THEN
Flint’s hand was steady as he unlocked the door to the unit. A panel to the right of the door held three switches. Flint left them. He was used to working in the dark, both at his bar now and when he was an assassin.
Even in the darkness, he could tell the unit was completely empty, not a single scrap of furniture present. Flint closed the door behind him, but left it unlocked. In the event a quick escape proved necessary, he didn’t want to fumble around with the locks.
He went to the balcony and opened the bay windows. The crisp, night air felt cool on his skin. Kneeling down, he opened the case he carried with him and inside were the components of his rifle. Flint stared at it for a few moments, tracing his gloved fingers along each separate piece. His hand went inside his jacket, brushing past the revolver and gripping a small flask held in his inner pocket.
The whiskey burned as it traveled down his throat. Flint screwed the top back onto the flask and began to set up the rifle stand on the balcony floor. Each balcony was separated from the adjacent units by a slab of granite. The guard rail consisted of metal bars with narrow openings. But not so narrow that a skilled shooter couldn’t get a bullet between.
Through the scope, he located Christian’s apartment. Twelfth floor, third one on the left coming in from the east. The apartment was darkened, but he knew from the layout that the front door faced the window. Now all that’s left was to wait.
A light illuminated the unit. Flint prepared himself, hoping Lockhart did indeed plan to hit Pierce tonight. Through the scope, Flint could see Pierce hanging up his jacket and then going to his left. The layout said that was the kitchen.
Pierce came back out with a beer in hand. He moved towards the front door again, but then he jumped back. Flint focused in with the scope, saw the lock had been blow out. Pierce quickly backed into the kitchen, dropping the beer. The door kicked open and Flint felt relief.
Lockhart stood in the doorway, brandishing a shotgun. She turned towards the kitchen, raised the gun and fired again. From this angle, Flint had no view of the kitchen, but wished he did. Lockhart went inside and thus, out of his view.
“Goddammit! Where the hell are you bastards?”
He followed the scope to one of the bedroom windows but could see nothing. Going back to the balcony, he saw Pierce standing with his back to the wall, gun in hand, peering around the corner to the corridor on his right. Flint positioned the crosshairs over Pierce’s head, thumbing off the safety and his finger resting on the trigger.
“Easy does it, old man. Just be patient.”
Pierce turned from the wall and backed up, pointing his gun down the corridor. He saw the barrel of Lockhart’s shotgun extending into his view. Both of them slowly backed away from each other. Pierce then leapt to the side as Lockhart fired a shell. Pierce returned fire with two shots and Lockhart’s shotgun disappeared back into the corridor.
Either she was hit or she pulled back for cover. Flint prayed for the latter. He needed her to be successful.
Pierce jumped over the couch, moving closer to the balcony. He sat on the ground, his back against the sofa as he checked his ammunition. Flint adjusted his aim for what felt like the fiftieth time. Pierce’s lips were moving, he was trying to talk to her. Flint tried to make out what he was saying, but his lip-reading was rusty at best. And it’s not like he had the best vantage point. It was something about an informant...getting Lockhart to come back...and then finding out about someone’s wife?
Flint didn’t know what to make of their conversation from those brief snippets he was able to grab. Whatever Pierce had said seemed to piss Lockhart off something fierce, because she came back from the corridor and fired a shell into the back of the couch, causing Pierce to nearly spring up.
Pierce began speaking again. But his speech was rapid. Flint couldn’t pick up a single word. Didn’t matter anyway, Pierce was just trying to buy a few more seconds. But if Lockhart was half as good as everyone seemed to think she was, she wouldn’t let some Agency prick’s sob story phase her.
Lockhart moved back into the corridor, completely out of sight. Flint grew impatient. “Just do your damn job, lady,” he huffed. Pierce paused with his speech and he said something. A name, probably. Pierce looked a little confused but then started speaking again. That set off Lockhart and she came back from the corridor, firing two more shells into the couch. Her gaze fixed on the gun in anger. Pierce sprung up and aimed his gun.
“Dammit, she’s out.”
Flint maneuvered the crosshairs once more. Lockhart dropped her shotgun. Useless now, anyway. Pierce’s back was to the window, so Flint had no idea what he was saying. Lockhart, however, was saying quite a bit. There was something about a Moscow job and then she got quiet. Pierce must have been talking at that point. As he spoke, Lockhart’s expression softened and her arms fell limply to her sides.
Pierce ejected the clip and it struck the ground. He dropped the gun on the couch. Flint’s finger strained on the trigger. “Dammit. This is not how it was supposed to go down.”
Lockhart nodded at something Pierce said. She followed it up. Flint caught every word she said this time: “Okay. Let’s do it, let’s go see Chandler.”
Agency Director Chandler. The bastard had done it, he managed to turn Lockhart back. Flint’s task was clear. If he didn’t take this shot, here and now, he may never get another chance. And Dante was crystal on the instructions—if Pierce survives, Flint gets jack.
But could he do it again? Even after all the target shooting, after he threatened the bouncer at the Cobra Club, could Flint end someone else’s life?
He closed his eyes and took a breath. His finger squeezed the trigger until the gun jerked just slightly. Flint peered through the scope again and saw Pierce on the floor with Lockhart by his side. She was trying to administer first aid, but Flint knew it was too late for Christian Pierce.
And unless he got moving, it would be too late for Carl Flint as well. He stood from the makeshift nest, leaving the rifle still set-up and intact. Flint went back through the door and noticed an old woman in the hallway. He paused, catching his breath and calmly locking the door behind him. Don’t do anything to arouse suspicion.
“I thought that place was empty,” said the woman, motioning to the unit he just walked out of.
“I just moved in,” said Flint. “Name’s Smith.”
“Oh really? Then I suppose I’ll see you around, Mr. Smith. I’m Rose. Would you be interested in joining the tenant association? We could always use some more voices on the board.”
“I’ll consider it, thanks.” He forced a smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to get going.”
“Where are you heading to at this hour? It’s almost nine o’clock,” said Rose.
“Just for a stroll. I’m sure we’ll meet again, ma’am.”
Flint tipped an invisible hat and continued down the hallway. He pushed the call button for the elevator and glanced back down the hall. Rose still stood outside her door, watching him. Flint offered another smile and a little wave. She returned both and then disappeared inside her unit.
Once she was out of sight, Flint turned from the elevator and went into the stairwell. On the platform, he leaned up against the wall and began to breathe heavily. His heart was ready to burst out of his chest ever since he pulled the trigger. This was just the first moment he allowed himself to notice it. Flint fished through his pockets, grasping his case of cigarillos. He placed it between his lips and lit it, taking in several deep drags.
It took him a few minutes before he was able to relax. Once he felt properly composed, he stamped out the cigarillo and descended the stairwell.
When Flint emerged from the building, he looked around carefully. Nothing out of the ordinary. No cops, no paramedics, looked like Lockhart didn’t bother taking the time to call it in. Or if she had, they were taking their sweet time getting over here.
Whatever the case, Flint wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mout
h. He held out his hand and hailed a taxi. The driver was plump with a handlebar mustache, slightly older than Flint himself.
“Corner of Griffin and Main,” he said.
“Sure thing, buddy.”
As the ride began, Flint took out the smartphone Jackal gave him. He turned it on and slid his finger across the screen like it told him to unlock. Nothing happened.
“Is that one’a them fancy new phones?” asked the driver.
“Yeah.”
“My son’s got one. He let me take a look at it. Can’t understand how the damn things work. Surprised to see someone my age with it.”
“It was a gift,” said Flint, still struggling.
“Oh yeah? Your kid buy you one?”
“No, just some asshole. Probably because he knew I’d have trouble with it.” Flint tried for the fifth time. “Goddammit, how do these things work?”
“Hey buddy, you got gloves on, don’t you?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Well you gotta take ‘em off to use the phone.”
“Really?” asked Flint. He removed one of his gloves and this time the phone unlocked, displaying a grid of icons. “Well I’ll be damned. But what if you gotta make a call when it’s below zero out?”
“Don’t think they give a shit about that,” said the driver.
Flint pushed the icon labeled Contacts and the only contact was labeled T. He selected it and the phone told him it was dialing. Holding the phone to his ear, he waited until the voicemail message came through. It was a stock greeting which rattled off the phone number. After the beep, Flint hung up.
“No answer, huh?” asked the driver.
“Something like that.”
While still in his hand, the phone vibrated. Flint looked at the screen, notifying him of a new message. It read, “MESSAGE RECEIVED, STAND BY UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.”
“So whaddaya you do for a living?” asked the driver.
“I run a bar.”
“No shit. Which one?”
“Outlaw Blues.”
“Really? I been there once. Few years ago. Pretty quiet.” The driver examined Flint’s facial features via the rearview mirror. “Hey...you’re the sax player there, ain’tcha?”
“Guilty as charged.” Flint took a swig from his flask.
“Yeah, I heard you play. You were pretty good. You still play there?”
Flint nodded.
“Memory serves, it’s just down the street from Griffin and Main, right?”
“That’s right. Going over there now.”
“You playing a set tonight?”
“Not tonight.”
“Really? Too bad. Would’ve liked to hear you play again.”
“Yeah, well, what can you do?” Flint stared out the window, up at the moon. “Can’t always get what you want.”
“But if you try sometimes, you might find that you get what you need,” said the driver, with a bit of song in his voice and a smile on his face. “Man, I love that Mick Jagger. How about you, you into the Stones?”
“Not my thing,” said Flint.
“Good advice though, huh?”
Flint shrugged.
“Hey, lemme ask you a question. About your bar.”
“Go on.”
“Why’d you name it Outlaw Blues? Kind of a strange name for a bar, ain’t it?”
“It’s the name of a Bob Dylan song. Listen to the lyrics sometime, maybe you’ll understand.”
NOW
Julie Kim sat in a coffee shop not far from the Agency’s headquarters. With her glasses on, she scanned the morning headlines, sipping her morning espresso.
A shadow fell over her. Julie looked up, removing her glasses and smiling at Jack Marco, one of the Agency’s intelligence analysts.
“Morning, Marco.”
Marco sat down across from her, although he didn’t seem too peppy this morning. “What’s up?” she asked.
“Remember how you wanted me to keep my eyes open for any red flags involving Carl Flint?” he asked.
“Yeah...?”
“It’s been six months, but I think he’s back on our radar.” Marco held out a document. Julie carefully took the report from him. She placed her glasses back on and read through the lines on it.
“Mexico?”
“Small town on the west coast. Someone in foreign ops requested an ident on a passport. It was a pretty professional forgery.”
“And you think it’s Flint?”
“Not sure who else it could be.”
“How’d you get this from foreign ops?” asked Julie.
Marco smiled. “I set up some things in the system so that I’d be notified if any flags involving Flint showed up. That’s why I decided to catch you before you went into the office.”
“You could lose your job over this, Marco.”
“C’mon Kim, think I don’t know that?” asked Marco. “Christian was my friend, too.”
“So six months ago, Flint knows I’m onto him and skips town,” said Julie. “For six months, he’s been living in this small town in Mexico under the name of Joe Lawrence.”
“Looks like it.”
Julie paused her speech and removed her glasses. “Something about this doesn’t add up,” she said, still scanning the report.
Marco leaned back in the chair. “What’s that?”
“Flint escaped. Got away clean. We had no leads on him. What would make him pop up on the grid again?”
“I think I’ve got the answer to that,” said Marco. “There was something else I found. Seems about a week ago, Flint took out a local drug cartel in the area.”
“Six months and suddenly he decides to go after a cartel? There’s more to it. They must have done something to him,” said Julie. “Either that, or he’s been hired again. Anyone out there who’d have the clout to put a former Infernum assassin on their payroll?”
“There’s a Colombian drug cartel run by a man named Suárez. Moved into Mexico a few years back. But there’s something else—the files on Suárez are locked. A-1 Priority Clearance Only.”
“Shit,” said Julie. She stood from her seat and left the shop, with Marco left there dumbfounded. He called after her.
“Kim? What happened?”
***
Julie strode purposefully through the halls of the building. She came to a door labeled DIRECTOR CHANDLER, ignoring the secretary who tried to stop her as she opened the door and let herself in. The secretary came after her and Director Chandler looked up from his desk.
“Agent Kim?” he asked.
“Why is a Colombian drug lord standing between me and Pierce’s killer?” asked Julie.
Chandler nodded at his secretary, who left the room and closed the door behind her. Once the door closed, he said, “Agent Kim, there are certain aspects of certain departments which are on a need-to-know basis.”
“It takes A-1 Priority Clearance to even access the Agency’s files on Suárez. Why is that?”
“Because it’s a very sensitive situation, that’s why,” said Chandler. “You are part of the Infernum Task Force, and I suggest you focus on that.”
“I know Carl Flint is in Mexico. And I know foreign ops knows about it. What I don’t know is why they’re trying to keep it from my department.”
“You’re a good agent, Julie. Leave this alone.”
“Flint is the only lead we have on Infernum. If we let him slip through our fingers, we’ll be right back where we started.”
Chandler sighed and folded his hands together, gently laying them on his desk. “We have certain ways of doing things around here, Agent Kim. You will either follow orders or I will accept your resignation. Are we clear?”
“You can’t just—”
“Are. We. Clear.”
Julie sighed. “Yes sir, we’re clear.”
“Good, because Carl Flint is a dead end,” said Chandler. “The reason foreign ops didn’t contact your department is because it was ruled as irrelevant information.”
/>
“He killed one of us!”
“And you valiantly pursued him, for which we are thankful for. But at the end of the day, Carl Flint fled the country and he hasn’t been active for some time. He won’t be able to tell us anything about Dante or Infernum.”
“Then why did he take out one of Suárez’s rival cartels?”
“If Flint is working for Suárez, it’s a matter for foreign ops. Not you.”
“What if he’s down there working for Dante again?”
“There’s no intelligence to support that and until there is, we have no reason to believe otherwise,” said Chandler.
“Fine,” said Julie.
“Thank you, Agent Kim. You’re excused.”
Julie left Chandler’s office and made the long walk back to her own. When she stepped inside, Marco was waiting for her, sitting in her chair. He gave her a questioning look and gestured with his hands.
“Why’d you just walk out on me this morning?”
Julie took a sheet of paper from her printer and a pen. “Chandler said Flint’s a dead end.”
“Just like that, you’re giving up?” asked Marco.
On the sheet, Julie quickly scribbled, AGENCY OFFICES ARE BUGGED.
Marco read the note and took a pen from her desk and wrote a reply. YEAH. AND?
“Without the resources to go after him, how can we bring in Flint?” asked Julie. WHAT WOULD IT TAKE TO BREACH A-1 PRIORITY CLEARANCE?
“So where does that leave our investigation?” asked Marco. ACT OF GOD MAYBE?
Julie scribbled another note, emphasizing a few points with underlines. CHANDLER WON’T GO AFTER SUÁREZ. AGENCY MUST HAVE INVESTMENT IN HIS OPS.
“We’re right back at square one is what,” she said.
“So what do you need me to do?” asked Marco, referring both to their staged conversation and the notes.
“Pull whatever we’ve got on Infernum. Maybe if we try reviewing what we know, it’ll help us find out where we need to go from here.”
I NEED TO GET TO MEXICO. CAN YOU HELP?
Marco nodded. “I’ll get right on it.”
THEN
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