Deliverance

by Dakota Banks

  Where would she go? Assuming the cab even brought her here. Yanmeng likes the Asian collection.

  She headed for that gallery and slowed to a walk as she neared it. The space was beautiful, with lighted glass cases and other displays leading the visitor from one room to the next. Eliu sat on a bench in front of a case of thousand-year-old vases, and they had her rapt attention. One like them must have had some significance for her. Maliha looked around the room. There were three other people browsing and a guard in the doorway. It was near closing time and most visitors had left. None of the browsers looked threatening. Maliha walked through the room and checked the next one. It was empty. She put her head through the doorway to look into the room beyond. Her breath caught in her lungs and stayed there, and her heart pounded against her ribs. A chill climbed her spine like a ladder.

  Moe, Curly, and Larry were in the room, and they were armed.

  How did they get those weapons in here?

  “Hey!” Larry said. He’d spotted her. She pulled her head back just in time. Automatic gunfire tore into the wall, gouging chunks from the corner where she’d been.

  The museum guard, following the sound, came running into the room where Maliha was. His gun was drawn and he was running straight into an ambush. She ran toward him and put out her arm when he was right next to her. He wasn’t expecting it and her arm slammed into him at chest height. She spun slightly with his momentum, or she would have crushed his chest. Instead, he crumpled to the floor with a few broken ribs. She snatched the gun from his hand and hit him with enough force to knock him out.

  I hope Eliu gets out of here while they’re distracted.

  She yanked the guard by his arms, dragged him to the side of the room, and shoved him under a bench where he’d be out of the line of fire.

  Best I can do, buddy. Why aren’t the Stooges in here yet? I’m sure one look at me didn’t scare them off.

  Maliha flattened her body against the wall of the room and inched toward the door opening. There wasn’t much time left before other guards arrived. She didn’t want to be holding the unconscious guard’s gun when that happened—she’d be mistaken for one of the bad guys. It looked like she would have to take the fight to them.

  Maliha changed her approach to the door so she’d be going in at an angle. She ran through the door, assessed the situation rapidly, and planted a bullet in Curly’s forehead before diving to the floor and rolling. Automatic fire screamed through the room. Glass cases shattered, triggering security alarms. Two hot lines of pain streaked across her shoulder. Still on the floor and in motion, Maliha crashed into Larry’s legs from behind, grabbed him and pulled him down on his knees. She turned his gun on Moe and squeezed his finger on the trigger. Moe went down in a haze of red mist, a zipper stitched across his midsection. Larry was struggling in her grip. She pulled the ceramic knife from her hair and slit his throat. He slumped to the floor. She slid the knife into a pocket of her jacket.

  The whole thing was over in seconds. A glance at the guard under the bench showed that there were four casualties in the room. The initial burst of gunfire must have caused a few bullets to ricochet in his direction.

  Maliha left the way she came, running so fast that she passed several guards coming to the scene as a rush of air.

  Maliha walked most of the way home. Her shoulder was hurting but there was no one following her. The sun had been setting when she left, and now it was nearly dark. She stayed off the major streets and didn’t linger under streetlights. Her scale rewarded her for the deaths of Moe, Curly, and Larry. Anu didn’t penalize her for the death of the innocent guard because he’d been killed by Moe or Larry.

  Chick opened the door for her. “Hey, are you all right?”

  The jacket he’d lent her was torn and bloody where she’d been hit.

  “I kind of ripped it,” she said, taking off the jacket. Chick saw the knife and said nothing. She wiped it clean on the jacket and tucked it back into her hair.

  He stared at the blood on her shoulder. “Should I call an ambulance?”

  She shook her head.

  He took the jacket from her. “I’ll take care of this. No problem. Here, put on this sweatshirt. You don’t want to be scaring your neighbors. Go on home now.”

  “Thanks, Chick,” she said, and meant it.

  “You take care of yourself.”

  In the central core of the building, she waited at the bank of three elevators. With Arnie, her arrangement had been that she paid him thirty thousand dollars a month for his assistance and his confidence, plus a one-hundred-thousand-dollar end-of-year bonus. With the investment advice she’d shared, Arnie had become a multi-millionaire during the time Maliha lived at Harbor Point Towers.

  Then he’d paid for his association with me with his life. Starting fresh with Chick, maybe I shouldn’t get him involved. He’s already proven himself useful, though, and I think he’s already seen too much.

  Eliu was home. Hound had followed Maliha in a cab, arriving a little before the shooting started. He intercepted Eliu as she fled the building.

  She was crying. “I’m so sorry,” she said between sobs. “I just wanted to be near something that reminded me of my husband.” Hound was sitting next to her, one arm around her. Amaro stood off to the side with a tissue box in his hand. He might be the best hacker in the world, but confronted with a crying woman, he wavered. A piece of code wouldn’t fix her.

  Maliha went over and knelt in front of Eliu. She took the woman’s hands in hers. “It’s not your fault. You’re here with us and safe now. Everything turned out all right.”

  Except for a guard who won’t be going home to his family, but this isn’t the time for brutal honesty.

  “Oh no, you’re bleeding,” Eliu said. “You’re injured! Is it bad? Let me see!”

  Blood had seeped through the light tan sweatshirt. “I’ll be okay. Just nicked by a bullet.”

  Eliu straightened up and wiped her eyes. “I did this with my stupidity. It won’t happen again.”

  “It’s no problem. . . .”

  “Maliha, why don’t you go get cleaned up?” Hound said.

  She glanced down at the sweatshirt and saw that the bloodstain was large and growing as she watched. Blood trickled out from her sleeve onto her hand.

  He’s right, of course. The sooner I’m out of her sight, the better.

  The bleeding stopped quickly with the application of pressure. Maliha took a shower and Amaro bandaged her shoulder. The wounds weren’t deep and the pain was fading. She told Amaro that later that evening, she was going to take Eliu to her haven and tell her to stay there, making sure she didn’t approach the entry foyer from inside. It would be a safe place for her to stay, and now that Eliu’s life had nearly been lost, Maliha wasn’t going to hear any argument about it. It made her a little sad that her private space would be used by someone else, but it would allow the rest of the team to keep Eliu close without having to guard her. Maliha hinted that Amaro and Hound could join her if they wished, but she had little hope that they would.

  Maliha wanted to go out into the living room and show Eliu that the wounds were no big deal, but when she opened her bedroom door, Hound waved her off. He was sitting at the table, drinking tea with Eliu, and they were deep in conversation. She looked better than she had in days. Hound had probably told her that Yanmeng was alive.

  Later, walking Eliu to the haven, Eliu had questions about that contact. She seemed disappointed that there was nothing more than an image.

  “Tell me what he looked like.”

  “He was young,” Maliha said. “No more than thirty years old. He had dark hair and was smiling as though looking at someone he loved. He was wearing a white robe that I think was silk. It came all the way to his ankles. The sleeves were very long and hung at his sides. He was so handsome.”

  Eliu gasped. “Was he wearing a blue sash?”

  Maliha reformed the image in her mind. “Yes! How did you know?”

 
“That was an image of Yanmeng on our wedding day,” Eliu said. She reached her hand out and touched Maliha’s arm. “He was smiling at me, I know it. It was a message to let me know he’s alive. It had to be.”

  “He knew I’d tell you. He gave me the image that would be most comforting to you,” Maliha said.

  Eliu’s eyes were bright with tears. “Can you send him an image of me? I have our wedding picture, I can show you what I looked like. It would mean so much to me.”

  Maliha’s shoulders sagged. “I can’t do that. I was barely able to contact Yanmeng, and then he’s the one who took over and responded.”

  “Do it again, then.”

  “I think he used everything he had to send that one image. He’s sedated, and it’s amazing he was able to gather enough strength for that.”

  She installed Eliu in the haven and gave her a run-through on how it operated, including warnings to keep out of the booby-trapped area near the entrance.

  “What will happen if I don’t?”

  “Um, poison darts will rain down on you if you don’t do everything just right.”

  “Got it.”

  “We’ll keep in touch. There are secure communications between here and the thirty-ninth floor.”

  “It’s beautiful here. So peaceful.”

  Low-voltage lights sparkled against the dark ceiling, looking like a starry night. Eliu nodded when Maliha showed her the tatami sleeping mat and the futon to be unrolled on it.

  “From Japan,” Eliu said about the tatami mat. “We use a mattress and down pillows. But I’m sure I will sleep well.”

  Eliu was looking at the displays of treasures collected by Maliha over her lifetime. Maliha thought about the most important of those, the shards and Tablet of the Overlord in the hidden floor safe.

  “Thank you for bringing me here,” Eliu said. “I will keep all of this secret.” The look in her eyes said it all. She knew it was an imposition to be in the haven, but now that she knew Yanmeng was alive, she had reason to live—reason to be safe.

  Maliha hugged her. “You’ll enjoy the shower. Remember . . .”

  Eliu nodded. She wasn’t going to be making any more solitary excursions. While the haven was an elegant place to stay, it was also a prison cell for her. It would literally kill her to leave.

  If I hadn’t told Hound and Amaro about my contact with Yanmeng, we wouldn’t have discovered Eliu was missing in time. She’d be dead now.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  LATITUDE 45˚ 23 58.12N, LONGITUDE 88˚ 39 59.52W.

  The coordinates in the note that came with Yanmeng’s severed hand turned out to be Lakeview Cemetery in Wisconsin. It was located in the Chequamegon-Nicolet National Forest on Forest Road 2358. Locals knew it as Eliot Road.

  “I should head there tonight and stay in the closest motel. Looks like I’ll be doing some cross-country skiing,” Maliha said.

  “Why not a snowmobile? I’m sure you can rent them around there,” Amaro said.

  “Skis are quieter. I’d rather not be heard coming,” she said.

  That night Maliha traveled to Wisconsin, rented a Jeep, and stayed in a bed-and-breakfast just outside the national forest, where she’d been summoned to a meeting. There was an eight-inch snowfall overnight, with the temperature around twenty below zero. She was on the road at dawn the next morning, in a white two-piece stretchable outfit that allowed her flexibility and blended in with the snowy surroundings.

  I’m wearing more layers than an onion.

  She had her whip sword in a sheath around her waist and a throwing knife strapped to each thigh. A Glock 26, the baby Glock specially designed for concealed carry, rested in a pocket holster, and a spare magazine was in her other pocket.

  Why would the Blood Countess need an assassin? Can’t she do her own kills?

  She parked the Jeep a half mile away, pulling off the road behind some evergreen trees whose branches drooped with heavy snow. She put on her skis. Her shoulder was stiff, but after she warmed up from the skiing, it wasn’t noticeable. Heading off into the forest, she paralleled Eliot Road until she reached the cemetery. She found a hidden spot where she could watch the cemetery entrance and waited. She was early. The day began with a cloudless sky and the sun sparkling on fresh snow, a bluebird day to enjoy, if Maliha hadn’t been heading for a meeting with the Blood Countess. Her breath hung white in the air and the moisture in her nostrils crackled as it froze. When the air hit her lungs, it hadn’t been prewarmed by her nostrils, so it cooled her chest from the inside. It felt like she had stuffed a peppermint patty in each lung. She pressed a button on her goggles and liquid crystal technology darkened the lenses for sunny conditions.

  The roar of snowmobiles cut through the stillness of the forest. Elizabeth wasn’t alone.

  Her mind flashed to a long-ago assignment in Yakutia, a huge frozen land area in northern Siberia. Images of slashed bodies of men, women, and children—a small settlement subjected to a demon’s revenge with her as the instrument of death. Hot blood spilled on the snow, melting down into it only briefly before freezing. Maliha’s muscles tensed and her senses were hyper-alert. She was ready for anything.

  There were four snowmobiles in all. Elizabeth led the way, hair flying in the wind, disdainful of the cold. She rode as if she were straddling a stallion, with a look of wild abandon on her face.

  To look at her, you wouldn’t think she’d ever had an evil thought in her head.

  Two heavily armed men followed, and between them was a man who carried no weapon. He was confident in his escort.

  They pulled into the cemetery, riding over the graves until all four came to an abrupt halt, spewing powder into the air. They dismounted and huddled in a group. It was easy to pick out Elizabeth among them. There were two men with automatic rifles slung over their shoulders—bodyguards, and not the kind Maliha could dismiss. They carried themselves well and confidently, probably with military training in their background. A third man had his back to her. He wore a green parka with a hood. She skied over to meet them, stopped about ten feet away, then used her poles to disengage the heel locks on her ski bindings. She stepped out of the bindings into the snow, sinking a few inches.

  If there’s going to be any fighting going on, I can’t maneuver on skis.

  The bodyguards were leery of the knives she openly carried and asked her to remove them. She politely declined. They wanted to press the issue but Elizabeth told them to back off. With resentment in their faces, they did.

  They don’t like taking orders from her. They’re not her people. I’m coming in late on whatever dynamic is going on here.

  Elizabeth had her hand resting on Parka Man’s arm. Her posture and the familiarity of the touch told Maliha they were probably lovers.

  “Here she is,” Elizabeth said, “as you requested. She’s the vital element of Project Hammer. Meet Maliha Crayne.”

  The man turned toward her. He was wearing goggles, and the hood partially concealed his face, but she knew him right away. He pulled the goggles up on top of his head to get a good look at her, and that confirmed her identification.

  “Hello, Maliha, I’m—” he said.

  “Roger Cameron, vice president of the United States. We’ve met before, though I looked a bit different then.” He was in his mid-fifties, fit, handsome but not a standout.

  “You have me at a disadvantage,” Cameron said.

  You have no idea.

  “At the president’s first state dinner. I was with the son of the ambassador to India.”

  “I think it’s coming back to me.”

  “Red dress.”

  “Oh, my God, that was you?” He scanned her from head to toe.

  Elizabeth had had enough of old times. “Shall we get going? She’s not going to give a show and tell.”

  “Are you cold, Liz? Jim, get her a blanket from the snowmobile.”

  “No, don’t.” It was said harshly. Elizabeth had let her annoyance show. Maliha saw the bodyguards smile at
each other.

  “I asked for this because I wanted to talk to the assassin. You just said she was a vital element of the project. Now that I’m here, I’m going to talk,” Cameron said. The bodyguards’ smiles got bigger.

  “Maliha, I want you to understand what your role is and why it’s so important.”

  “I’m listening,” she said. He’s talking like I have a choice in the matter.

  “I’ll be straight with you about what I want. I want the presidency. I’ve worked toward it all my adult life. You could say I was born to the task. Project Hammer began in 1955. Twelve couples—we call them the New Founders, because they are the originators of the new America—didn’t like the way the country was going. They were wealthy, but even their wealth couldn’t buy the kind of change they were looking for. They made a pact, each pledging a son or daughter to the cause.” He paused with disdain. “Am I boring you, Liz?”

  “No, no, I’ve just heard it all before,” Elizabeth said.

  “All twelve of us were raised as deep plants in the Democratic and Republican parties. We didn’t have to believe the words we were mouthing, as long as we were convincing. I’ve risen through the ranks building an impeccable record as a moderate Democrat. I’ve made it this close to the Oval Office. The others are at the state-government level and aren’t likely to advance. That makes me the only one who has a shot at it.”

  “You want me to assassinate the president,” Maliha said.

  “It’s a shame. On a personal level, I like the guy. But gambling on him getting reelected in two years and then elected on my own as president in another four years is risky. Too risky.”