The Artisan: An Artistic Assassin Thriller

by Dyal Bailey

  She cut off the motor of the pontoon boat and opened the rocket launcher container. Setting the weapon up on its stand, she took aim, shooting towards the helicopter.

  She missed her mark, her missile exploding on a nearby promontory. Cursing herself, she could see the man holding the container suddenly barking orders to the pilot.

  Knowing she had but seconds before the helicopter would complete its mission, she propped the launcher onto her shoulder, took aim, and fired another rocket. This time, the helicopter was hit and exploded into a ball of flames. She sighed, Thank God. By the heat of the blast, and the extreme volatility of the viruses, there was no way any of the deadly germs could still be alive.

  Not wasting even a moment, Rafaela dove into the water and started swimming toward the houseboat. A glimmer of light hit her eyes, and she realized Antonio was watching her progress with binoculars. He wasn’t making any move to get away.

  With what was left of her strength, she pulled herself onto the boat. The deck was empty. She rushed toward what appeared to be the main entrance, and found the door slightly ajar. She wove her way through several more passageways until she opened the door to Antonio’s combination office and salon. As she stepped down the narrow stairs toward a plush sitting area, she heard someone humming the first few bars of the tragic aria E lucevan le stelle.

  Antonio Peloso sat waiting and smiling at her from behind his desk. He was wearing a loose fitting poet shirt and his hair was purposefully styled to mirror the curls of much-loved tenor Jonas Kaufmann. “Dr. Ramos, I imagined you might find me eventually. Come to beg for the life of your sweetheart?” He tossed a bronzed knife in the air and caught it.

  Her face reddened. He sat and smirked with his feet propped up on his desk. He started twirling the bronzed dagger in his hand and leered at her menacingly, but she continued to step in his direction.

  Studying her small, but intense body up close, he felt a strange emotion flow over him. He knew he hated Micah Carteret for having ever possessed something so magnificent. She was by far the most beautiful and interesting individual he had ever encountered. “He would never have been enough for you. Don't you get that?” He shifted and sat forward in his chair to examine her more fully.

  “You don't seem too upset about your men getting killed.” She studied the man who studied her.

  “That was disappointing, but in a business like mine, one learns not to dwell on the past. I’ve already sent Puja an email, telling him to prepare another shipment of the virus.”

  She stiffened. “You’re sick.”

  He chuckled. “If so, I’m fully enjoying my illness.”

  “You’ll be enjoying it in prison soon enough.” She glared at him.

  “You seem sure of yourself. Is there something you’re not telling me?” A cold realization showed in his eyes.

  She looked away.

  “So Bailey has locked down the lab? That’s unfortunate.” He barred his teeth and pressed the enter button, sending another email. “I know you want to kill me. But first you want to put one of your little biochemical patches on me so I’ll tell you where I'm hiding dear, dear Micah, before he starves to death, or worse,” he sneered.

  She pulled on a pair of surgical gloves and moved toward him.

  He enjoyed watching her move; she was like a panther stalking her prey. “Yes, you knew before you got here that I'm the only one who knows where he's hidden.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she eased closer.

  “Now, now. Not so fast. That email I just sent was to a friend of mine who specializes in removing unnecessary specimens like Micah Carteret. So why don’t you be a good girl and head back to work, and maybe I’ll send Günter another email to call him off.” Antonio put down his knife and pulled out a tiny gun. He pointed it at Rafaela, motioning for her to sit down.

  “I’m still hoping to let you have the opportunity of viewing Micah’s corpse. I do hope that you’ll be able to recognize him when Günter gets through.” He saw her try to control the pained look in her eyes and it thrilled him.

  “You're completely insane.”

  “Possibly. Don’t think I haven’t considered the fact, but that’s neither here nor there.” He was enjoying himself. Torturing this tiny, brilliant woman was really too interesting.

  With the hand that wasn’t holding the gun, he clicked on the video screen in front of her.

  She watched in horror. Günter, wearing a velvet jacket and a silk mask, moved as if he were doing some sort of trance-like ritual dance before his victim, who was tied by ropes and swimming in blood.

  Standing, she slammed her fist against the monitor, shutting it off. Her face was red and she shook with rage. “I’ll never let you kill him.”

  “Rafaela, you haven’t been listening. Günter is on his way to Micah now, so it’s practically too late. Your lover is almost as good as dead.”

  Rafaela’s eyes fell on the knife lying a few feet away on the desk. There was a sound on the deck and Antonio looked away. She saw her chance and rushed him. He turned his attention back to her and pulled the trigger. Rafaela felt the burn of the bullet, but kept coming.

  With blood dripping down her face, she grabbed the dagger. Antonio let off another round, hitting her in the chest. She felt the blow, but kept pushing herself toward him.

  As he moved away, she shoved the dagger deep into Antonio’s back.

  Antonio wrenched away, pushing her weakened body to the ground. He staggered a few steps, all the while staring at her bleeding next to him on the floor. He was starting to fade and was breathing in pants. “Now…we have both lost.”

  As he collapsed, he pushed the razor sharp weapon even deeper into his flesh.

  Seeing Antonio’s head fall to the side and the life pouring out of him, made her gasp. She knew that by stabbing Antonio, it was as if she had killed Micah herself. The room was blurring, but she pulled herself up, clutching the pain in her chest. The full impact of what had happened hit her in the gut and she vomited on the carpet. When she was fully purged, she fell into a chair just as Faulkner rushed in.

  He checked the blood on her cheek and the bullet holes in her still water-drenched shirt. Pausing, he ripped it open, revealing her ultrathin Kevlar-type vest. His attention returned to the blood on her hair. “Good. He just grazed your ear. Hurry up, the chopper is here.”

  She looked at his face. “Did you find him?”

  “No, but we found a two thousand acre tract of land owned by a distant corporation controlled by the Peloso family. Our satellite films showed there’s been an unusual amount of travel and activity in the area over the last year. It’s a needle in a haystack, but we’ve run out of options. It’s this or nothing, so let’s go.”

  For hours, they flew over acres and acres of forest. Rafaela never tired and continued searching, but as the sun began to set, she became morose and pessimistic. Her business was death, yet her dread of getting there too late and finding Micah’s corpse shook her to the core of her very being.

  I’m such a fool to have gotten close to him so that he could be used as a tool. And when I find his dead, lifeless body, it will have been for nothing.

  Taking a moment, she closed her eyes and prayed. And she prayed as fervently as she had prayed as she sat weeping at her Abuela’s deathbed. Dear Jesus, I’m not worthy to ask you any favors, but Micah doesn’t deserve to die for my sins. Please, please. If you will help me find him, I promise I’ll find a way to keep him safe.

  Faulkner’s brows drew closer together, his face tightening. “I’m sorry, Dr. Ramos. We’ve sent teams into every corner of this land and every building on it. It’s a dead end.”

  She looked at him and from the corner of one of her tear-filled eyes, she saw smoke and a shoveling back hoe. She grabbed Faulkner’s arm and pointed. “What about that? Is that one of your men?”

  He raised his binoculars and let out a weighted sigh. “No, it looks like a fireman, putting out a brush fire. I’m not even sure that’s o
n Peloso’s property.”

  “Scan the area around him with the x-ray,” she ordered.

  He adjusted the instruments and looked at the monitor. “There’s an underground storm shelter or something right where that guy’s digging.”

  She tightened her grip on the rope as she checked that it was secured inside the helicopter. She dropped it as the helicopter began to hover. “Hand me the electronic odor detector and drop me in that field.”

  “There’s no way we can put down in an area that narrow!” he exclaimed. Before the words were out of his mouth, Rafaela was shimmying down.

  She hurried over to the fireman, who was a tall, statuesque blond. Through his mask, she noticed carefully manicured brows. Rafaela knew she had seen him somewhere before, perhaps outside Gen-Bio-Lab, and although it was alarming, she was too distracted by her desperation to find Micah to let the thought complete itself. Humming and sitting on the huge earth-moving machine that was digging deep into the dirt, he didn’t see her until she jumped up and twisted the engine off.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she shouted as she pulled out the keys and tossed them to the ground.

  “What the—” His head jerked up.

  “The fire is over there.” She pointed accusingly.

  “After I finished putting it out, I heard something that sounded like pipes clanking. I couldn't find any openings, and when I called out, nobody answered. So I thought I would dig around to see what the deal was.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “I think that a man may be trapped in somebody's bomb shelter down there.” She tried to remain calm, but her hands were shaking.

  “You’re kidding?” he sputtered in an accent laced with a foreign kind of lisp.

  Jumping down, she pulled the electronic bloodhound device from her pocket.

  “What’s that?” He watched her, seemingly amazed.

  She ignored him and turned on the odor detector, which started going off. “Thank God!” Following the direction the machine was sending her, she found a tiny camouflaged air vent. Now, the detector was sounding so loud, it was blasting in her ears.

  “He's here.” Her voice broke with emotion as she started shouting at the top of her lungs. “Micah! Micah! If you can hear me, stand away from the wall. I'm going to dig you out.”

  Grabbing the keys off the ground, she jumped up into the back-hoe, and cranked it while the fireman, still wearing his safety mask, hopped off, shaking his head.

  Meanwhile, a groggy Micah had awakened and was banging on the pipes, screaming at the top of his lungs when the walls began to cave in on him. “You bastard! You are not going to bury me alive!”

  Suddenly, the walls started moving the other way. He heard the machine and could see that it was pulling dirt away rather than pushing it in. The entire wall started falling backward, but then the ceiling began to cave in.

  “Stop!” he screamed. As the words were still echoing from his mouth, the machine’s engine shut off.

  Rafaela dropped down into the shelter. Micah saw her and started fighting through the dust and debris. Their eyes met just as a huge beam fell down on Rafaela. He rushed to her, but a pair of arms picked her up before he could get to her. He winced as he saw her limp body in the arms of this strange fireman.

  The fireman’s safety mask was gone. Staying in character, Günter shouted, “The ceiling is going to cave any minute. Get out of here!”

  “Not without her, I’m not.” He snatched Rafaela from the man’s arms and fought his way to the surface. As they met the sunlight, sirens were blaring and police and ambulances were driving up with a team of land clearing machines paving their way.

  Günter exited the hideaway from the same opening. He observed the reunited couple, and in his mind, he began to hear music and voices. It was the final duet from Gounod’s opera Roméo et Juliette. With a dreamy smile, he faded into the woods.

  An ambulance pulled up and the medical team rushed to the couple. Moments later, Rafaela was lying on a stretcher with Micah by her side. She was connected to several tubes and wires. Her heart monitor pulsed an erratic beat.

  A small team of doctors rushed in. One pulled Micah aside. “Sir, we need you to step outside.”

  At first, he refused to leave Rafaela’s side. But once he saw the look of strained concern on everyone’s faces, he complied and stumbled outside. Moments later, the doctor stuck his head out.

  “Mr. Bailey, please come in.” Bailey glanced at Micah then stepped inside.

  As he walked in, the other doctors exited. He went to Rafaela, who was lying down, but alert.

  Bailey looked her straight in the eye. “You know what has to be done.”

  Her eyes filled with tears as she choked back a sob. “You promise you’ll keep him safe?”

  Nodding, he tried to read her. “Did you tell him…anything?”

  She looked at him then away. “No.”

  He studied her for a moment. “Are you ready?”

  She held out her arm. He injected her and tossed the syringe aside. Opening the door, he stepped outside and turned to Micah with a downtrodden expression. “She’s asking for you.”

  Watching him with hope in his eyes, Micah asked, “How is she?”

  Bailey looked down and shook his head.

  Rushing in, Micah searched Rafaela’s face, who attempted to smile through her tears. He wiped them away and pulled her into his arms. He kissed her and she kissed him back, as if there were no tomorrow. The soft sweetness of her lips filled him with insurmountable joy. Suddenly, her lips stilled.

  He pulled away and studied her. “What’s wrong, your lips are so— “

  She was staring into space and there was no life in her eyes. Micah started to shake her. “Help! Oh my God—help! Somebody!” The heart monitor on the wall began to beep a solid line.

  Epilogue

  Six months later.

  On an island, just off the shore of Costa Rica, two men with machine guns stared drowsily into the ocean waves. The bearded one casually ground out his cigarette under his boot then suddenly changed to a position of attention. The younger man followed his lead, and shortly, both looked ready to fight off an army if necessary.

  As the sound alerting them drew near, the bearded man winked at the younger. A whistling older man in a lab coat walked past them with a tray of food. After weaving his way past several check points, he pressed a buzzer on the outside of a laboratory door.

  A woman’s voice responded. “Yes?”

  Dr. Jacobs cleared his throat. “Time for lunch.”

  As she opened the door, he showed Rafaela the tray of food. She gaped at the vast assortment of gourmet delicacies.

  He smiled. “Compliments of Mr. Bailey.”

  She glanced toward the sea with a wistful smile.

  …

  Micah Carteret walked back inside his one-bedroom Boston apartment and booted up his computers. A multitude of images of Rafaela flashed across the monitors as screen-savers. After pausing for a few moments to ponder them, he sat down and began to type.

  He had spent the better part of half a year putting the pieces together and he was close to a breakthrough. It hadn’t taken him long after the shock and the chemicals had worn off to know that something wasn’t right. He’d felt it in his gut. And when he’d checked Bailey’s emails, he was positive. Because there was nothing. The underground head of the CIA doesn’t lose his biggest asset and not communicate something. Yet, there was nothing.

  Oh they covered their tracks masterfully, from Rafaela’s death certificate to the sealed coffin at her funeral. But Micah had seen through their cover up. And it infuriated him just to think about how they thought they’d played him for a fool.

  Looking at his shaky hands, he clicked on an icon and watched clip after clip of footage from the Augusta area traffic cameras. The time sequence he had been working on for the last six months had been very specific. From the time of Rafaela’s “death” to one hour afterward. He had pains
takingly viewed every inch of traffic footage shot in the entire area; finally eliminating ninety-nine percent of a fifty-mile radius around the location of Rafaela’s supposed death. Now he was so close, his hands started to tremble.

  Hopping to the next traffic light, he paused. There it was: the ambulance. He zoomed in closer and closer. Then he studied the peripheral.

  Gotcha! What the hell do you think you’re doing going down Belair Road? The hospital’s the other way, fella.

  Moving to several satellite views, he worked for another hour, until he found what he was looking for.

  Bingo!

  Micah zoomed in until he could see the ambulance parked next to a helicopter. Increasing the magnification, he saw a blurred image. He digitally enhanced the entire frame and sure enough, it was Rafaela, standing unsteadily on her feet. She was being helped into the chopper. He slammed his fist on the desk.

  “I knew it! I knew it, damn it!”

  Out of nowhere, his eyes started filled with tears. She’s alive. Thank you God! She’s alive.

  And after that realization sunk in, another came forward. She did this for me… And I could kill her for it.

  He stared at her image on the monitor, wanting to wrap his hands around her throat and throttle her, kiss her, slap her and sob her name to the heavens. That was Rafaela, infuriating and irresistible. She thought she’d protected him by breaking off their affair, but she had seriously underestimated him if she thought he’d let a little thing like her death put him off.

  Standing taller than he had in months, he pulled on a jacket and went for a walk.

  …

  Günter entered his penthouse and heard his computer playing a long ago familiar chime. Could it be? He rushed over to check it out. An auto-timed email had come in. He smiled. He was correct. It was from his long-lost favorite customer, Antonio Peloso.