by Wells, Jack
As the crowd erupted with loud approval, Alont decided to take his chances. He stepped out of line and began running for the nearest exit.
Without a second thought, the guard leveled his assault praser at Alont’s head and opened fire. A blinding flash missed its moving target by a few millimeters and shattered a large column that had been supporting the roof. The thunderous explosion knocked Alont on his face and covered his back with heavy debris. With the roof caving in, the crowd began screaming and running in all directions.
It was just the diversion that Alont needed to get away, but he couldn’t feel his third arm and his right leg was pinned under something sharp. He could feel more pressure as debris continued to fall on his back, but he remained still and didn’t move. Hoping that he was at least sufficiently hidden, Alont peered carefully through a narrow opening between two pieces of twisted metal for signs of the guard.
Through the settling dust, Alont could see that the crowd was quickly diminishing. Five guards that were visible had already established a loose perimeter. The two guards closest to him were looking up at the ceiling and saying something about how the whole roof had caved in when the support beam was destroyed. It sounded to Alont like there was so much damage that the guards had no idea where to look for him.
He strained to look in the direction of the exit to see how it was guarded. Even though his movement was subtle, the debris that hid him began to shift and threatened to expose his position. Dust from the collapsed roof caked his sweaty face and formed a fierce-looking white mask as the anger and frustration of being trapped etched his features. All he could do now was stay still and hope for an opportunity to escape.
The guard closest to Alont’s position noticed a slight movement in the pile of rubble and whispered, "What was that?"
His unseen partner responded, “I didn’t see anything. It’s probably still settling down. Anyone under all that stuff is dead.”
Alont watched with growing anticipation as the guard’s boots walked directly toward him. The boots stopped right in front of his tiny window and began kicking some of the rubble. Alont felt new dust enter his nostrils and tried to stifle the untimely sneeze that began to swell between his eyes.
Chapter Nine
Ural Mountains, Russia:
Midnight appeared eerie and lime-green through the assassin’s night vision contact lenses. Her shadowy female form lay prone on the frozen ground. Black body glove armor protected her like a stretchy second skin. It also kept her warm and comfortable against the freezing temperatures. The desolate farmland in front of her stretched to the horizon and beyond, but she was interested in the lone structure that broke up that empty terrain. An old barn was slowly rotting into the ground. To the casual observer, the sagging structure might appear to be a sad reminder of someone who had gambled on the land and lost. After months of study, Svetlana had discovered that it was really the front door to the Network’s European Headquarters.
She turned on her armor’s “camouflage” feature and began to mentally prepare for her assignment. Like always, she closed her large, almond-shaped, brown eyes and focused her thoughts on what her sensei, Master Sung, had taught her as a little girl. At first, the barnyard smells and sounds of the night felt chaotic. She pressed her focus deeper and felt her consciousness pass through a thin veil that revealed a wonderfully simple rhythm to life. So clear and beautiful, the chaos had become a melody. She bathed in the concert and waited for the Network agents that now approached the barn.
Agents had been coming and going for months, but for some reason Interpol, her current employer, would not allow her to engage them until tonight. Svetlana didn’t care about politics and never asked questions. All that mattered was who paid her the most for her services, and right now Interpol was her high roller.
With the rhythm still soothing her mind, she felt the prototype battle armor’s gentle warning pulse. Its long-range threat detectors were beginning to discern the approaching men. Her armor was the latest invention for the enhancement of individual combat soldiers. Svetlana didn’t need any more advantage over her opponents and had only agreed to wear it because it was an Interpol requirement. She did appreciate the armor’s light weight and the way it clung to her agile body.
Made of submicroscopic, single-wall carbon cylinders, the suit was twenty times stronger than steel. Highly conductive, its built-in circuitry provided for tactical/technical specifics like infrared camouflage, cooling or heating, and the pulsing signal that now alerted Svetlana to action.
Without a sound, she followed the men into the old wooden structure. About ten meters behind them, she reached over her shoulder and pulled a ten-pound metal dart from a leather case on her back. Using both hands, she flung the large silver barb into the air and held onto the thick black cord attached to its tail. With a strong jerk, the weapon began to spin and fill the frosty air with an ominous whine.
The men froze at the sound. They turned to see fingers of light from the full Moon reach through holes in the roof and touch the dirt floor. The moonlight danced across the shiny silhouette of what was obviously a woman. Something silver whirled above the female’s head. Short, raven-colored hair bobbed up and down freely with each of her deliberate movements.
Changing the dart’s rotation with a flick of her wrist, Svetlana let it move up and down her body like a cowboy’s lariat. She brought it down in front of herself and switched the spinning dart’s rope back and forth between her hands a few times.
Showtime was over.
With the melody in her mind reaching its crescendo, she suddenly began to advance on her startled prey with two forward flips. Moonlight shining through the rotting roof continued to highlight more flips and spins as her black form rapidly closed in on the surprised agents.
As she approached her opponents like an Olympic gymnast competing in the Floor Exercise, Svetlana thought about the first time Master Sung had shown her the rope dart. At age seven, she could barely hold the heavy metal dart that was attached to a cord three meters in length. It was a thing of beauty as Master Sung demonstrated how a tree trunk could be pulverized with forward jabs and swinging blows. The dart was difficult to defend against, even for the most astute, and the three Network agents that she now approached had seen nothing like it.
Their fear rippled through the melody in Svetlana’s mind each time they shot at her and missed. The sound of confusion that grew in their voices was completely gone, muted by the pounding rhythm she heard and felt. As she continued her relentless approach, she wondered why they didn’t try to find cover. The time for questions had run out. Soon there would be no one left to answer her. The closest agent ran out of bullets and threw his weapon at her.
As he turned to run, she caught the gun in midair with her right hand and flicked the heavy dart through the back of his head with her left hand. She jerked the dart from his punctured skull and began a cartwheel to the right, just before two bullets sailed past her right ear. The momentum moved the spinning projectile above her left shoulder. A forward somersault repositioned it to her side; a roundhouse kick to the second agent’s chest and the dart moved over her head.
He stumbled back wide-eyed. She released the full length of the rope. Like a massive hammer the dart smashed into the agent’s head from the right side. The weight of the dart’s blow made the man’s head explode like a melon, pieces of fleshy matter flying everywhere. With no time to look, she flung the dart into the chest of her final victim. Her leg buckled slightly when the last bullet he would ever fire slammed directly against the body armor covering her knee cap.
Master Sung’s voice rang softly in her ears. Svetlana, you must conquer the evil in your heart.
He had always tried to make her follow his code for good and right...but on the day her parents were killed, that part of her died, too, and she realized that being good had made her parents a target.
Bending low to examine where the bullet had struck her leg, she didn’t respond directly
to his statement. “It is okay, Master,” she whispered. “I may have just a bruise.” He had been dead for years, but her eyes quickly scanned every shadow in vain to find him. His words always came into her mind and gave her great strength when she fought. With his words fading in the wind, she realized how much she missed him. She knew it was impossible to see him, but his voice always sounded so real.
It was time to leave. In less than two minutes, she had killed the Network’s agents and wasn’t going to wait for the Network’s response. She leaped through the barn’s wide door, tossed two C4 bombs over her shoulder, and landed outside with a tuck-and-roll. Both bombs landed inside the barn, each with a ten-second delay. Svetlana had already popped a wheelie on her black motorcycle and was racing away when she heard the bombs explode. A smoking crater replaced the barn and the top floor of the Network’s headquarters was exposed.
The assignment was over, so Svetlana relaxed and let the chaos return as her machine ate up the kilometers. Feeling a need to go faster, she increased her speed...then heard her master again.
If you don’t know where you are going, it won’t help to go faster, and if you go too fast, you may pass what you want and never know.
She screamed into the wind with frustration. “Why do you torment me? Show yourself!”
There was no reply and she thought about what he said for the next few kilometers. Then she quietly corrected her master. “For once, sensei, you are wrong, I know what I want: revenge. Revenge for my parents. But I don’t know how to find my parents’ killers after all this time.”
Again, she received no response. He was gone.
She thought about the day her parents first left her with Master Sung. It was the last time she ever saw them. They were worried and in a hurry to leave her. Even though time was slowly robbing her of their memory, she would never forget how her mother nursed her through sickness and her father let her ride on his back. She would also never forget how terrorists took their lives. Master Sung said their killers were bad men trying to persuade the Chinese government to join a new world order.
Washington D.C.:
Martle was still in his office watching Visen when his phone vibrated discreetly in his pocket. It was the special signal that indicated Network business.
“Vlad, I just spoke with you.”
“I know, boss, but they hit us first.”
Martle listened to what Svetlana had done to his agents and the headquarters building. “Vlad, who is this woman?”
“I don’t know, General. I’m sending the video of what she did to you now. Fortunately, we’ve found a mercenary who we believe can take care of her.”
“You have a mercenary?” Something didn’t add up for Martel.
“Boss, she is a specialist – we must handle with a specialist.”
“Fine, but respond quickly to this threat and keep me informed.”
Swiss Alps:
The tall Pakistani stopped exactly halfway across an old wooden bridge that spanned a small lake at the center of a beautiful Swiss city, waiting for his contact to arrive. The setting sun’s crimson glow was fading rapidly from the icy Alps surrounding the city. Reacting to the evening chill, Network agent Zul pulled up the collar on his heavy leather coat and turned his back to the wind.
Across the frigid lake, a beautiful woman sat down at a sidewalk café and ordered an espresso. She glanced up at the postcard-perfect city and saw a man walk to the center of the bridge and stop. It was probably her target, but she was fifteen minutes early. She would wait and enjoy her hot drink. If he was still there at the proper time, she would make her approach. Svetlana sipped from the small cup slowly and watched the big clock on the side of one of the stone buildings count down the minutes.
With some time to himself, Zul began to think about the death of his comrades and the damage to the Network’s headquarters. How could a single person have caused so much damage? Even with the warning that they received, they were no match for whoever had attacked them. Well, this person who he now waited on was supposed to have all the answers. After seeing what was left of his friends, he wasn’t so sure anyone could help.
What he didn’t know was that this was the same woman that had killed his friends. She had fooled his security into thinking that she could take out the person who attacked the Network’s headquarters. Now she could cause even more damage. Turning to break the relentless wind, Zul tried to light his cigarette that kept going out.
From behind, he heard a woman with an English accent. “Would you like a light for that pesky fag?”
That was the signal that he had been waiting for. Without turning, he straightened slightly and checked down the bridge for anyone close enough to hear them. The bridge was dark and empty. He turned to face a beautiful blonde woman who extended a lighter toward his cigarette. Something about her eyes momentarily caught his attention. Then he quickly looked past her, down the other side of the bridge, to see if it was also clear. Once he determined that they were alone, he asked, “Is that American?”
Svetlana acted unaware that Zul was looking past her. “No, it’s French-made.”
That was the correct response, but something didn’t feel right. Zul challenged her. “You are supposed to be the mercenary that will help us?”
He watched her lips move. “I have much experience killing my benefactor’s enemies.”
That sounded genuine to Zul. He studied her body language but found nothing to back up the uneasiness he felt. She sensed his doubt. She reached up to his mouth and took his cigarette to draw his attention away from her. She put it in her mouth and lit it for him. As she handed it back, she thought, How careful they try to be. They had become desperate after her attack, and desperate men make mistakes. Soon, they will no longer make mistakes. Soon, they will be dead.
Zul had only watched the video of the headquarters attack twice, but he knew that the attacker had been a woman with short black hair. Then he realized why this blonde made him uneasy – it was her eyes! They were the same eyes as the woman’s who had attacked the headquarters!
Svetlana saw recognition appear on Zul’s face and knew instantly that he had connected her to the attack. She slowly moved her hand down her leg toward the rope dart under her coat. Zul started to pull out a ten-centimeter blade but removed his hand as a group of drunken tourists came onto the bridge and began dancing toward them. He knew he must kill her, but he didn’t want any collateral damage.
He looked at Svetlana and asked, “Would you like to meet the others?”
Svetlana didn’t care about collateral damage, but she did want to meet and kill the others he spoke of, so she said, “Let’s party.”
Moving quickly and preoccupied with killing Svetlana, Zul failed to notice the police officers paused at the foot of the stairs to the bridge. The first officer stepped out of Zul’s way at the last second and grabbed Zul’s arm to keep him from knocking down his partner.
The senior officer asked, “Where are you off to in such a hurry? Have you been drinking?”
Svetlana saw what was happening and didn’t want the police to haul Zul away. She opened her coat, unbuttoned a couple of buttons at the top of her blouse and began to giggle. She stayed a couple of steps above the officers and bent forward so that they were no longer interested in anything Zul had to say.
Svetlana began her performance. “It’s all my fault gentlemen!” she said in a breathy America accent. “We were just having some fun. I asked him to run for me because watching men run makes me tingly. Can you believe that?” She continued with a pout. “I’m sorry if I interrupted your rounds.” She descended the stairs one step at a time and dropped her voice to a whisper to keep their attention. “You know, men in uniform are a turn-on, too. I would love to watch both of you run.”
Zul didn’t want to be detained. With her fake giggling ringing in his ears, he melted into the background and disappeared.
By the time she could get away from the police officers, they had comple
tely forgotten about Zul – but Svetlana knew exactly where to find him. Twenty-four hours earlier, she had followed him from Vienna and watched him check into a five-star hotel on Rulstrasse. Zul had been the Network’s top agent in Eastern Europe for about two years and was very good at killing the previous Interpol agents who were assigned to watch him.
It was completely dark and it had gotten much colder. Svetlana stopped under the street light’s amber glow outside Zul’s hotel. She noticed that the back street was deserted as she looked up at the lights shining through each hotel window. There were multiple shadows moving casually across the flimsy curtains covering Zul’s window. It was difficult to determine how many people were in the room. She stepped back into a shadowy doorway for privacy and pulled out a tiny monitoring device.
She pointed it at the window and heard Zul in mid-sentence.
“It’s the same woman who killed our guys and blew up the barn!”
One of the shadows asked, “How can that be? This woman has been completely checked out.”
Zul responded, “They have made a grave mistake. We’d better be ready for her, or she’ll kill us, too.”
None of the shadows replied. Svetlana realized that they were too worried about her to reveal any other agents in their conversation. There was nothing left to gain from them. It was time to call them out.
She entered the opulent hotel lobby, walked up to the gleaming front desk, and gave the clerk a seductive smile. “I’m supposed to meet Zul here, but he only gave me his room number. Would you please ring him and let him know his ‘package’ is here?”
The clerk thought she was a hooker and that was exactly what she wanted him to think. No one remembers the hooker. With a polite smile and nod, he replied. “Of course, madam.”
His voice was already fading into background noise as she began to consider how the lobby would do as a battleground. Would they enter from the elevator or the stairs? Considering who she was dealing with, she deduced that they would probably try to attack from every possible direction, including the front door. They would want to act quickly and try to surprise her.