Primary Target: Six Assassins: Book 1

by Heskett, Jim

  Xavier didn’t like it. None of this made any sense.

  He checked the watch sitting on the desk. He’d promised himself he would wait no longer than four minutes. He had more than ninety seconds left in his self-imposed deadline.

  "Screw it," he said, and sat back from the sniper rifle. He arched his back to stretch and then stood. It would take him fifteen seconds to pack up his gear, and then he would be on his way.

  But, as soon as he’d picked up his sniper rifle, the door opened behind him.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  EMBER

  Ember opened the door to room 405. Panting, lightheaded, her legs burning from a full-out sprint to reach this room as fast as possible. Xavier was on the other side of the room, standing, his back to her. Holding his sniper rifle in one hand. His head turned to the side when the door shut behind her.

  In two quick leaps, Ember crossed the room. She whipped her knife out. With one hand, she grabbed Xavier by the collar of his shirt and jerked back, making his head tilt and exposing his neck.

  She dragged the other hand across his throat, applying just enough pressure to pierce through the layers of skin and sever the carotid artery. Blood gushed out over her hand, a quick spurt followed by a strong, coursing flow.

  Then she let him go and jumped back and away. He could still come for her. She held the knife, ready to defend herself.

  He spun, eyes wide and full of panic. One hand to his throat. Blood dribbling from between his fingers. Choking. He staggered back, bumping into the window. One hand smacked the glass, leaving a bloody handprint floating against the backdrop of a blue sky.

  “You look surprised,” Ember said as she took a couple more steps back. She still held the knife in one hand, her other balled into a fist.

  He tried to speak but could only gurgle.

  “I found the bug in my car, Xavier. You assumed I would find the one in my apartment, and I did. But, of course I knew that, and I had to assume you’d planted one somewhere else. Not too hard to switch up the plan once that happened. For days, I’ve been feeding you info from my car calls, and you ate it all up. Gabe didn’t double back around to find you. It was me. Also, I paid a dozen people in the office buildings along this street to be on the lookout for someone fitting your description. You want to know how much money it took me to find you?”

  He opened his mouth to speak as he tried to take a step forward. He gurgled a few times with false starts before he could actually get the words out. “You… damn you.”

  “Ten dollars. I mean, I spent over a hundred in total, but the person who gave you up did it for ten dollars. It’s a woman who works at an architectural firm down the hall. She saw you going into the bathroom twenty minutes ago.”

  He staggered and dropped his rifle. Hands feebly pressing against his throat to stem the tide of red flowing down his neck.

  “I know you think you’re smart. I know you hate to lose. This is what losing looks like.”

  He sank to his knees, and the hand covering the gash on his neck fell away. The blood flowed freely.

  “I hadn’t planned on killing you. I planned on outlasting you, but I figured out pretty quickly how dangerous you are.”

  He tried to speak again, but blood had coated his lips, and he couldn't get any words out.

  “I’d like to say you were a worthy opponent, Xavier. And I hope you understand that this isn’t personal. It had to be done. I don’t enjoy killing people. Not like some of us in the Club. But I enjoy people killing me even less.

  “Before you go, Xavier, know that I respect you, and I respect your time in the Club. But you killed my neighbor. An innocent lady. It was a shitty and dishonorable thing to do. You didn’t have to do that.”

  His mouth opened, and blood spilled out from the corners. A moment later, his eyes went glassy, and he collapsed to the floor.

  Ember wiped her knife on his shirt, pocketed it, then walked out the door.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  EMBER

  Day Seven

  Ember sat in the empty hallway outside DAC President David Wellner's office. She repeatedly wiped the back of her hand across her eyes to hide the tears. She didn't even know why she was crying, and she didn't want anyone to see it if it could be avoided. Her knee bumped up and down, a repetitive tapping of the heel of her tennis shoe against the hardwood floor. Days of anxiety and adrenaline and lack of sleep made her feel like she was floating.

  She checked her watch. Three thousand steps already for the day. A good start, considering the early hour.

  The door opened, and a pretty young white girl Ember had never seen leaned out. She had the pigtails of a prepubescent girl but the voluminous cleavage of a car wash bikini hustler. "Mr. Wellner can see you now."

  His new secretary? She was considerably more attractive than the last one.

  Ember cleared her throat and gave her eyes one last dabbing before she stood and smoothed her shirt. A big breath to blow out the last of the jitters.

  For some reason, she thought about her rear window, blown out by those three Five Points assholes and their baseball bats. She’d have to make an appointment to get that fixed.

  And she thought about Charles. Poor Charlie, who gave his life to help protect her in the parking garage.

  Ember strutted inside to the anteroom. The young girl returned to her desk and tapped on a mechanical keyboard. Her nails clicked, and the keys also clicked, merging into one annoying clickety sound.

  The new Club Historian Kunjal sat on a couch on the other end, scribbling away in a spiral notebook. The couch was so large and his frame so small, he looked like a little kid sitting in it.

  Ember had noticed this about herself before. When in high-stress situations, one of her primary coping mechanisms was to pass judgment on everyone around her. When the attention was pointed elsewhere, it made her feel better. Briefly. She knew it was a habit she needed to break, but she had no idea how to do that — her training had taught her how to kill someone with a thousand different implements, but it hadn’t prepared her for the reality of social anxiety.

  Kunjal gave her a timid nod before returning to his work.

  “Right through there,” the secretary said, pointing her to the door.

  Ember felt like snapping at the jailbait, to say she had been here many times and knew which freaking door led to Wellner, but she held her tongue. Instead, she smiled her acknowledgment and opened the door. If she couldn’t keep the venom out of her mind, she could at least keep her mouth shut. Progress.

  “I like your shoes,” she said to the younger woman, and closed her lips.

  Wellner sat behind his desk, fiddling with a Rubik’s cube. He had the white and yellow sides done, but the other colors were a mess.

  “Busy morning?” she asked.

  Wellner set the cube on the desk and pointed to the chair opposite. “It’s not even eight. I like to come in early and spent an hour drinking coffee and thinking before things get going.”

  She sat and crossed her legs, then blew out a breath so large it made her lightheaded. “I see.”

  “How are you?”

  "I'm on the verge of a panic attack, which is odd since I've been mostly fine all week."

  “It makes sense. You haven’t had a minute to slow down and think all week long. Now, you can, and the gravity of your situation is settling in.”

  She clicked her tongue against her teeth a couple of times. That explanation made a lot of sense, but it still pissed her off for some reason. "Your new secretary is hot. What high school did you pluck her from?"

  Wellner gave her an annoyed smile. “She’s twenty-three, thank you very much. And she was the best candidate because she was willing to give us the pictures and addresses of her parents and both of her brothers. You know how careful we have to be.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  He lifted a mug of coffee and had a slurp, then folded his hands over his desk. “So, I see you’re still with us.”

/>   “Yep. One down.”

  “Yes,” Wellner said. “A difficult situation, really.” Something in his eyes told Ember that he was trying to feign emotion, but it wasn’t working. “And now you have a day to rest before it begins all over again with the next Branch assassin.”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Ember said. “I wanted to ask you if you would consider calling it off. No one else needs to die. If I win — if I make it through the next five weeks — that’s at least six assassins, dead. Just because I killed one. Out of self-defense.”

  “I’m sorry, Ember, but I’m afraid I can’t do that. The Board ruled. It’s not my decision alone.”

  Bullshit. “But a black spot? That was your call, Wellner — only yours. I was there, and no one else told you to do that. Is it really necessary for me to face five more weeks of trial by combat?”

  “Maybe not, if you hadn’t already been guilty of serious infractions in the past. I know this is extreme. But this is how it goes. I have to think about the future of the Club. I have to think about how it looks to all the Branch members.”

  “I saved your life once.”

  “And I appreciate that. Believe me, it factored into my decision, although you know I couldn't bring it up in the Board meeting.”

  “And that’s it?”

  He nodded. “And that’s it.”

  “If this is the way it has to be, then I guess I’ll have to be ready. Who’s up next? Can you drop me a hint, at least?”

  “I can’t give you any inside information, but I can tell you that you need to prepare yourself. Xavier Montrose wasn’t the cream of the crop. That’s no big secret.”

  “He was a good assassin. A bastard, but a good assassin.”

  Wellner paused before speaking. “It’s going to get a lot tougher for you from here on out. Like I said, no specifics, but some of the Branches have chosen their assassins to take you on, and I’ve been informed. It’s a rough road ahead for the next five weeks. You need to focus if you want to make it out of the other side of this.”

  She considered this for a few seconds. “Do you want me to make it out the other side?”

  "As President, I'm not allowed to have a personal opinion. But, I'll just say this: we discussed your case at length before you walked into that disciplinary meeting. Some of the Board wanted to give you a sentence of immediate execution."

  “I understand, and I appreciate that. Xavier tried to hit me at my condo with a sniper rifle. I have neighbors. Civilians.”

  Wellner nodded. “I’ll make sure the other Branches know that’s not okay.”

  “There’s just one other thing I want to talk to you about. A trio of Five Points guys came after me. They’re mad about what happened to Niles Thisdell in Rocky Mountain a week ago.”

  “A lot of people are mad about that.”

  “What happens if I’m killed by a couple of Branch members who aren’t supposed to kill me during your black spot trial by combat? How would that look?”

  “It would look bad,” he said.

  “Then tell them to back off. If they don’t like how the Board ruled, then that’s your problem to hold them back.”

  Wellner tented his fingers, his eyes darting over her face, and he eventually nodded. “I’ll make some phone calls.”

  “They killed Charlie.”

  Wellner frowned and gave a nod. “I know. Here’s something you didn’t know about the situation, though: Charlie retired a year ago. He never told anyone.”

  “He what?”

  “It’s true. He didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, and there’s no bylaw stating ex-Branch members lose Post Office access, so… that’s what he wanted. But, the problem is, he wasn’t technically a civilian, and he wasn’t an active member, so there’s no rule outlawing what the assassins from Five Points did to him in the parking garage.”

  She gritted her teeth. “I can’t believe this place sometimes.”

  “I know. But these are the rules that have kept us going for half a century. We’re not always perfect at enforcing them at times, true. But we do the best we can.”

  Ember stood. “If that’s it, then. I’m off.”

  As she walked toward the door, he lifted a hand. “Good luck.”

  “Is that coming from you, or from the President’s Office?”

  He gave a little shrug but did not answer the question.

  “Maybe I’ll see you again, Mr. President. Maybe not.”

  As she left, she wondered if she would see the inside of this office ever again. Maybe so, maybe not. She might die tomorrow. Also, contemplating her existence wasn’t a good way to spend her time, because her life was at risk, every minute of every day, for the next five weeks.

  She had work to do.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  ISABEL

  FBI Agent Isabel Yang nodded at her boss, Marcus Lonsdale, across the water. He liked to meet near the Lincoln memorial. He’d always said the reflecting pool out front gave him a sense of calm. Isabel also suspected he liked to meet here because it made any conversation much harder for them to snoop. There were eyes and ears everywhere among the FBI. Or worse, one of the other agencies.

  She liked the reflecting pool too, however. She liked it when birds would touch down, sending ripples across the water. Peace like this didn’t come often to her throughout the day. And sometimes, when the old skiing injury acted up and her knee ached, being near water helped. She had no scientific data to back that up, but it seemed real to her.

  She rounded the edge of the water on the east end, closer to the memorial. Marcus continued his slow march around the pool and met her there.

  “Welcome back,” he said as he shoved his hands in his pockets. A blistery cold morning in the nation’s capital. He had trimmed his beard since she’d last seen him, and for some reason, it made his eyes sparkle. He was a handsome man, no doubt about it. That probably had a lot to do with how he had worked his way up through the FBI in such a short time.

  “How was Denver?”

  “Enlightening.”

  Marcus’ head tilted to the side. “Do tell. I know you met with Agent Campbell.”

  “First of all, she insists on being called Ember Clarke.”

  “This isn’t kindergarten, Agent Yang. Calling her what she insists on being called is not high on my priority list.”

  “I understand. Still… she’s taken it too far.”

  “Even in private?”

  Isabel nodded.

  “Hmm. I’ve seen agents treat undercover ops like method actors before, but she’s been under for three years. It’s rare to go undercover for so long. This wasn’t my operation. I inherited it from my predecessor, just as you’re now Agent Campbell’s handler.”

  “She doesn’t seem interested in letting me do much handling.”

  Marcus turned toward the water as the morning sun glinted, sending beams of yellow across the rippling blue. He tapped his teeth together a couple of times and sighed through his nose.

  “Can I ask you something, sir?”

  He nodded. “Of course, Agent Yang.”

  “Why has her undercover operation been so secretive, even inside the FBI?”

  “There’s not an easy answer to that question. Like I said, I inherited this operation. I was given a set of parameters, just as you have. This is what we’re called to do, whether we agree with it or not.”

  “I see,” Isabel said, but she didn’t. Not really.

  “What’s your recommendation, Agent Yang?”

  “Honestly, sir? I think the woman masquerading as Ember Clarke is too far gone. I think she’s a threat. If not now, then she will be soon.”

  He nodded, his lips swishing back and forth. “Understood. Well, we might have to do something about that.”

  Notes for “A History of the Denver Assassins Club”

  Part 1 of 6

  By Kunjal Anand

  The first record of the founder of the Denver Assassins Clu
b dates back to the 1950s. It begins with a set of recovered journals from a man known only as “Unger.” Some people in the Club believe a legend that says his name was actually Bryan Birkman, but there is no verifiable proof of that. If true, it’s likely that was one of many aliases the man used in his time as a contract killer.

  Around the Club, most accept the common name of their founder is Unger.

  His notes from that era detail an account of a young man who became a notable assassin in the Boston area in the early 1950s. He gained notoriety by performing contracts designed to make the deaths look like an accident. He had more than twenty kills to his name before the police even caught a whiff of him.

  But, he never spent a night in jail. There was no record of his fingerprints in any criminal database. In his journal, he wrote that he had to move away from Boston due to a conflict with another local assassin. They had come to blows several times over disputes over contracts. He wanted to move somewhere where he would not accidentally encroach on the territory of other established assassins.

  So, Unger had moved to Denver. And to his surprise, he had learned that he was not the only local assassin. In his notes, he detailed discovering that the Front Range of Colorado area actually had an unusually high concentration of assassins living there. This had something to do with legendary assassin Mae Green, who lived in Denver in the 1930s, who created a sort of "assassin school" in the city, which led to a small number settling there. Unger hadn't known any of this when he'd chosen it.

  And also, Unger decided that many of these assassins behaved in a manner he considered unprofessional. They would compete for contracts and often kill each other to gain status and force out other assassins.

  Alliances developed, but they were often short-lived, as infighting and betrayal would lead to the most trusting parties ending up dead. Whenever they banded together in fours and fives, inevitably, a squabble would break out, leading to their deaths or arrests.