The Devil You Know

by James P. Sumner

  “You are shitting me…”

  Ruby looks at me. “What?”

  “The BMW is back and right behind us.”

  “Fuck! We’re pinned in. Adrian, we have to—”

  “I’m thinking! Gimme a second.”

  I barely have a second. Three at most.

  I need to avoid the onslaught from the bridge. I need to lose the car behind us.

  I could always… no. That’s silly.

  I have to… damn it, I can’t. Not without crashing.

  What if I… no. Wait, can I? I mean, I could. Would it work? It might.

  Running out of time. Come on, Adrian.

  Do it.

  Really?

  Yes, it’ll be fine.

  Satan, you have a really poor track record of being right about this kind of thing.

  Trust me. Josh agrees.

  Does he?

  Excuse me! He absolutely doesn’t! But to be fair, you have no other choice, brother.

  Fuck it.

  The lane ahead is clear. This will almost certainly—possibly—work.

  “Ruby, place both Raptors on my lap, then grab the wheel.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Just do it.”

  She does.

  “Good. Now hold on tight, and whatever you do, keep the wheel straight. You ready?”

  “No!”

  “Perfect!”

  I grab both guns and stand, putting a foot on my seat and pushing so that I’m wedged against the rim of the windshield. Then I stamp on the brakes. I raise both arms and lean against the windshield for balance. I twist my torso, so one gun is aimed at the bridge ahead of us and the other at the BMW behind.

  I have to get this right. The shots have to be on target. Luckily, these are really good guns.

  I fire three rounds out of each Raptor. With my left, I aim to the right side of the guy holding the rocket launcher. With my right, I aim for the driver’s side mirror of the BMW.

  The guy on the bridge instinctively jerks to his left. The driver of the BMW instinctively swerves to his right.

  The rocket launcher fires.

  I toss the guns into Ruby’s lap and drop back into my seat, then take the wheel and hit the gas. A couple of meters behind our car, on the right side, the trajectory of the rocket and the path of the BMW meet.

  The explosion is deafening. The heat from the blast immediately stifles the air around us, sucking the oxygen away. The sound of metal buckling and creaking is audible over the roaring flames.

  Ruby screams.

  “Christ!” I yell.

  I try to steer away from the blast, but I’m not quick enough. The shockwave lifts the rear end of our car clear off the ground, spinning us away from the flames. Cars skid to a frantic stop all around us. One collides with the near side of ours, shunting us back toward the burning wreckage.

  We rock to a standstill in the epicenter of the carnage. Around us, the radius of panic and chaos visibly expands. People flee from vehicles on both sides of the road.

  “Ruby, you good?”

  I look across. She’s sitting upright in her seat, eyes wide and vacant. No blood anywhere I can see. Possibly some mild shock, which is understandable. She doesn’t answer.

  I place a hand on her arm. “Ruby, we need to move.”

  She jolts back into the moment and stares at me. “What? What happened?”

  “Pass me a gun and grab a bag. We need to go. Come on.”

  She doesn’t reply. She just nods. I take one of the Raptors from her, then reach back and grab one of the bags. She gets a hold of the other, and we climb out of the car, quickly navigating the sea of abandoned vehicles.

  We approach the steps of the bridge from the left, putting them at our two o’clock. I can see all six assassins racing to cut us off, moving in a line, down toward the road.

  Running at speed while carrying a bag is awkward and ungraceful. It also makes shooting while running that much harder. But sometimes, the only way to survive is to do unto others before they do unto you.

  I don’t hesitate.

  I take aim and start firing. The first couple of rounds ping loudly off the metal railings of the steps. The next couple find their mark. I see two of the group drop away out of sight.

  There’s more gunfire at my side. I glance over to see Ruby following my lead. She takes out another one.

  The remaining three return fire, forcing Ruby and I to separate. We dive away from each other to find cover. I roll behind a recently abandoned car. The engine’s still running. I peek over the hood and see Ruby crouched behind the open door of another car.

  We catch each other’s eye and exchange a silent nod of understanding. I glance past her, back toward our rental and the burning BMW just beyond it. I think it’s safe to say whoever was chasing us won’t be doing so again.

  The assassins ahead of us step onto the road and immediately fan out, forming a thin line across the outside lane. They have their weapons raised. They won’t care about any collateral damage here. They just want us dead.

  I can see some people still inside their vehicles. I see the fear on their faces. The tears in their eyes. Families huddled together. People talking into cell phones. I can’t let anything happen to these people because of me. Too much damage has already been caused.

  Ruby pops up out of cover, standing with her gun raised. “Hey, assholes!”

  I watch in horror for a fleeting moment as all three snap their aim toward her in unison. Then I realize what she’s doing.

  I quickly stand, take aim, and fire three rounds.

  BANG!

  BANG!

  I pause for a split-second to adjust.

  BANG!

  Three shots in quick succession. Three bodies drop to the ground.

  I grab the bag at my feet and move around, keeping my gun trained on the assassins, just in case. There’s no need, though. I didn’t miss. It’s just habit.

  Ruby does the same and meets me halfway, close to the foot of the bridge steps.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  She nods. “Yeah. You?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Nice shooting.”

  “Thanks. Nice distracting.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Wanna get out of here?”

  “I think we probably should.”

  “Me too.”

  She quickly shoves her Raptor in the weapons bag. I tuck mine away behind me, then we set off running, anywhere that’s far away from here.

  18

  20:05 CEST

  It’s quite peaceful up here. Admittedly, given the last forty-eight hours, I could probably stand in the middle of the Rio Carnival and find it relaxing. But still, there’s something calming about being alone on a rooftop, overlooking Paris beneath the burnt orange sky of dusk.

  He says, looking through the scope of his rifle.

  Shut it, Josh. I didn’t judge you on how you relaxed.

  Hey, what did I do that was so weird?

  You sat there designing computer viruses and playing with spreadsheets, you fucking nerd.

  That was useful!

  I’m not saying it wasn’t. I’m saying it wasn’t your coolest moment there, sweetheart.

  Truth be told, I miss his spreadsheets. He used to tell me all about whatever he was doing, knowing I wouldn’t understand a word of it. But seeing him all excited about what he was working on always made me smile, so I happily let him talk at me when he needed to. It was probably the closest thing to meditating I’ve ever done.

  I look over my scope, staring down at the activity below me. Guests have been arriving for the last half-hour. Ruby should be here soon.

  There are only slivers of daylight left, but I still have good visibility of the Rodin Museum. It’s lit up like a Christmas tree for tonight’s event.

  I’m kneeling behind a low chimney stack on the roof of a four-story apartment building south of the museum. I can easily see over the wall of the southern entrance,
into the courtyard, and through the many large windows of the museum itself, which is around two hundred and twenty-five feet away. Maybe two-thirty. Assuming the guests will congregate on the upper floor, I’m looking down a twenty-degree angle. The air is mild and still, so no wind factor to account for. My rifle is effective up to around fifteen hundred meters… so, almost five thousand feet.

  This shot is so simple, I don’t even need to factor in gravity’s effect on the bullet.

  I’m using a Remington. The XM2010. I’ve used it a few times before, so I know how effective it is. Schultz arranged for our supplies, which might explain why we weren’t supplied with GlobaTech weaponry. I guess he has to show he’s supporting his own side in some way.

  It’s bolt action, and I have a .300 Winchester round chambered. I don’t need more than that. At this distance, a fifty-cal’ round would put a hole the size of a soccer ball in the north wall. I need to kill the target, not evaporate him.

  Below, I see a white limo turn into the courtyard. It circles around and stops by the main entrance, facing east. A concierge opens the door. A moment later, Ruby appears. I can only see her torso over the roof of the limo, but as she ascends the steps and heads inside the museum, I can see the full, gold evening gown.

  Damn.

  It’s split to the thigh on one side. Her hair is styled and flowing freely down to her shoulders. A small handbag on a thin strap hangs from her right shoulder. Her heels are precariously high, but that makes the level of grace she walks with even more impressive—especially given how sore her feet still are.

  Pretty sure she’s putting an extra shake in her hips because she knows I’m watching.

  I smile. “And I thought I was the killer here. Holy shit.”

  The earpiece I have in crackles.

  “You should be focusing on something other than my ass,” says Ruby in a low voice.

  “I can do both.”

  “Uh-huh. Just make sure you don’t fire at the wrong target.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  She pauses at the stop of the stairs, in the threshold of the doorway, and glances over her shoulder, straight up at me. She won’t be able to see me at this time of night, from that distance, but she knows I’m here. I look at her through the scope and see the stone-cold glare of disapproval on her face.

  I smile again. “Love you too.”

  She disappears inside.

  We spent most of the day holed up in a dirty, fifty-dollars-a-night hotel room above a vape shop. We needed somewhere no one would think to look for us. After two run-ins with squads of opportunistic assassins, we knew there would be more looking for us. The entrance to the room was around the back, in a cobbled alley too narrow for a vehicle to fit down. It was awful, but it was perfect.

  We each took a long shower, changed into fresh clothing, then spent the day sleeping and planning tonight’s hit. We built on the initial plan we formed when we got the job—Ruby would attend the charity gala as a guest, work the room until she found our target, then use a special spray to mark him for me. It looks like a normal perfume, but it sprays particles that will only show up under a UV light. She will get close to him and pretend to spray herself but actually paint him. I can then activate the UV filter on my scope and easily identify Mr. Reginald in the crowd. Given his social standing, he will no doubt be working the crowd too. I just need to wait for a clear shot. Shouldn’t be too difficult, given how many large windows there are.

  The only real obstacle was getting an invite to the gala in the first place. A quick call to Washington sorted that. Schultz immediately reached out to the French ambassador. Within five minutes, we had our ticket.

  Of course, Ruby wanted to fully embrace her role in all this. She made a discreet call to a high-end boutique in Paris for the gown. I was tasked with organizing the limo on short notice—which wasn’t easy or cheap.

  Finally, in an effort to limit my exposure before going outside was absolutely necessary, I spent twenty minutes online, finding the perfect place to take the shot.

  And here I am.

  I glance right, past the cathedral, and look at the Eiffel Tower, lit up in the distance like a beacon. This city really is something. Maybe when all this is over, I should bring Ruby back here and actually enjoy the scenery and the culture. I think she would like that.

  I turn my attention back to the museum, staring intently through the scope. I always keep both eyes open when using a long gun like this. It allows me to comfortably see my target while also being aware of my immediate surroundings.

  I glimpse Ruby walking past one of the windows on the first floor, away to the right. She’s holding a champagne flute and smiling. An elderly couple is saying something to her.

  In my periphery, I see a fleet of vehicles pull up outside. I adjust my aim to focus on the entourage. There’s a stretched black limo in the middle, with a sports car in front and two black SUVs behind it. The museum staff outside who are welcoming guests immediately begin to fluster, as if the arrival has knocked them off their game. The man who opened the door for Ruby begins pointing, directing other staff to the vehicles.

  This must be the man of the hour.

  A moment later, I see him. Jean-Paul Reginald emerges from the limo as if he owns the museum and everyone in it. From what Corbeau said about him, he might. He’s flanked by two women who look like models. If I were a betting man, I would say they were probably hired for the evening. They have big smiles on their faces and seem to be relishing the fuss being made over them. But no self-respecting woman would look that happy around a douche-canoe like him.

  His security detail then exit the other vehicles. There are ten in total—four from each of the SUVs and two from the sports car. All are suited and booted. All are wearing earpieces. That’s some heavy-duty protection. Who does this guy think he is?

  “Head’s up. Pelvis has entered the building.”

  I hear Ruby choke on a mouthful of champagne.

  “Thanks for that, asshole.”

  I chuckle. “Sorry.”

  “I think the name you’re looking for is Elvis.”

  “Nah. This guy looks too much like a dick.”

  “Jesus. Where is he?”

  “Just heading inside now. He’s flanked by two whores and ten bodyguards. Be careful trying to get near him. Those guys aren’t messing around.”

  “It’s fine. Corbeau said this guy was related to French royalty, right?”

  “Something like that, yeah.”

  “So, he was obviously going to have protection. Chances are, he has an ego as well.”

  “He does look like he thinks he’s president of the entire world, to be fair.”

  “Exactly. Men with an ego are easy to charm. Trust me, I’ve been doing it for years.”

  “Hey! I’m holding a gun, y’know.”

  Ruby ignores me. I see her walk back across to the left. I adjust my scope to look ahead. There’s a staircase leading to the second floor, which is visible in the central window. Reginald and his band of merry men are heading upstairs. I see Ruby linger casually at the bottom for a moment before following them.

  “Watch yourself,” I whisper.

  Ruby sighs. “You watch me. I have a job to do.”

  She waits for a small group of guests to head up the stairs, then follows them, mingling with them for additional cover.

  I hear her make passing conversation with one of the women near her.

  She’s a natural.

  I shift my scope up, scanning the second floor. It looks like a wide-open floor up there. I see a bar at one end. The counter is white and looks illuminated from beneath. The wall behind it is neon blue, lined with glass shelves filled with spirits. There is some artwork and a few statues opposite, near the far-left wall. I’m guessing the museum has moved a lot of its collections to make room for tonight’s guests.

  Some of Reginald’s security has lingered near the stairs. I see him beside the bar, although he’s par
tially obscured by the wall. I can make out two guards, hovering behind him at a respectable distance, and one of the women, still hanging off his arm and laughing.

  Back at the stairs, I see Ruby appearing.

  “He’s over by the bar,” I say to her. “I don’t have eyes on all his security. There are four next to the stairs. I see two with him. There might be more.”

  She doesn’t immediately respond. I watch as she saunters past the security guards stationed at the top of the stairs. They all have their hands clasped professionally in front of them. I have to assume they’re packing. I see one of them check out Ruby’s ass as she struts past him. For a single second, I rest the crosshairs on the center of his forehead.

  “Eyes front, asshole.”

  I see Ruby glance behind her and smile. “Now, now. Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”

  “No, but shooting people does.”

  I follow her through the scope and see her approach the bar. She signals to the bartender.

  “Pornstar Martini,” I hear her say. “Extra lime, with a white wine sidecar.”

  I frown. “What the hell did you just order?”

  “A girly drink. You wouldn’t like it.” She glances toward the window. “Okay. I see him. There are two guards and another whore on his left. You won’t be able to see them.”

  “Okay. Wait until he’s on the move to mark him. Then get the hell out of there. I’ll do the rest. I’ll wait until he’s surrounded. The shot will cause more chaos that way, making it easier for you to slip away.”

  “That could take all night. We’re already too exposed.” Ruby pauses. “Okay, I have an idea.”

  I go to say something in protest, but I stop myself when I see her already on the move. It’s too late now, and I don’t want to distract her.

  The barman places her drinks in front of her. She slams back whatever was in the shot glass, then picks up the cocktail glass and idles to the end of the bar, close to where Reginald is standing. She places her drink down and turns around at the corner, putting her back to him. The guards are to her side. I can’t see clearly, but she must be directly behind him.

  Ruby reaches inside her bag and takes out a small mirror. She begins putting some lipstick on. After a moment, she takes out some perfume and sprays.