Assassin Games

by Sidney Bristol

  Damn it.

  Where was the team?

  Truth was, this whole charade had put her behind. The work it took to fake Carol being out sick, manage the team, and watch her own back meant that the normal stuff was piling up.

  She couldn’t keep covering for herself for much longer. Work needed to be done, she had to keep appearances going, or it would draw attention. Namely, from Irene. The woman always paused to speak to Kristina, chat with her. She had to be exceedingly careful or else Irene would be onto her. The bitch was always jumping at shadows.

  It was time to give up and go to a hotel. She wasn’t getting shit done here.

  Kristina stood and stretched the kinks out of her shoulders.

  She should think about going to the gym. A nice yoga class.

  Ha.

  Right.

  Her.

  Her ass hadn’t seen the inside of a gym since junior high.

  Her phone sitting on the keyboard tray vibrated.

  Kristina snatched it up.

  No one called her. Ever.

  She stared at the unknown number on the screen.

  Voicemails were evidence.

  Kristina flicked the answer button and ducked into the supply closet.

  “What?” she asked.

  “It’s not done,” a female voice said on the other end.

  “What?” Kristina whispered in a far harsher voice.

  “It’s not done. There was a hiccup. They were prepared to run.”

  “Fix it.”

  “We’ll need more time. They’re in the wind.”

  “Get it done.”

  “Handle the shit on your end and we will get it done.”

  God, Kristina was working with idiots. How hard was it to kill a person?

  She pocketed the phone.

  This was bad.

  What to do?

  She had to notify the Shadow Man, as she’d begun to call him. Contact protocols had been established, but she didn’t relish the idea of another meeting. She had the sneaking suspicion that people who met with him too often didn’t last long.

  If she could keep the meet digital, that would protect her person a while longer.

  Kristina wasn’t ready to cut and run yet. There was still plenty she could do.

  Screw it.

  She returned to her computer and flipped to her ghost machine. Once she was logged in she issued the communication request.

  Everything was request and confirmation. Layer upon layer of security.

  Within moments her phone rang again.

  This time she stared at the screen.

  He couldn’t kill her through a phone. They weren’t that advanced yet.

  She did a hard shut down, grabbed her bag, and headed for the stairs before she answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Update?”

  “There was a mistake on the forms, sir. We’ll have to reissue them.”

  “Understood,” the man said slowly.

  Kristina pushed the door to the stairwell open and glanced down the hall in either direction.

  “Sir?” she prompted.

  “Have a safe trip home.”

  The call ended.

  Kristina stopped on the landing.

  How did he know she was headed home? Was it a guess? It had to be. She’d just used her ghost access to send the request. Obviously she was still at work.

  There was no cause for alarm.

  Kristina exited to the next floor and took the elevator down to the basement. Normally she’d go out the lobby, then to the subway station. Tonight she’d exit through the subterranean basement and call a cab. Uber was too conspicuous. Besides, at this hour, who knew who was working?

  Kristina rode down to the basement alone, conscious of the security cameras aimed at her.

  Would this deviation from routine alert the CIA’s internal security sector?

  She was taking a risk but this was her life.

  The elevator dinged, letting her out into a glass-walled lobby.

  She stepped out, peering down the rows of vehicles.

  A dark-colored sedan idled in the first couple of spaces, the tinted windows obscuring whoever was inside.

  If they meant to kill her, she was dead no matter what.

  She couldn’t stay in the building. She couldn’t run. She couldn’t confess what she’d done. They’d get her no matter what if they wanted her.

  Who was to say that the person sitting in that car was there for her anyway?

  Kristina pushed through the glass door.

  The dark car rolled forward, blocking her path.

  If she were smart, she’d have prepared for her death, but it’d never occurred to her until now to do so. Was that why they’d picked her? Too stupid to know better?

  Kristina strode forward.

  The locks on the car doors disengaged.

  She opened the passenger seat and slid in.

  “Eyes forward,” the driver said. He wore sunglasses despite the late hour. His hands were covered by gloves. The only part of him she could see was his nose.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Where do you want to go?” The third voice chilled her blood.

  The Shadow Man.

  Kristina’s throat closed up to the point she couldn’t speak. She could hardly breathe. She reached up to touch her neck and the scarf wrapped around her. No noose, no wire, just her body working against her.

  “They’ve breached the servers and installed something. A program. What it does, we don’t know yet, but given their specialty, we can guess at their intent.” His voice had a melodic tone, but it was odd. “Our tech has tried to pull the code out, but it has barbs. We yank, it goes septic and the Company will be alerted. We’d have a mess on our hands.”

  “What can I do?” she asked despite her dry mouth.

  “We need for you to move some things. Set the stage for a bigger play. If we’re going to stop whatever it is they’re doing, we have to distract the Company.”

  The driver passed a list to her.

  Kristina was ready to cry she was so relieved. They weren’t going to kill her. She was still useful. She packed in her happiness and read the list.

  “I can do this,” she said.

  “Good. Where to?”

  “The subway station, please.” Like hell she was going home. She didn’t trust the Shadow Man or anyone else. But tonight she didn’t have to worry about her life. Carol and Andy, on the other hand, had the devil coming for them.

  …

  Friday, Switzerland

  The dream was the same. It was always the same.

  Andy stared through the sights.

  The target was out in the open. No breeze. Clear skies.

  Andy had waited—going on two days—for this moment. To take this shot.

  This didn’t feel right. These people—they weren’t military. They didn’t have ties to the government. They weren’t terrorists. So why was he here to kill a man who, by all appearances, was nothing more than a farmer?

  It wasn’t Andy’s job to ask questions. His orders were clear.

  The man in the red turban was the target.

  Bijan Esfahani.

  The target turned, smiling at the person in the doorway. Their heads were together, teeth flashing in the afternoon light. If Andy had to guess, they’d brokered a deal. Reached an arrangement. Something. What, it didn’t matter. At least not to Andy.

  He needed the man clear of bystanders. There were too many people around the target to get a clean shot.

  Why this man? Who was he really?

  That wasn’t Andy’s job. He didn’t ask questions. He followed orders, and his were that Bijan Esfahani needed to die. For what purpose or reason, that wasn’t Andy’s call, just when to take the shot.

  Something scraped the ground behind Andy.

  He held his breath.

  His spotter hit the deck next to him.

  “We’ve got to get out of here.
Take the shot.”

  Andy didn’t respond. Esfahani had his arm around the shoulders of another man.

  “Gratney, come on.” Rodriguez was a shit spotter. Too fidgety and anxious for this kind of work. The long hours spent on the rooftop, not moving or speaking, weren’t a good fit for him.

  Andy blew out a breath and watched the two men in the courtyard below smile and laugh.

  This didn’t feel right. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but it didn’t.

  “Damn it, Gratney. Take the fucking shot,” Rodriguez whispered.

  “Back off,” Andy snapped. When this was over, he was going to put in a request to be paired with someone else. Someone calmer.

  Esfahani let go of his host and turned toward the waiting car.

  Now.

  Andy exhaled and curled his finger around the trigger.

  A teenage boy darted forward.

  Andy’s finger twitched, his body working off reflex while his mind geared up to protest.

  Esfahani’s son entered the shot.

  The thuft of the rifle couldn’t be taken back.

  Time seemed to slow. All at once Andy’s body went cold. His gut knotted up.

  He should have waited.

  The recoil wasn’t any different than the dozens of times Andy had felt it before, but this time it nearly bowled him over.

  Below, the courtyard erupted into chaos. People screamed. Some ran.

  A house guard flung himself over Esfahani, dragging him away from his son sprawled on the cobblestone courtyard. A halo of red spread out from under the boy, his eyes staring toward heaven.

  “Andy? Andy!”

  Rodriguez pulled at his arm.

  He’d had a clear shot…

  But he’d hesitated.

  He shouldn’t have asked questions.

  “Come on, Gratney,” Rodriguez growled.

  Their window for escape was closing.

  The shot was gone.

  The target got away.

  It was time to flee.

  He’d killed the wrong person.

  “Andy, please wake up?”

  That wasn’t Rodriguez’s voice.

  He opened his eyes and the dream faded away. The hot, scorching sun, the taste of sand between his teeth, and the smell of gun oil evaporated. Instead, he stared up into a face shrouded in shadows. Firelight made her golden hair glow. He could draw her eyes, nose, and mouth from memory. He could lose himself in this woman.

  Carol.

  He’d been dreaming again.

  Always the same.

  How much had he said? What had she heard?

  As if she weren’t privy to enough of his life, now she very well might know that secret.

  He sat up, pushing off the blankets. Sweat slicked his body. He let his feet hang off the side of the bed, the wooden lip of the bedframe biting into his thighs.

  “Andy?” Carol whispered his name, notes of fear between the warmth and caring.

  “Leave me alone.” His voice was gruff. She didn’t deserve his rough treatment, but damn. He could still see the kid’s face, the parts of his skull spread out like some sort of grotesque confetti. And for what?

  He curled his hands into fists.

  Even if he’d shot the right person, the one he’d been told to kill, the op was wrong. Killing the Esfahanis was never about national security. They were good people who had the misfortune of living where someone else wanted to build. That was their crime.

  “Are you all right?” The mattress shifted as she sat up.

  “Go back to sleep.” If he could leave the lodge he would, but with the storm still raging that would be a stupid decision.

  “We don’t have to talk about it.”

  “Leave it alone, Carol.”

  Her hand curled over his shoulder. Part of him wanted her comfort, to tell him it would be okay. It wasn’t his fault. He’d just been following orders. What did orders matter to right and wrong?

  He reached up to push her hand away.

  He meant to.

  He really did.

  Instead, his errant hand covered hers, pressing it tighter, begging her to hold onto him.

  Sometimes he couldn’t hold onto himself. Tonight, he had her to anchor him. Keep him here.

  She scooted closer until she could wrap her other arm around his waist, hugging his back to her front. He covered her hands with his and gave up the pretense of pushing her away.

  Carol wasn’t the usual mark. Nothing about working with her would fit into a nice, neat box, so why keep trying?

  He picked up the hand on his shoulder and brought it around until he could press a kiss to her palm. He didn’t deserve her empathy, her understanding, or her kindness. She should hate him. Even if he had saved her life, she was right when she said things would never be the same for her. The rules they lived by were different.

  Andy hugged her arm around him, taking the comfort she offered. Who knew how long it would last?

  If he told her the truth, would she look at him the same?

  They stayed like that for several long moments. Neither speaking, listening to the pop of the fire and the howl of the wind.

  Slowly, those pieces of his mind that the dream had scattered came back. He fit himself together again, forcing his demons back into their box. They would never go away. He couldn’t forgive himself for the wrong that he’d done, but he could remember. He could strive to do better. Which was why he was here. Why Carol mattered. Why this program was worth it. To make sure they kept doing what was right.

  “How’s the arm?” he asked.

  “Sore. It hurts some, but not a lot.”

  “Good.” He patted her hand, easing up on the pressure holding her there.

  “Do…you want to talk about it?” Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper.

  “No.”

  “Okay.”

  “I shot the wrong person once. A kid. That’s what the dream was about. I don’t want to talk about it, but if you’re trusting me with your life, you should know who I am. What I’ve done.” What monster she’d let into her bed. He peered over his shoulder at her face.

  Dark eyes stared back at him.

  “I knew the op was wrong, that we had no business doing it, but I followed the orders I was given like a good little soldier, and a kid died. I fucked up.”

  “I don’t understand…”

  “American soldiers needed to move through Iran to flank a group of radicals in Afghanistan. The Iranians were okay with it. The radicals were a pain in their ass, but we’d have to go through this oil company’s land. They wanted a favor.”

  “Oh no…”

  “We said yes.”

  Carol squeezed him, as though she knew the true price of favors.

  “It was all good until they called to cash in. There was a guy, a farmer, who owned a large swath of land. His family bought farms that were failing, set the families up with better tools and crops, took some of the profit. Everyone won. At least until the oil company wanted some land. There were politics involved. I won’t pretend that I understand it, but this guy wouldn’t sell. The oil company tells us to kill him. That’s the price for having helped us. A man’s life.”

  “Andy…”

  “They sent me to kill him. I had the time, place, perfect conditions, but I knew…I knew it wasn’t right. Still, I took the shot a fraction of a second too late and I killed the man’s son instead of the target. Our cover was blown so we had to hoof it out of there. The higher-ups were pissed. The oil company was pissed. But I knew…it wasn’t right. After that…I started asking questions. I stopped being the yes-man and that got me court-martialed and dishonorably discharged. Just so someone could make a buck. Does it bother you? To know that some of the calls we make aren’t about good or bad, it’s about money?”

  “Yes.” Carol rested her head against his back. “Do you know how much one-way trade we do with China?”

  “A lot.”

  “I know that our
active intelligence gathering is to…do good. But it’s also about money. Is that how you got put in prison?”

  “It’s the root cause, yeah. Couple months later they gave me an op, and I said no. Similar case, different location. Really pissed some people off.” He shook his head. He could still remember his commanding officer going red in the face, eyes bulging out. The man had thought he could bully Andy by throwing around the words court-martial and prison. Little had he known Andy wouldn’t budge, and now here they were.

  “You don’t sell your soul to the country or the Company,” Carol whispered. “You can’t. Dad always said you have to keep a part of yourself for you, no matter how much you believe in what you’re doing. I think, looking back, that piece was Mom and me.”

  Andy squeezed her hand, then let it go.

  Carol had been one person’s anchor before. He wouldn’t ask her to be his, too. She deserved to be free. Her arm shivered against his side.

  “Cold?” He peered over his shoulder.

  “A bit.”

  “I’ll put more logs on the fire. Let me up?” He wouldn’t hurt her by pulling away. Her arm needed to be treated gently for a few days.

  “How long until we need more?” She let go of him and wrapped the blankets closer around herself.

  “It’s just outside.” He hauled a couple logs from the waiting pile and tossed them into the flames.

  They took turns using what was more or less the bathroom bucket, washed up with some of their water, and shared another pot of tea in peaceful silence. He appreciated that Carol didn’t need to talk, that they could be quiet and together. Right now he couldn’t take too much talking, the questions, or the noise.

  He stared into the flames, feeding it one last log.

  “Brr. Is it always cold here? Or do they get spring?”

  Andy glanced over his shoulder at Carol huddled under the blankets.

  It was chilly, but cold?

  He stood, then leaned over the bed, pressing the back of his hand to her brow.

  Normal.

  “Your bibs should be dry by now. Want to put them back on?”

  “Not really. It just makes so much noise if I so much as breathe. There’s a draft. I think I’m right in the way of it.”

  “Well, move away from the wall. You’ll get more of the heat from the stove. You should have said something.”