The Wraith- Welcome Home

by Jeffery H. Haskell

  Now for the fun part.

  ***

  Bill let out a string of curses so foul it would make a Drill Sergeant blush. The three men in the van with him remained silent, fearing for their lives if they were to speak.

  “What the actual eff, Rico,” he said in a whisper.

  “I don’t know, Master Sergeant,” Rico said formally. There was a time for familiarity and time for the chain of command, and Rico didn’t want that chain wrapped around his neck. “Intel didn’t say anything about any of this. Just the ten pounds of missing C4…”

  Bill stabbed a finger at the monitor. “Does that look like ten pounds of C4 to you?”

  Rico shook his head. “No, Master Sergeant, it does not.”

  Bill took a breath, trying to calm himself down. This was a crap show of the worst kind. There were millions of dollars of ordinance in those trailers and it was forcing their hand. It didn’t matter that they were outnumbered ten-to-one—there was no world in which he could return to his CO and explain how they let enough weapons to start a war go to these criminals.

  “Gear up. Shoot to kill, no warning shots, no asking for surrender. We make one announcement of who we are, and we kill everyone who gets in our way. I know this is more than we signed on for but this is exactly what we’ve trained for. And Sandy?”

  “Yes Sergeant?”

  “Make sure you pay enough attention to give an accurate account of what went on here?”

  “Yes Sergeant,” the invulnerable soldier said in a whisper. Bill didn’t envy the man; if this went south he would be the only one left alive.

  “Rico, set them to full record and let’s get to it.”

  ***

  I needed to pare down the field. There were too many, even for me . Also, instead of starting with the leader I was liking the idea of interrogating him. After getting so much info off a low-level nobody, I could only imagine what I would find out from someone in charge of something so clearly important to them.

  The only thing to do was work the edges, come from the outside and work my way in, taking down as many as I could. I focused my vision, letting the shadows vanish until I found a spot. Triggering shadow step I was there, spinning around while pulling my pistols.

  I was ten feet behind the farthest SUV. Three enforcers were huddling together, smoking instead of watching the entrance. The four SUVs of the buyers were parked in a semi-circle facing the trailers from a distance of thirty feet.

  Their mistake.

  I stepped out of the dark shadow caused by the wall, guns at shoulder level, and pulled the trigger. Silencers didn’t work like in the movies. ‘Silencer’ is more what the technical device is called according to the books Joseph had me study. What it really does, is suppress.

  Since I was really trying to be unpredictable, I was carrying two Smith and Wesson M&Ps chambered in forty cal that I picked up from some unfortunate drug dealers who no longer needed them. Loaded with subsonic ammo they were about as quiet as a brass gong. The advantage was that the sound only lasted for a second and didn’t travel nearly as far.

  All three went down with barely a hiccup. I dropped the mags and reloaded, making sure I stayed topped off. I put the partially used mags in my coat pocket.

  Then it hit me.

  I had to brace myself against the SUV as a wave of euphoria flooded my chest. The world sharpened into greater focus and I could see and hear everything. It was different than when I used the powers without killing a bad guy. More powerful I guess. I felt like I could do anything. I shook my head to clear the buzz and focus my thoughts. I had a plan and I needed to stick to it—despite the little voice inside of me telling me to jump up and start shooting.

  I ducked around the right side of the SUV. There were two men with their backs to me.

  Pop pop.

  They fell, holes blasted in the back of their heads. I kept moving, ducking around the next truck as the euphoric wave hit me again, not as bad this time. My skin tightened and I could feel my body revving up.

  Two more fell; I felt fantastic and on a roll. That little voice was now screaming at me to up the game.

  Someone beat me to it.

  “Federal Agents, down on the ground. This is your only warning!” His voice was loud enough that I heard him over the rain and the wind. If I had to guess, he was using a bullhorn.

  Of course, I wasn’t about to surrender—not when there was so much killing that needed to be done. The crack of a high-powered rifle filled the air and I realized the agents weren’t really interested in anyone surrendering as the leader of the sellers went down in a mass of brain and blood, his skull split by a rifle round.

  Then all hell broke loose. Automatic weapons fire erupted, accented by the much quieter ‘pop-pop’ of pistols—they only seemed loud when there weren’t rifles blowing holes in things.

  A little part of me was sad or disappointed at not getting all the kills. I didn’t have time to contemplate that though; I needed to move and take down as many as I could. I leaped up on the SUV, walking forward both guns barking as I fired down into the crowd of gangsters who had all turned to the west to fire at the feds. Unlucky for them.

  I took down one, then another, followed by a third in as many seconds before they realized they were taking fire from two directions. The Ukrainians (I assumed, since that was where the boat’s registry came from) were carrying AK12s with collapsible butt-stocks. It gave them the appearance of SMGs, but in reality they were combat rifles (there’s no such thing as an Assault Rifle; according to Joseph that’s just a term made up by people who don’t actually know anything about firearms). They opened up a few seconds later, half of them returning fire to the west, the other half firing on me. The rifles belched flame as the thirty round magazines emptied in less than two and a half seconds.

  For me, the world slowed down. I moved to my left, running as I fired back at them. I hit the edge of the SUV, leaped, and continued firing as I flew through the air. Two more went down as their heads jerked back as my bullets smashed between their eyes.

  Then my luck ran out.

  The Wraith powers allow me to regenerate, as far as I can tell, fr about anything. However, bullets frigging hurt so I wear an armored vest that will stop most pistol rounds. The 5.4 millimeter rounds tore through me like my vest was made of paper. The force knocked me sideways and I hit the ground with a crunch, rolling several times before coming to rest face down in the mud.

  “Ow,” I said.

  ***

  Bill had one hand on Sandy’s shoulder, walking behind him as he fired his M4 Carbine from the modified shouldered position. The rest of his team was spread out, taking cover and returning fire. Mostly to keep the focus on them and Sandy while Felix did his business.

  “Super in the field. African-American woman. No costume but she’s wearing a red scarf— never mind, they got her,” Felix said over the radio.

  “Keep firing. Rico, frag!”

  “Frag out!” Rico yelled, pulling the pin on a grenade and hurling it toward the enemy. The explosion caught the majority of the huddled criminals off guard, sending several men through the air, screaming and flailing.

  Within seconds the tractors belched to life, doing their best to escape. “Whiskey. Drivers,” Bill ordered.

  The sniper didn’t acknowledge the order, simply following it. Bill heard the crack of his rifle above his own fully automatic one as the sniper went to work taking down the drivers. Just not fast enough. “Tango down,” he said before firing again. Tango was military shorthand for ‘target.’ The first truck crashed into the far wall. The second stalled, the third ran into the second one. But the fourth was getting away. It was the one with the C4 and they really needed to stop that one.

  “Whiskey, kill it!”

  “I’ve got no shot,” he replied calmly.

  The exhaust system and several tires exploded as the sharpshooter tried to disable the vehicle. If there was one thing they had learned in their careers, the only su
re way to stop a vehicle was take out the driver.

  “Sandy, go to work. Everyone else, fire on that truck!”

  Sandy ran in ahead, screaming and hollering to draw fire as he engaged the tangos at close range. The rest of the team leaped up, firing their weapons dry. Bullets ripped apart the semi as the big tires spun in the mud trying to for traction. In the end, despite the volume of fire they couldn’t stop it.

  “Rico, get back to the van and put a drone on it!” Bill yelled. He turned and pulled the trigger as the man with the silver revolver darted out from behind a SUV, running for the empty building behind them. He twisted, keeping his sites over the man and firing; the slide locked back and his weapon clicked empty.

  The man stopped short, his hands flying up, expecting to die. When he didn’t, he smiled. “I guess it’s not your lucky day,” the man said. The silver revolver clicked as he pulled the hammer back, aiming it directly at Bill’s chest. The hammer fell and the gun exploded the bullet out the barrel. Bill closed his eyes as the bullet hit him dead center. From ten feet away the .500 round hit like a mule, sending him flying backward to land in the mud and hit his head on the dirt.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid!

  Dying in the line was one thing, but dying from this idiot? Just like he feared, the shock from the impact numbed his limbs and made him cough as he tried to breathe. His vest had stopped the round, but at the cost of a collapsed lung. His M4 was attached to him via a sling, but it was hopelessly tangled. He tried to get his hands to work and draw the Sig Sauer on his hip, then he heard a hammer click back. Bill’s eyes had cleared enough to could see the barrel a mere foot from his face.

  The smiling man behind it grinned as he pulled the trigger.

  Mud and dirt exploded beside his head. The gunshot deafened him, but his eyes were just fine. The African-American woman with the red scarf wrapped around her face kicked the revolver-man in the chest, sending him flying through the air to crash against the side of an SUV, denting the door and shattering the window. She stopped for a second, glancing down at Bill, her eyes glowing like they had blue LEDs installed behind them.

  She vanished in a burst of light, reappearing inside the SUV. She grabbed the leader’s hair and dragged him, one-handed, through the broken window then started the black vehicle and floored it. Mud splashed behind her as she tore through the remaining vehicles. Two gangsters tried to stop her but she pulled the e-brake, sending the SUV into a sideswipe, slamming them with five-thousand pounds of steel and glass; they weren’t getting up.

  “I’ve got a shot on her,” Felix said over the radio. Bill shook his head, trying to wrap his mind around what he’d just seen. She had saved his life, and it all happened so fast he couldn’t even be sure what he saw.

  “Negative. We don’t know who she is. I thought you said they got her?” Bill asked.

  “They did, but like you said, she’s a super. Who knows what her powers are?” Whiskey replied.

  She had saved him though… and looked damn good doing it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Wake up,” I said to the tied-up man. I punctuated with a bucket of ice and water dumped over his head. He screamed awake, struggling against his bonds. It was no use; I knew what I was doing. His wrists and ankles were tied to the metal chair, which in turn was bolted to the floor. Even if he could dislocate his thumbs he’d never get out of those ropes. Of course, no matter what he did, he was not getting out.

  He stopped screaming for a moment and looked around, trying to free his hands. I’d left his clothes on, but took all his stuff: wallet, phone, knives, and the RFID tracker he hid in his boot. Sophisticated tech for a gangster.

  “What do you want?” he asked finally as his eyes cleared. I didn’t say anything. I crouched on the floor, my scarf still covering my face, and pulled out my knives, one by one, setting them on the ground in front of me. Then my guns, same thing. “Is that s-supposed to intimidate me?”

  He can’t see my grin. His bluff would have been more successful without the stutter. “Tell me Peter,” I said a I laid the last of my ordinance on the ground, “How many women have you killed in your life?”

  I was riding high on my Wraith powers and I feel the lies in his words.

  “None,” he spit out.

  “Liar,” I said. Without another word, I pick up the first knife and jam it hard into his thigh, carefully avoiding the artery that would cause him to bleed out. He screamed. I know how painful it is.

  “You crazy bitch!” he yelled.

  “Wrong answer.” My voice had the eerie Wraith effect, giving it a reverberation that no human could hope to create. I pulled the knife out and stabbed his other thigh.

  “Five. Only five,” he screamed out. I felt something when people lied to me, a certain surety that they were lying Another mystery of my Wraith powers I needed to unwind.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Peter. Peter Mando,” he said.

  Truth. I nodded. Standing up I walked a full circle around him, leaving the Ka-Bar protruding from his leg while he whimpered.

  “Who are you in ISO-1?”

  “No one.”

  Lie. I rushed past him, grabbed the next knife off the floor and raised it above my head, pausing for a second to give him the chance to change his mind.

  “Second! I’m the Second here in New Orleans. I run the day to day crap,” he said in a hurry, tripping over his words as he spoke.

  I nodded and lowered the knife. “I’m going to ask you questions and you are going to answer them. Remember,” I said leaning in so close the blue light of my eyes reflected off of his, “I’ll know if you’re lying.”

  “Why should I tell you anything,” he sobbed. “You’re just going to kill me anyway.”

  I knelt down in front of him, making sure he could see my eyes as I pulled my mask down. “You’re right, Peter, I am going to kill you. You’ve murdered, tortured, maimed, and destroyed lives for your own petty selfish ambitions. Justice is a scale, and the only currency you have to pay with… is your life. The question you need to ask yourself is, do you want to do one good thing before you die and help me protect other innocents from the merciless hands of your employers? Or do you want your last moments to be filled with agony? It is entirely up to you.”

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out the transponder he had hidden in his boot. His eyes went wide and his whole body started to shake.

  “Please,” he begged.

  “I’m sure that’s what all your victims said. Shall we begin?”

  ***

  Two hours later I pulled out of the abandoned parking lot in the Dodge Hellcat, leaving the building burning behind me. I had left all the clothes I was wearing—plus the guns, knives, everything that had come into contact with my body—behind, covered in gasoline and lit by the Thermite grenade. I wore the identical spare clothes I carried in my trunk. I liked to think of it as my costume.

  I couldn’t let myself become attached to things if I was going to succeed in my mission. I also didn’t want anyone using forensics to track something back to me. Even if they did manage to find me, or identify me, they could never prove I had anything to do with the deaths in Detroit or here. There simply wasn’t any physical evidence linking me to any crimes, and that was the way it was going to stay.

  The streets of New Orleans were heating up as the day went on and the storm passed. I zoned out, driving on autopilot while traffic filled the streets. I absently turned on the radio and listened to music, drumming my hands on the steering wheel. Despite my car’s gorgeous exterior it virtually disappeared in the crowd of modern sports cars and SUVs on the road. Not that I minded at all. The slow drive west on Interstate 10 heading for Kenner provided me with a much-needed opportunity to think, plan, and let my mind wander.

  If I believed Peter, and I did, then his older brother, Vaas, was the head of ISO-1 in New Orleans. He was also the man who gave the orders to murder my family. No matter what happened from this point for
ward, two people had to die; My ex-husband Henry, and Vaas Mando.

  I hadn’t thought much about my ex-husband since I returned—I’d been trying to avoid thinking about him, honestly. I can’t believe I ever loved such a dirtbag, let alone slept with him. I shuddered just thinking about it.

  I pushed that aside for the moment. Henry was on the list but he was far down it, and he could wait. The only person he was likely to hurt in the meantime was me. ISO, on the other hand, was going to hurt a lot more people and every hour I delayed stopping them. I had more death and destruction on my mind.

  It’s a good thing you feel like a million bucks.

  My post-killing high hadn’t worn off yet; I was only heading back to my little apartment above the Peruvian restaurant for food, a shower, and some fresh weapons. After that I would be back on the streets. Part of my strategy was to hit them hard and fast. Keep them off balance and not give them time to formulate a plan.

  My place was in Kenner, an odd little neighborhood that really flourished in the last few years. The trademark Cajun flavor of the city gave way to Hispanic culture here. Not just from Mexico, but from a dozen countries south of the border. My place was nestled in between a twenty-four-hour pharmacy and a bait shop.

  I parked the expensive car in the narrow alley in the back. The apartment had alley access and I didn’t ever have to go through the restaurant if I didn’t want too. The food always smelled amazing though, and I was hungry. Tonight, I decided a quick bite was in order before the rest of the evening’s work.

  The metal back door was cracked open, leaking the aroma of fried foods that aroused my senses and sent my stomach into revolt. I love fried chicken as much as the next southerner, but there was certainly something special about A Taste of Peru.