by Terry Persun
Ten knew the roads well enough to get him to where he wanted to be in record time. There were more people at the marina that early in the morning than he would have thought, but somehow it made sense. Anyone who wanted to spend the weekend on his boat would want to start early. He wondered how many slept on their boats overnight. Boats. He had to laugh at himself for thinking of them as boats. It was a yacht club after all, not a boat club.
He pulled in and looked over at Renda. “I’m sorry, but you’ve got to go with me. Don’t worry.”
She pointed toward his shaking hand. “You’re worried.”
“I’m scared. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know if I can. And I don’t know what’s going to happen afterward. This could easily be my last day alive.”
She stared at him. A tear accumulated at the corner of her eye. “Don’t say that.” She turned away. “I don’t want to see that.”
Ten reached over and grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “You’ll be okay. I promise you with everything I have.” He took a deep breath and opened his door.
Renda crawled over the center console and out his door and stood next to him. She looked over his shoulder and then around the area.
“They’re not here yet. Maybe we have time,” Ten said.
“Time for what?”
“To take care of this before any of them arrive. Before this gets really complicated.” Ten walked at a good pace toward the docks, holding to Renda’s wrist.
She jerked her hand away and rubbed her wrist. “You don’t have to hold me so tight. I’ll go with you.”
It was too late now to make any other plans, to fall back, to hide, to run, so Ten let her walk with him. This was it for him anyway. She could stay or go. An attendant stood at a small covered shack, and was kind enough to instruct Ten toward Griffin Bower’s yacht. Once on the boardwalk, Ten chose not to turn around to see who was behind him, or if anyone were behind him, yet he noticed that Renda continually glanced around even though she stuck close beside him.
With each step toward Bower’s boat, Ten let in a little more of the memories from the past two days. First he relived Groucho’s death and the blazing fire, then Russell’s car exploding, then Amy lying on the bed with the pillow over her head. There was the torture of having to kill the man at the hotel, too. His first kill. And the fear he felt while negotiating with Torry. With each memory rode heartache, pain, and anger that grew into hatred fueled by adrenaline. As he got closer to Bower’s yacht his hands quaked at his sides. Ten spied Bower’s yacht ahead of them and leaned into his walk as though about to run, but he kept his pace, purposeful, powerful, targeted.
When they arrived, Ten helped Renda onto the boat first. Then he stepped up. He heard voices on the other side of cockpit and walked around toward the more open, front of the boat. Griffin stood talking with another man, reprimanding him for something, and saw Ten as he came around. He stopped talking and his eyes went wide. The other man swung around, a young man in his mid-twenties. He looked upset.
“You can go,” Ten said. “We have business.”
“No, stick around, Carl,” Griffin said.
But the kid looked as though he knew what Ten was up to, and was glad to be excused by anyone. He rushed around Ten and Renda and off the boat.
Griffin still hadn’t said anything.
Ten took a few more steps toward him, then swung at him, hit his jaw and Griffin fell to the floor.
“What the hell?” His face grew angry, his eyes narrowed. “You’re supposed to be dead.”
“Amy’s dead,” Ten said. He took another step toward Griffin. His heart raced, his lip quivered. His hatred built.
“You won’t get away with this. This project’s too important. You could ruin everything.”
“Oh, and I plan to,” Ten said.
Griffin got up slowly. In a cocky voice he said, “You won’t get the chance, buddy.” He pointed at Renda. “And your little chicky here won’t either. You’re dead, you know that,” he said to her. He looked Ten in the eyes. “Anyone who gets near you is as good as dead.”
Ten hit him again, this time in the stomach.
Griffin crumbled to the ground. He laughed. “You won’t get out of here alive.”
Ten brought his backpack around, removed the gun and pointed it at Griffin. His hands shaking uncontrollably. He feared he wouldn’t even hit Griffin if he pulled the trigger.
Ten heard Renda screech and saw her stepped back, placing her hands over her face, but not her eyes. He turned slightly toward her. “Don’t watch this.”
“Don’t do it,” she said. “Please.”
Griffin, his hands close to his face, pursed his lips. “I didn’t kill anyone. You know that, don’t you. I’m an operative, part of a greater project, just like you.” Griffin changed his position on the matter once the gun was on him. “Seriously. I can probably get you off the hook. Decisions can change. I know—”
“The other decision makers.” Ten didn’t believe him. “I know who they are, too.”
“You can’t.”
“Enough talk.” Ten extended his arm and put three out of the four bullets into Griffin’s chest. It didn’t make him feel any better. His arm dropped to his side. It didn’t stop him from thinking of Amy. It didn’t wipe any of the images from his mind. It only added another one: Griffin Bower slumped to the floor of his yacht, bleeding from the chest. Dead. Griffin’s death didn’t get Ten off the hook from anything and he knew it.
But it was done.
He turned around and saw that Renda was curled on the floor of the yacht.
“You killed him,” was all she said.
He walked past Renda and jumped onto the boardwalk. There could have been police or security running his way, but there weren’t. No one stood on the walkway. But, at the end of it stood Torry. As Ten approached, Torry pulled out a pistol and pointed it at him. Ten didn’t stop walking. “She’s alive,” Ten said. “You can go get her.”
Torry held the gun all the while Ten approached. He lowered it when Ten got within five feet of him. “You kept her safe?”
“The best I knew how,” Ten answered. He wanted to hate Torry for what he’d done, but knew how it all worked. The low man on the totem pole gets the dirty work, the blame, the punishment, and the people at the top get off scot-free. Well, not this time. Not this time.
Torry shrugged. “I kept you safe. For now. I’d be careful, if I were you.”
“I will.” Ten turned and saw that Renda had gotten over her initial shock and was jogging down the boardwalk in his direction. “She’s a good kid.”
Torry let Ten walk past and asked “What was that?” He obviously knew little about what was going on. For as much as he might think he’s a big shot, he’s just another chump, another pawn.
“That’s one,” Ten said over his shoulder.
Torry bent down to raise Renda into his arms.
On the way toward the stolen car, Ten passed two men who looked as though they’d been knocked out. Another two men, obviously with Torry for the way they dressed, stood with their arms crossed watching Ten meander toward his ride.
Next thing he needed was a phone. There were scientists to save.
The END
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Contact me at: www.TerryPersun.com
Other sci-fi thrillers from Terry Persun
Revision 7: DNA (book 1 of the Neil and Mavra sci-fi adventure series) – “Time travel and conspiracies combine with sensational robotics in this science fiction thriller. Furiously fun. Terry Persun will keep you guessing and wanting more.” – Kay Kenyon, award-winning sci-fi author of THE ENTIRE AND THE ROSE
Backyard Aliens (book 2 of the Neil and Mavra sci-fi adventure series) – The military wants to explore them, the government wants to dissect them, a
nd Neil and Mavra want to save them. And we still don’t know if they are true aliens or if they originated on Earth.
Hear No Evil – For your space opera interests. Brandon and Palmer are called in to mitigate a fued between the Intergalactic Peace Force and colonized planet C-47 when they find there is more at stake than politics. Action packed, fast paced, and fun.
The NSA Files – Dan Johnston retired as a shaman detective a few years ago, but something unusual has come up that only he can handle, even if he doesn’t think so. In this political thriller, the reader is woven through the physical world and the world of the shaman to track down and eliminate those who are tampering with political leaders through their totem animals.
Mistake in Identity – Simon Harry is irreverent, and unliked by other officers. That doesn’t stop him from getting the job done, though. While struggling with a tenuous relationship with a stripper, Simon also has to hunt down a murderer. When he falters into a prostitution ring, all hell breaks loose.
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical or review articles. First Edition Copyright © 2014 by Terry L. Persun; Cover design by Terry Persun. Published Independently by Terry Persun Printed in the United States of America