“You've been a bad girl, Mandy,” one of them said. Mandy squinted at him for a moment, trying to place him from somewhere...
“Karl Tyler. From the so-called Death Camp brigade. You know, after coming out of Germany, I would have thought you'd be more sensitive about such things.”
Tyler smiled, the gesture making his face look more like some stark stormtrooper. “You should have been more careful in choosing friends. You should not be sleeping with the enemy.”
She arched a brow. “If you're the other choice, Karl, I'd sooner do a corpse.”
He laughed. “You mean you have not been? Anderson's a dead man walking, ja?”
Mandy shook her head. “We'll see.”
Tyler looked at her hands in her pockets. “And what will you use to kill us, hmm?”
“There's one thing you should remember, Karl. I always cover my escape route.”
The German arched a brow. Stairs, garbage cans, subway map. She was bluff—
The explosion from the garbage cans ripped through both teams, and the concussive force sent Karl hurtling into space.
Mandy took her hand out of her pocket and tossed the detonator on the tracks.
*
Down on street level, there was a loud explosion in the alley. The guard from the loading dock ran directly toward the sound, the noise sounding like a damn bomb. His assault rifle was up and ready. He slowly moved towards the site of the explosion and dropped, looking at the ruined cans of...paint?
He glanced around. An entire crate full of paint buckets had been dropped off the side of the building. What sort of idiot would...?
He paused a moment, then quickly took his helmet off so he could listen. There was a sharp whistling sound, like a cartoon bomb about to impact. Almost as though—
He looked up.
*
In the secured main control center that the Mercenaries had built in Senator Todd's concrete panic room, one of the blips on the screen went out.
“Emergency! Man down. Repeat, man down. Outside, by the loading dock in section green. Repeat, section green!”
A dozen men swarmed the alley in moments. They had expected a few things to be happening...not what they saw. “Control, this is Wenecki. There's nothing here but a jumper. It looks like he landed on one of our guys. Both dead. Tomato paste. I don't think—oh sh—”
The next sound was that of an explosion ripping through the side alley, and the Mercenaries below. Fire washed over them like a purifying wave.
From several stories up, Kevin simply smiled and shook his head. There was technically no way that should have worked...actually, no, that was stupid. Not only did it work, it was standard terrorist protocol. Kill someone in the first wave, and then take out the first responders.
Though he didn't expect to find so many grenades on three guards. Then again, I didn't actually expect the inside guards to lack heartbeat monitors, or that the guy I caught coming out for a smoke would be dumb enough to summon the other guards like I told him to.
Kevin sat down by the private elevator and crossed his arms, thinking over what to do next. When they had been scanning the signals on their little reconnaissance mission, there had been a dozen men in the street, and three more inside. He had killed two off-duty, so they couldn't count. All of the people on the outside had been neutralized, and what looked like two more from the internal security crew. And he had killed three more on this floor—a floor that was apparently under construction. It was all part of the same apartment, all owned by Todd; even the elevator was meant to move between the three floors of Todd's living quarters.
And the elevator didn't work yet.
The crackle of the stolen comm unit burst into his free ear. “All internal units, turn on your pulse monitors. Do it now!”
Kevin winced. So much for taking things slow. He stood up, stabbed his knife between the elevator doors and pried them partially open before reaching in and pulling them apart. He stepped inside and once again climbed up and out of the elevator car, onto the roof, hoping that the cables might lead him somewhere.
The cables led up to an elevator door that hadn't been installed yet. The door on the floor above opened up 90-degrees away from the other entrance, and led into—from what Kevin could see—a subtle little hallway, meant to conceal the elevator and make it less obtrusive.
You have got to be kidding me...
Kevin climbed up and out of the shaft as silently as possible. The hall ahead of him was about eight feet long, and curved to an archway to the left...where there was yet another Mercenary. A jab with the butt of the rifle solved that problem. Kevin dragged him into the dark. He quickly glanced out into the hall, and another guard blinked, and then squinted into the darkness.
Before the other Merc could put on his NVGs, Kevin stuck out a hand into the light and gestured the other guards to come toward him.
This Mercenary wasn't entirely stupid. He proceeded cautiously, moving forward slowly, gun ahead of him. He stepped around the corner—
Kevin grabbed the riffle by the barrel, pulled it away from the mercenary, and then jammed the rifle back into the man’s face.
Kevin glanced into the room before him. It was definitely a living room. At the back of the room was a hallway leading into what looked like a kitchen. To the right of that hall was a spiral staircase leading to the upper floor. In front of the stairs was a massive sofa, and on the wall, taking up the entire wall, was a television set.
And despite all of this, Kevin could hear a little whirring sound. To the right of the archway was a little camera swiveling back and forth. He waited a minute as it swung around, timing the motion. As it started to swing back, he kept his head down, running for the stairs. He was on them and up them before the camera even swung back.
The door was solid oak, but not locked. The hinges were on the left side, and well oiled, so they didn't even squeak when he opened it. And the first thing he saw was the bed. It was up against the wall, large and lavish. A king-size if there ever was one. The sheets were black, and the occupants were busy with their own affairs. And the black chains running down from the wall to the bed didn't encourage him any; neither did the round of screaming. It was high pitched, loud, and not the sound of someone enjoying themselves—not even the sound of someone enjoying pain. Just pain. The door must have been soundproofed...normally, I'd say that there shouldn't be a camera in here, but according to Mandy's files, there should be...oh.
Another wail went up, and Kevin had to block it out a moment, just to think. He had to move around the bed and take out the panic room, take out the control center. Technically, he could kill everyone in the bed who got in his way, and one of them would have to be his target...
But Mandy wanted the Mercs dead too. A promise is a promise. Just like Papa Domino's—we deliver.
Kevin slipped in, still in a crouch, partially rolled towards the bed, and closed the door with a flip of his hand. Kevin braced himself up against the foot of the bed, the bouncing mattress hitting him in the back of the head several times. He mentally sighed, then moved to his belly, sliding past along the bed. He peaked around the corner. The rest of the room extended into an office, but the wall the headboard of the bed rested on wasn't a complete wall. It stopped part of the way, leaving a gap for a small hall behind it. And on the corner of that wall was another camera, pointed right at the door.
Kevin froze, wondering why he was still alive. Another wail pierced the night, and nothing more... And welcome to the human element. They can have only so many monitors, and coordinate so many Mercs at the same time...no one was watching when I came in the door. And what would they see? The door opened, it closed. Could be a breeze.
Kevin looked up and saw a wire coming out of the camera, moving along the wall, behind the bed. He crawled along the bed, moving for the hall. And there was another door. The panic room.
He winced at another scream. Hold on, I'll ride to the rescue in another minute. I just need to kill a few p
eople first.
Kevin slid along on his belly, listening to tortured moans and the occasional scream, until he got to the door. And, like with any good panic room, it was unlocked until the primary was inside. The primary wasn't. He pushed the door open, silenced handgun up and ready. One. Two. Three shots, three dead men. One living.
Kevin smiled as he stepped into the room, and closed the door behind him. The last man was blonde with craggy features and muddy brown eyes. “Hi.”
“Hello,” he said with a light British accent.
Kevin Anderson looked over the rank markings and the name stitched into the side. “Lt. Commander Craig, I hear that some Mercs come with automatic cleanup devices. Anti-personnel explosives that will remove all trace of a human being. Yours one of them?”
Craig shrugged. “No idea.”
Kevin nodded, and smiled. “So that's a yes. By the way, Mandy says hello.” Bang.
He pushed Craig's body out of the way as he looked over the control panel. First thing's first. Where do you put the self-destruct switch? Answer: as far away from the rest of the buttons as possible, and make it the brightest possible button so you don't hit it by accident.
He pushed a button, and the monitors switched to a silent countdown. 10...9...8...
Kevin stepped out of the room, lugging all of the guns he could carry, then closed the door behind him. He stepped out and around the wall, unsilenced gun drawn, when he saw something wrong on the bed. First, it wasn't a couple… it was a foursome. A man, a woman, and two children.
Kevin didn't consciously know what he was doing. His actions came with the fluidity of a dreamlike state. He didn't hesitate when he raised the gun to the wall and fired three shots. The adult couple leapt off of the bed as though a live wire had shocked them. Kevin looked down his gun at them, his eyes cold and dead. Two seconds later, the apartment shook with the multiple explosions of the various Mercenaries.
His eyes glittered darkly as he spoke. “Do I have your attention?”
Chapter 14: Dangerous Game
April 14th, 2093
Commander Angie Vaughn's gaze swept over the assembled senators. The entire Intelligence Committee had been reduced to the four people in this room. Outside was the scene of perfect, tropical Miami: palm trees swaying gently in the breeze, surf crashing upon the rocks. Inside, the place was decorated with bright, cheery colors.
And the stark glare of the Mercenary made every Senator shiver with a chill. One man didn't even blink. Francis Kirk was ninety years old, and showed every sign of living for at least another twenty years. He had just enough gray in his hair to look distinguished, but the hair on the top of his head was light brown. He had a broad face that was well tanned by the Miami sun and weathered by time. He sat back in his armchair as though nothing perturbed him, his hands folded in his lap, the cuffs of the striped shirt reaching to his wrist. His dark, thoughtful eyes met Vaughn's without the slightest flinch.
Senators Rovin, Higgins, and Depi were not quite as serene. They were sweating in shorts and T-shirts in the air-conditioned living room.
“After considering what happened to Senator Todd and his wife, the four of you need to be protected. If not from Kevin Anderson, then from the wrath that the media is going to bring down on you once their children get out of the hospital.”
Rovin squirmed, her breasts shifting with her. “Just because the Todds abused their kids—”
Vaughn rounded on her. “You all served on the same panel for years. After Kennedy and Zalek, no one could possibly believe you could have been ignorant about all of it. And, you'd be in serious trouble should Anderson merely turn himself in. If he reports to the nearest newspaper, the public would throw him a parade and hang you all over a shark tank. So you have two options: be politically killed by the time this is over, or be literally dead. Or, you can hire on my Iron Men brigade, and we'll keep you alive.”
Rovin glared at the other woman. “I believe I can say with all certainty that you're full of it. How dare you come in here and bark at us, you little bitch.”
Depi nodded, his long black locks moving with the motion. “Rovi's right. Anderson can't get through my security.”
Higgins smiled disparagingly at her. “There's no way that you can protect me better than I could. I've got my own weapons at home, and I know how to use them.”
“In which case,” Kirk said, “I have no further use for any of you.”
Vaughn glanced at Senator Kirk, and Kirk nodded. With that, she drew her sidearm and shot the other three Senators at relatively point blank range.
*
Kevin woke with his arms around Mandy. They had both gotten in a little after one in the morning. She was certainly warm, and comfortable to hold...though she wasn't Moira.
“Have a good evening?” she murmured over her shoulder.
“It was productive. Managed to kill everyone there, including the Mercs involved.”
“Thank you, I appreciate that.” She rolled over, in his arms, to look at him. “I'm certain that it made your job harder.”
“You're working with me for a reason. Kill the bad guys in the Mercs. Or at least as many as we can. Anyone in particular you want me to kill?”
“Maybe later. After breakfast?”
“Sure. By the way, you might want to dress up a bit.”
*
Mandy looked at Kevin Anderson sideways as they walked into the building. When he had told her to dress up the day after killing Senator Todd, she had thought he was going to be taking her to some sort of fancy restaurant that served steak for breakfast.
The last thing she expected was for him to take her to church.
Kevin walked into St. Patrick's Cathedral arm in arm with Mandy, him in a simple navy blue suit and dark purple and black striped tie, and her in an elegant ankle-length black dress.
“I should probably ask, why the dress?” he whispered to her as he sat in the pew.
“You said dress up. I wasn't thinking conservative pantsuit.” She sat. “Why church?”
“It's Sunday,” Kevin told her. “I haven't gone for a few weeks,” he answered. “I figured it would be a good idea to get back here before I get my head blown off. Sorry, you're not Catholic?”
“Oh, I was, once.”
Kevin smiled. “Once in, never out.”
Mandy blinked. “I thought that was the saying of the old IRA.”
“Who do you think they stole it from?” he said with a smile and a wink.
After the two of them stepped out of St. Patrick's Cathedral, Kevin meandered down Fifth Avenue, Mandy on his arm. They strolled along, looking for someplace that wouldn't look at their clothing and toss them out, when Anderson came to a dead stop at a news kiosk.
Headline: THREE SENATORS MURDERED. MURDER SPREE?
The two of them exchanged a look. “I have an alibi, I was in New York,” he said.
“It's Vaughn.”
“Who?”
*
“Commander Angie Vaughn,” Mandy continued when they got back to the hotel room. “Former SAS commando, and managed to leave about two steps ahead of the reforms in the United Kingdom, getting rid of people a lot like her. Her old boss is either shark bait or in San Francisco. When Vaughn arrived in the Guild, she had her own client base. At the moment, she's the head of the Iron Men brigade.”
Kevin sat in the armchair across from Mandy, undoing the top button of his shirt. “Iron Men? Are they triathlon enthusiasts, or people who read too many comic books?”
“They're the Mercenary Guild's heavy-armored infantry. Most of their work utilizes powered armor. They can't be killed by conventional armor-piercing bullets, or even the high-explosive variety. Think depleted uranium rounds, built around a chlorine isotope charge, enough to vaporize a small car with a white-hot ball of flame two and a half meters in diameter.”
Kevin winced. “That's a lot of required firepower. And specific. Why do you mention that type of bullet?”
“They carry
it as their standard ammunition within their assault rifles.”
“Ouch.” He cocked his head and studied Mandy. “So, why do you want her dead?”
Mandy blinked. “What makes you ask—?”
He cocked his head. “Please, you saw that the remaining senators are murdered and she's the first thing you think of, which means you know her, and considering why you joined me on this hunting party, well, it's not hard to guess that she's on your little list.”
She nodded to herself, staring into the carpet. “She's a sadist, a torturer. She would have made a great Assassin, only they don't employ future mass murderers.”
“Charming woman,” he muttered, “sounds like I might have dated her in high school.”
“Couldn't have, you're still alive.”
Kevin blinked, and examined Mandy's gaze. Even when they were first trying to kill each other, she was at least having fun. Now, she was quite serious.
“Should I start asking what she did to you?” he asked.
Mandy shook her head. “She's done nothing. She … you remember I said that we're not a monolithic organization? She's the worst of them. Trying to take over since she left the SAS.”
He nodded, and then leaned back in the armchair. So, if this bitch has been trying to take over the Mercs since she arrived, then what's she doing here? Though, if Mandy hates her this much, perhaps the feeling is mutual. Mandy's the real target. Mandy may have something to do with the Mercenary's hierarchy, which means...
“Mandy, just who the hell are you related to?” Kevin asked.
The Mercenary smiled. “You'd be surprised.”
“Well, I'm surprised by this. Why would she kill of the rest of my targets?”
“Because there's one left. The Intelligence Czar,” Mandy said, “is the leader of their racket, and the middleman on selling out SpecOps missions. She killed three senators to make sure we would come to her sooner rather than later – she's also impatient. There's probably a highly fortified position waiting for us. The only problem is, where?”
Codename: Winterborn (The Last Survivors Book 1) Page 16