Assassin Games

by Sidney Bristol

  That would put the bodies at the front of the house.

  Now or never.

  Andy scuttled forward, keeping low. He crossed to the Land Rover, parked nose-in, and pulled on the passenger side door.

  It opened without protest.

  One small thing going their way.

  Andy checked the visor and cupholders for keys, but they weren’t to be found.

  He scooted across to the driver’s seat and pulled out the tools and his gun from his pockets. He laid the gun across his lap at the ready, and went after the underside of the dash.

  Hot-wiring a vehicle of this age was a piece of cake.

  He peered at the house, trying his best to do all things at once.

  Was Carol still where he left her? He hoped so.

  Just a few more moments…

  He squinted in the darkness at the wires, picking out the right ones. He struck the ends together. The old vehicle shuddered to life, the starter engaging, feeding the engine power and vibrating the whole body.

  Even as the Land Rover started, dread weighed down Andy’s stomach.

  The report of a gun had him flinching his head down lower. Of course someone heard that. He reached down and pressed the clutch. Another bullet pinged against the door. He shoved the gearshift into reverse and mashed on the accelerator. The SUV shot backward, the inertia sending Andy into the dash, the horn blaring.

  The rear bumper clipped something and the wheel jerked out of his hands. The vehicle whipped around, rocking to an abrupt stop.

  A bullet shattered the passenger seat, showering Andy with glass—and giving him a clear shot.

  He lifted the gun and fired. At the same time he stomped his foot on the gas and planted a hand on the wheel.

  The Land Rover chugged, its wheels finding traction on the packed gravel. It shot forward, between the trees, without protest.

  Where was Carol?

  The all-terrain vehicle bounced over the uneven ground.

  The running lights glinted off a golden halo in the night.

  Carol.

  He eased off the gas and jabbed the window button. He stuck his hand out, firing at their six. Carol understood his intent without command. She shot forward, jerking the rear door open and threw herself inside, disappearing between the seats.

  “Go!” she yelled.

  Andy dropped the gun to his lap and once more planted the accelerator to the floorboard.

  Deep snow churned up all around them, creating a mini winter storm. He swerved between the trees. Behind them the shots stopped coming and a pair of headlights slashed across the darkness.

  He had to reach the mountain pass before they did or risk getting cut off, but they had a gravel road.

  He should have attacked them while they lay in wait, but he’d prioritized Carol’s safety over eliminating threats. There was no use in regretting the past. His focus was on getting them out alive.

  They reached the steep bank up to the paved road. Andy shifted and pointed the Land Rover straight up the hill. The tires found purchase on the rocks and scaled up, up, up, but at an excruciatingly slow pace.

  Andy lifted his arm, pointing the gun at the point where sky met road.

  Light chased away the midnight stars.

  Their front tires crawled over the edge.

  Andy focused on the brilliant points of light and squeezed the trigger, sending one bullet, then another straight into the vehicle. He cranked the wheel left and prayed he hit something major.

  The Land Rover’s tires gripped the pavement and they flew forward, up the mountain west back toward the cabin. The car behind them flipped on its brights, the light nearly blinding Andy.

  “Hold on and stay down,” he yelled.

  The pursuit car tapped their rear bumper. Not even enough to do more than make the Land Rover bobble, then backed off.

  Smoke curled toward the sky.

  Hallelujah, he’d hit the radiator.

  “Andy.” Carol’s voice wavered, its pitch high.

  “What?”

  “There’s a dead body back here.”

  “Is it fresh?”

  “How the hell should I know?” Her voice broke, the strain wearing at her.

  A second pair of headlights swerved around the now-ruined car.

  The other Land Rover.

  Great.

  If they kept going west he wasn’t sure where they could go. They needed to head east. At least then he had some contacts to use. But that meant either making a big loop around, or doing something about the people after them.

  “Hold on, Carol.” He lowered the driver’s side window as the second vehicle came up fast behind them.

  Andy hit the clutch and turned the wheel fast.

  The car whipped around, partially skidding on the freshly cleared road.

  He reached out and fired with his left hand.

  Last bullet.

  He pressed the accelerator, staring at the point where the driver would be. This was his only chance.

  The Land Rover shot forward.

  He squeezed the trigger.

  The other vehicle swerved.

  Andy veered around the out-of-control vehicle, pushing theirs to its full speed, avoiding the dead-on-the-road sports car still spitting up smoke.

  “Watch out!” Carol yelled.

  Andy heard the distant report of a gun. The flash of muzzle fire was in his peripheral vision. White-hot pain speared him in the arm, his ribs.

  He gripped the wheel harder, focusing on the road.

  Nothing mattered now except putting distance between themselves and these people. That was the only way to ensure Carol was safe.

  They roared down the hill and skidded around a natural bend, the mountains providing some cover from follow fire. He glanced in the rearview mirror, but no headlights swerved around them.

  “You okay, Carol?” His voice was harsh to his own ears.

  “Y-yes.” She peeked over the seat and gasped. “You’re shot.”

  He didn’t dignify the statement with a reply. He kept his teeth grit and his eyes on the road.

  “Where are we going? What about this body? Andy?”

  “Be quiet. Please.”

  He had to think.

  They were being followed to the ends of the earth. His remote hideout had been found, as had his non-CIA contacts. He had to operate under the idea that all of his resources were compromised. Every option they thought they had was now off the table.

  “We need to change vehicles, dump the body, and decide on a destination.” He jabbed the window button for his side of the car. “Button up. It’s going to be cold going for a while.”

  They couldn’t stop along the pass. By now there’d be a catalog of every person who lived here, their vehicles, and who they knew. Swapping out a car here would be like inviting their enemies to follow along with them, and he’d kill Carol himself before he allowed her to fall into the hands of people who would do worse to her.

  …

  Friday, Location Unknown

  Mitch tilted his head, listening to the sounds. The van had stopped, but he couldn’t see anything through the bag they’d put over his head.

  “Hello?” he yelled.

  His mind was groggy. After chatting amicably with IA, he’d spoken with his lawyer, then dinner and…he couldn’t remember after that. He’d been jostled awake, the bag put over his head, and here he was. In some sort of paddy wagon.

  “I want to know what’s going on. Where’s my lawyer?”

  He had a bad feeling about this.

  The back doors of the van opened and cold air gusted into the vehicle. He shivered, wearing nothing but his shoes, slacks, and a button-down shirt. Even his tie was gone.

  “Take him downstairs,” a man said.

  “Where the hell am I?” Mitch yelled.

  He had the bad sensation they were making him disappear.

  …

  Friday, DC Hotel

  Kristina closed her eyes.
<
br />   This could not be happening.

  “They got away.” The other woman’s voice was distant and hard to make out. There had to be some disturbance with the satellite, but Kristina got the message loud and clear.

  “How could you fuck this up?” Kristina paced the hotel room from one side to the other. She’d done everything she could to hand this op to these two agents. It should have been a simple pull-the-trigger job and they couldn’t get it done.

  “We need satellites focused on the road, so when the clouds clear we can locate them. There’s only one direction for him to go. I’m sending the description of the vehicle to you now.”

  “Get mobile. I’ll make contact when we have resources in place.”

  The line went dead.

  Kristina didn’t know what the hell she was going to be able to do. She was a paper pusher. A glorified secretary. And she’d bit off a hell of a lot more than she could chew. Passing instructions along, coordinating behind the scenes, it was a whole different ball game now that she was sitting at the table.

  She ran her fingers over the buttons on the phone.

  Running away was sounding like a more appealing option every passing day. Of course, she had nowhere to go. No resources or friends. It was the coward’s way out. And Dad hadn’t raised her to be a coward.

  When she’d begun this journey, it’d been about becoming part of something. National pride was dead. America was just like any other pretentious country on the globe. They were kidding themselves if they thought countries ran the world. Corporations did. People with intel did. What mattered was being the ones to control the flow of information. Whoever knew the world’s secrets ruled it. And that was what she wanted to be part of. Leaving, hiding now, would take that purpose away from her, and she was too young to give up and retire yet.

  Kristina straightened her spine and hit dial on the last number she’d called. It went to voicemail, as it had before.

  “We need to talk.”

  She hung up after those four important words.

  That done, she tossed the phone on the bed and turned to the dresser. The mirror reflected back all the stress of the last week in stark detail. When this was done she was making use of some of that damn money. That was her right. There was no reason for her to live on pennies when she had more than enough to live on for the rest of her life socked away.

  Nothing major. She wasn’t stupid. But a fresh hair color, some newer clothes that didn’t show their age.

  The room phone trilled, its archaic ringtone sending chills up her spine.

  It had to be her dinner. That was it. The front desk was likely ringing her for a pickup, that was all.

  She crossed to the phone and picked up the receiver.

  “Hello?”

  “You have news?” a familiar voice said.

  Her gut knotted and her throat closed up.

  Did the Shadow Man have her followed? Was he tracking her?

  She forced herself to swallow.

  “Yes, the targets escaped, the assets were not able to fulfill their mission.”

  “That is…unfortunate.”

  “The assets are requesting satellite backup.”

  “I’ll handle it. Forward me details on the vehicle, last known location, all of it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  It was that easy?

  She’d known their reach was great, but this?

  “Make sure to come in early tomorrow. We’ll have a long day ahead of us. I’ll need you to coordinate local and regional assets.”

  “Understood.”

  The line clicked.

  She set the receiver carefully into the cradle.

  Kristina had been careful. She’d taken different trains, busses, taxis, even walked a few blocks, and she was pretty positive they still knew where she was. They were on the same side, but in a game like this she knew any branch could be pruned at any time, without notice.

  They could have eyes on her now.

  She pushed the pillows off the bed and into the narrow space between the frame and wall. She sank to her knees, then to the floor, curling herself up in the small space.

  …

  Saturday, Switzerland

  Carol unlocked the ancient motel room door. By some stroke of luck the boy manning the desk had spoken enough English for her to get them a room. Andy was covered in enough blood there would be questions. She flipped on the lights and turned, offering her hand to Andy.

  “Turn the lights off,” he said.

  “But—”

  “Damn it, Carol.” He slapped at the light switch, plunging them into darkness. “By now they’ll have targeted the Land Rover with satellites, looking for it. We don’t want to draw any unnecessary attention.”

  “I’m sorry, I just…”

  “Bring that chair over here.”

  Andy’s stride was stiff. He didn’t move with the same fluid grace he had before. He was in pain. She could see it, and yet he was still focused on everything else that needed to be done. He crossed to the old vanity set against the back wall, placed the black bag on the counter, and unscrewed all but one light. Only then did he flip the switch.

  Carol hefted the old wooden chair and carried it to him.

  “Here.”

  “Thanks.” He sank into the chair, no doubt weary after their hours of walking and then the full-contact driving encounter.

  “What can I do to help?”

  “We need to make you a passport.” He nodded at the bag. “Dig in there, find a blank US one.”

  She couldn’t let herself think too much about those words or why Andy would be traveling with blank passports. What she had to do now was follow instructions.

  Carol pulled the bag to one end of the vanity and unzipped it.

  Several guns and ammunition sat on top at the ready.

  She swallowed.

  This was where her life was at now. She had to deal with it head-on.

  Carol picked the guns up, one by one, and set them on the counter.

  Andy shrugged out of his coat. They’d paused earlier to take off some of the snow gear to help them blend in a bit better on their two stops.

  Blood coated his side and arm.

  Carol gasped and her arm ached in memory of what she’d felt.

  Andy lifted his arm, examining his reflection.

  “Just a graze,” he said.

  “A graze? Andy—”

  “A deep graze. Med kit?”

  “Andy…”

  “Kit?”

  “I can help you with that.” Just like he’d helped her with her wound. She pulled the red-and-white kit out of the drawer. Calling that a graze was like calling the Grand Canyon a ditch. Maybe that was an overstatement, but it looked far more painful and serious than he was admitting it to be.

  “Just need to patch it up a bit. Find the passport. The sooner we can get moving, the sooner we’ll be safe.”

  “Okay. Fine.”

  Arguing with Andy was only going to create more problems. For now she’d do as he asked and see how it went.

  Carol pulled out zipper pouches and containers. Some were clothes, others tools, several were currencies.

  At the bottom was a set of plastic bags. One held a variety of worn passports. The others were shiny and new. She placed the new passports on the counter and reached into the bag of worn-out ones. The maroon cover wasn’t American. The Cyrillic looked…Russian? She flipped it open. Andy’s face stared back at her.

  “Go to the window and look at the cars in the parking lot. Focus on the ones at the edge, outside the lights. Something like the Land Rover.” Andy never once glanced away from his reflection. He prodded the wound, inspecting the damage, but never flinched.

  Carol swallowed, tasting bile on the back of her throat. She knew SEALs were strong, that Andy had endured more than she could ever imagine, but seeing it was another matter.

  She returned the passport to the bag and crossed the room.

  There were
only a half dozen cars in the small lot. Not much to pick from.

  “What will we do…about the body?” she asked.

  “Burn the car to destroy any DNA evidence. The body, we can’t be bothered with hiding it. We didn’t do it, it’s not our problem.”

  “Who killed him?” She’d seen pictures of dead people in varying stages of decomposition, but never in person. If she had to guess, the man had been dead a long time. There’d been no smell, probably due to the elements and extreme temperatures. The skin was like dried paper.

  “Probably my contacts.”

  “There’s another Land Rover over near that maintenance shed.”

  “What model?”

  “I…don’t know.”

  “Hm.”

  “What are we going to do, Andy?” She turned toward him.

  Andy had his injured arm up and Steri-Strips in his other hand.

  “Let me help you with that.” It wasn’t a polite offer. She strode across the room and took the bandage from him.

  Carol steeled herself for the sight of raw flesh and took a deep breath.

  Oh God…

  The bullet had gone between his arm and ribs. An inch one way or the other and it’d have done serious damage. Instead, it had passed through soft tissue and was likely somewhere buried inside the upholstery of the Land Rover.

  “It looks worse than it is,” Andy said.

  “I hope so.”

  She peeled off the backing of the Steri-Strips and gently applied them to either side of the wound. Neither of them spoke while she bandaged him up.

  Carol hated seeing him hurt. Wished it’d been her instead of him. After all, this was because of her.

  He needed a doctor, maybe a stitch or two given his lifestyle, but she doubted he’d pause long enough to see one.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “We need to get out of Switzerland. For that, we need to have a passport ready for you. Check the bathroom walls. What color are they?” He dug into the bottom of his bag.

  She leaned into the tiny bathroom and flipped on the light.

  “Pale yellow,” she said.

  “Maybe it’ll look white with a flash,” Andy mumbled.

  “How are you going to make a passport here?” She might not want to know that answer…

  “Take your coat off and pull your hair back.” Andy stood, crowding her back into the bathroom.