect that a pair of assassins would be riding a bus to the airport? There was much to be said for hiding in plain sight. Luc studied the digital text and photos on the screen.
She could have been someone's grandmother. Worse, she could have been any woman in any photograph in any locale, really. Her clothes, face, and hair were largely nondescript. She had a stern matriarchal set to her mouth, and even in the somewhat blurry photographs, there was a detectable air of self-assurance to her. It would be easy to disbelieve she was dangerous, except that there was a column on the report containing a timeline of Guild activity where this woman was concerned. It wasn't pretty. The first note was a contract acceptance back in early 1996, at which time the woman not only eluded, but ended up killing an assassin in New York City. The second note was almost five years later, in fall of 2000, where she escaped again, this time in India. Three more notes were in rapid succession at the end of 2002, again in the United States. One of them involved another kill. Then in 2004 in Italy, 2005 in China--a third kill there--2007 in Texas, and then just two months ago in North Carolina. The last note was the sighting that had ended with Luc and Gilles on alert, in Osaka, Japan.
Luc studied her face for a long time, committing it to memory. Someone this dangerous could not be taken lightly, and he had to get past seeing the maternal, unassuming-looking woman. There was a killer under that skin, and one who had killed Luc's Guild brothers and sisters. At this point, the contract had gone beyond the reasons given by whoever first hired the Guild. It was personal now. So long as this woman survived, no assassin was safe. What made her more terrifying was that there was no name given on the file. She was only listed as "The Woman."
"Well, this is going to be fun," Gilles said. "What do you think, Moon Pincer, or the old Danish Clamp?"
Luc stared at Gilles. "I don't think this needs to be taken so lightly. This woman is not going to be easy. Anything so basic as one of our secret-agent-play tactics will probably get us killed, Gilles."
The other assassin's face went stony. "I know." He stared out the window. Luc let him be for a long time. He hadn't meant to be so clipped with the other man, but the partnership they had once had was long over. Their breakup, though it had been Luc's fault really, still stung all these years later. It had been Luc's personal vendetta against the Order of Hell and the Knights Templar that had wedged between them. That was what had eventually set L
uc on the path to the United States.
A pang made Luc's heart hesitate a beat. Could "The Woman" be involved with either organization? It took a lot to outmaneuver a Guild assassin and kill them. This woman had done it more than once. She could conceivably be Order of Hell trained. Or heartless enough to be associated with the Templars. The old wounds, long scabbed over and largely forgotten until the last year or so, reopened again. Hate made his blood run cold. He would see this woman dead. But not before he got answers.
Gilles had finally turned away from the window and was looking at Luc. A sad exhale of a chuckle escaped the other man. "Where did you go just now?"
The look in Gilles's eyes said that he knew exactly where Luc's mind had gone; Luc said so.
"Still with that...you really haven't changed, Luc. Please, for your own sake... let it go." When Luc didn't answer, Gilles let his eyes trail back to the laptop screen. "So, what do we do, play it by ear?"
"With extreme caution, Gilles," he confirmed. "There would be no shame in letting her get away again if it meant we both came out of it alive."
Gilles nodded slowly. "Our own survival is priority one?"
"Two living assassins is more important than one fulfilled contract. The Guild has tried before; it can try again if we fail. But if one of us dies, we're not so easily replaced."
"Agreed," Gilles said, and he closed the laptop. "So... rest up? We can review things again before we get there, and maybe try to plan at least something for backup if we need to."
Luc settled back again, but sleep didn't come so easily this time. He briefly considered calling out to Insidia, the goddess of treachery, for help, but things were always unpredictable with her. Besides, he didn't like the train of thought that thinking about Insidia always led to. He was already mired in remembering his last run-ins with the Knights Templar and the Order of Hell. He didn't need to be bothered with thoughts of Insidia and Thomas Statford, too. "The Woman" herself was bad enough.
6
The United States' heavy crackdown on airport security since the attack on the World Trade Center was no joke. Even though the Assassin's Guild had its ways of circumventing just about any policy anywhere, sometimes the hassle wasn't worth it.
That was why Gilles and Luc split up. It had only taken a few moments of discussion to cement a basic plan. Luc emptied most of his armament into Gilles's computer bag and headed into the airport alone. It was a simple matter to purchase a ticket when he didn't care where or when he was marked to depart. He wouldn't be using the thing. But it did get him access to the main body of the airport. After the security checks, of course.
Guild concealment tech had gotten better in the last decade or so. The old prescription pill bottle full of toothpicks that Luc kept in his coat pocket was nothing to be concerned about. It would pass casual glance and thorough inspection easily. The pinprick hole in the cap of the pill bottle was small enough to be missed by anyone not looking for it. That pinprick was the access to the poison reservoir. Luc didn't understand the preservation technology that went into that quarter-sized plastic cap. It wasn't his job to know. He just knew that through some miracle of science, the toxins in that cap had a 6-month shelf life.
Poke the tip of a "toothpick" into that hole, press, and the toothpick could kill. They weren't exactly the throwing darts Luc favored, but in close quarters--such as a packed airport--it was more exact. It meant he would have to get close in to his target. That was part of why he had insisted he be the one to make first contact with the mark. Close-quarters kills meant higher risk. He hadn't said as much to Gilles, but "Gil" had a lot more to lose if something went wrong. And whether he wanted to admit it or not, Luc did have a goddess on his side.
Sometimes.
Maybe.
He hoped so, anyway.
Luc was just one of thousands of people streaming into Tom Bradley International Terminal. Following the directories to The Woman's arrival place was simple. Luc noted that the flight was marked as "Delayed" and used the extra time to mark the layout around the arrival gate. While there were only so many exits, there were hundreds of ways she could get to them from her plane. Worse, there were, of course, dozens upon dozens of other potential places Luc could lose her. Restrooms and shops were only the beginning of it. Should she elude him, Gilles was only a cell phone call or text away, but he could only move so fast to get to any particular exit.
Luc didn't like this situation. It was the best they could do on short notice, though, and he'd been in much worse predicaments.
Nearly an hour dragged by. Luc settled into a seat where he could watch one of the directories. An eternity passed with each second until the announcement finally came that the flight he'd been waiting on was arriving. Luc didn't move. It would still be a time until the plane taxied to the gate and unloaded its passengers. Besides, he'd purposely chosen to sit at the wrong gate for secrecy. No sense in lurking where he might be expected. Doubtless, The Woman was constantly on alert. He couldn't afford to act rashly or immediately. He had to watch for his opportunity. Study his target in person. Assess the situation and take in details no dossier could possibly cover. However The Woman intended to leave the airport, she would have to pass this way.
He tried not to think about ways she could avoid him despite his vigil. She would not stand out in the crowd and could be overlooked. What if she did have an alternate exit planned? An emergency exit, or one of those cliché, unrealistic paths through air ducts entered above a public restroom stall?
"You've watched too many bad spy movies, Luc," he muttered to himself. That set his mind on a tangent of wondering what the last movie he had watched was, and when. He couldn't remember.
The voice from above announced the flight's arrival and that the passengers were leaving the plane. Luc watched the activity in the gate without staring. He cursed inwardly every time someone strolling past blocked his view. Considering the foot traffic, his thoughts were nothing but foul language.
Activity in that gate picked up, and a sudden influx of people told him the first passengers had finally left the plane. No longer able to accept his partial view, he rose and walked to a shopping booth in the walkway. Under the guise of picking out an MP3 player, he was able to better watch the new arrivals. People were streaming into the airport from the tunnel, most of them immediately heading to their next gate or to a restroom. Had he missed her already? Could she have ducked into a restroom, or was she still waiting to leave the plane? Odds were for the latter, but he couldn't help but worry.
Cold pricks went down his spine. He did not like the lack of knowledge. It was like being in the dark, in a horror story, knowing the monster was there but invisible. It felt like a spider skittering down his neck. Even if she did expect an attack, she couldn't possibly pick him out of the crowd. Unless he showed his hand, he was safe.
Or was he?
Luc wasn't the jumpy type, but he still found himself shaking with shock when the saleswoman asked if he wanted to make a purchase. Setting the MP3 player back on the display, he shook his head and headed away. He'd lingered too long. His next stop was a nearby water fountain. A line of people still spilled from the tunnel. None of them were her.
And then there she was, looking nowhere near as haggard and drawn as the other passengers. The flight had been half a day long and had crossed seven time zones, not to mention the International Date Line. Anyone making that kind of flight was expected to be weary and not look very presentable.
The Woman could have just walked out of a long salon appointment. Her hair and clothing were immaculate, and she was speaking into a cell phone. There wasn't a hint of jet-lag in her expression. In fact, she looked pissed off. Luc couldn't hear her in all the noise of the terminal, but the look on her face made him glad he wasn't on the other end of the line.
She merged into the foot traffic effortlessly, not even pausing to look if there was an opening for her. She swept along towards the exit of the international terminal, rapidly putting di
stance between herself and Luc.
Luc set off after her. A quick text to Gilles put him on alert. The Woman had been sighted and was on the move. He'd let his partner know which exit to head to as soon as he had a hint of which way she was going. Stuffing his phone back in one pocket, Luc fished his prescription bottle from his other. Practiced movements poisoned the tip of one, but it wouldn't be volatile for long. Once applied, the preservatives began to lose their strength. The toothpick was, essentially, on a timer. Luc stuck the unpoisoned end of the toothpick between his teeth, feeling a fool, but people did walk around with the things in their mouths, so it wouldn't be too notable. He hoped. The bottle went back in his pocket. He dipped between two clusters of people to keep The Woman in sight as she turned a corner in the myriad of walking paths to get from terminal to terminal in LAX.
She wasn't heading toward any baggage claim that Luc could see. Still talking on her cell phone, her steps were heading for an exit to the parking areas. Luc shot another quick text to Gilles. He had to hope the other man was near enough to intercept their mark. She moved fast.
Biting down hard on the toothpick to make sure it stayed put, Luc sped up. The crowds were unforgiving, packed even more tightly here than they had been in the international terminal. Then, suddenly, there would be a gap, like the Red Sea parting. Luc closed in. The Woman had reached the exit doors.
She didn't walk through them. Her steps took her another way, into Terminal 7. Was she heading for another plane? Could this whole situation already be ending? Gilles couldn't help him if he couldn't get into the terminal. It would take him far longer than was feasible to get a ticket and get through security to be backup. Still, Luc sent another text, letting him know they were heading into the terminal. He kept on her trail, his heart rate rising again. He was on his own.
Luc Bertrand- American Assassin Page 18