The Birth of Death
The Assassin’s Apprentice
Orlando A. Sanchez
ONE
Blessed be to Santa Muerte, Our Lady of Death,
Who is the great protector of the living,
And guardian of the dead.
My lovely Skeletal Girl, please watch over me and my family
Keeping us safe from illness and injury,
And from the curses and maledictions of others.
Please bless us with your wisdom and understanding,
And bring us friendship, good fortune, and love.
I ask this of you now and always, my most beautiful Santa Muerte,
For you are always present and ever-powerful
And I have learned to love and trust you.
A Prayer to Death
Viktor Marks deserved to die.
Today I was judge, jury, and executioner.
The Cartel had ordered his retirement and paid me well to send a message. Betray us, and we will erase you. Viktor had chosen to defy The Cartel and I had gotten the call, it was a poor career move. The Cartel was connected with a global network. Going against them meant you had grown tired of breathing.
I only knew of one operator who managed to be too deadly for The Cartel to tangle with. Her operator name was Scythe. No one had seen or heard from her in over a decade. She had taken out so many Cartel operatives that they cut their losses and declared her sagrada-sacred. It meant no one could move against her. She had proven too deadly, even for them. Then she disappeared.
Viktor Marks was no Scythe. He made the monumental error of diversification. He had started dabbling in drugs and trafficking…both verboten in The Cartel. We were ruthless agents of death, but we didn’t push poison, and we didn’t kidnap innocents to be sold. The Cartel had given Viktor a warning which he disregarded, and I got the call.
Everyone dies.
Lucy, my handler, had given me the address and the account number. Once the fee was deposited the contract was set in motion. Once begun, only death could stop a contract. Either by completion or death of the operator.
I arrived at the address a few hours before dawn. It was an uptown, thirty floor high-rise that was slapped together in about two years with subpar materials. They saved on the construction and then charged the tenants enough to feed a small family for a year anywhere else in the world. Viktor was in the upscale duplex penthouse on the top floor. Plenty of security, all of it worthless.
“Lucy, run the security camera loop,” I said into my SCAN device. “Top floor.”
The Subcutaneous Communicator and Navigation device implanted in my head allowed for seamless communication with my handler along with corneal HUD displays. Every operator in The Cartel used one.
Mine had been supplied by the Nurse, an affiliated medical professional who handled Cartel field emergencies. I didn’t like the idea of The Cartel implanting anything in my head. I worked for them, it didn’t mean I trusted them. The Nurse and I had a long history. I knew she wouldn’t plant some kind of mini-explosive in my skull. At least not without telling me first.
“Loop in place,” Lucy answered. “Make this fast, Huracan.”
“Some of the best things are enjoyed slowly, Lucy,” I said, getting on the elevator. I made sure to keep my head down and pulled my collar up.
“Ugh, spare me the suave-speak,” Lucy replied. “Fulfill and fly.”
“Got it,” I said as the elevator ascended. By the time I arrived at the top floor the cameras were compromised. “Three guards. One proximity, two are down range.”
“Noted,” Lucy said. “Cleaners en route. ETA, Ninety minutes.”
I buried my blade in the neck of the first guard, closest to the elevator, and dropped the other two with my suppressed HK-45 Tactical.
The guards in the hallway never saw what ended their lives that morning. Four a.m.—circadian rhythms are off, reflexes are sluggish, vision is poor, and signals to the brain, slow.
I smelled the fear from down the hall. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and let her come.
She stepped close to me, her body pressed close to mine as she brought her lips to my ear. I almost felt the heat coming off her body, but I knew better.
“Hola, mi amor,” she whispered. Her husky voice hitting all the right notes. “It’s time to kill. Are you ready?”
Of course I was ready. Death was my mother, my friend, my lover, my everything. I worshipped her and in return, she gave me strength and power.
Only Lucy knew I saw Death.
She called it my affliction. An occupational hazard, the last vestiges of my long gone conscience.
Lucy probably thought I was losing my mind. I didn’t argue. It’s hard to lose something you don’t have. What I saw and felt was as real as a blade or a bullet, and just as lethal.
I had stopped trying to describe her long ago. Sometimes she would appear as a young girl, energetic and vibrant, with long black hair and piercing dark eyes that shifted hues. Other times she came as an old woman, using a cane to hobble around as she chastised me. Before every contract she appeared as a mature woman, all curves and sensuality. If I didn’t pay attention I’d get lost in those eyes. I made sure to pay attention. I holstered my weapon.
I wouldn’t use a gun this time…no. This was going to be close, intimate. I was going to gut this pendejo with my blade. He was going to feel pain before he died. I wanted him to feel his life slip away.
He thought he was safe.
Behind his doors, walls, and bars. He thought his men and their guns made him untouchable.
He forgot.
In the end.
Death touches us all.
Today, my blade would penetrate his body like the countless women he violated. Today, Death would cut the life out of him.
I smiled.
Death looked at me, returning my smile with a feral intensity in her eyes. It was always this way before a contract.
She leaned closer, caressing my neck with her lips and tongue. “Kill him, Huracan,” she whispered. “Make him suffer. Send him to me.”
I broke the code on the basic lock, bypassing the security on the door, and entered the duplex. “I’m in, Lucy.”
“Target sleeps on the top floor.” A tapping of keys. “According to the intel, his bedroom is in a safe room. Paranoid much?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I whispered. “Today, nothing can keep him safe from me.”
Of course I would kill him. I was Death’s Hand after all.
TWO
Last room top floor, it never failed. Viktor was hiding in some kind of safe room, providing him a false sense of security. My heightened senses allowed me to hear the whimpering piece of shit as I approached.
Men like him were bold until they faced death…real death.
All the guards had been dispatched. I had made this job messy. The Cartel wanted to send a message and the instructions were clear: erase everyone inside. I sheathed my blade and gave the now empty bedroom another once over.
Viktor Marks died hard. He begged at the end—most of them do. I slit his throat just to stop the blubbering. It was better than he deserved.
I remembered the words: No witnesses. No survivors. You kill everyone inside, Huracan. Mano de Muerte. I moved soundlessly through the duplex. I was about to leave the last room when I heard the noise from the closet.
“Shit,” I said under my breath and froze in my tracks. “Lucy, we may have a loose end.”
“Contract clearly states complete sanitation,” Lucy answered, her voice hard. “Tie up the loose end and exfil.”
“Working on it.”
“The message needs to be clear,” Lucy replied, slowly. “No one breaks the rul
es. No one betrays The Cartel—no one.”
I drew my blade.
I stood to one side of the closet door in case whoever was inside felt I looked better filled with holes. I opened the door and someone scurried further into the rear of the closet.
“Come out,” I said, my voice giving no options. “Show yourself.”
A tear streaked face appeared at the edge of the doorframe. She had to be at least sixteen and no older than eighteen. I shifted my weight and she cowered, sliding back. Despite her initial reaction, I saw no fear in her eyes.
“Non-target, Lucy,” I said. “Repeat, non-target.”
“Did she see your face?”
“Yes.”
“Shit, Huracan,” Lucy snapped. “What did I tell you about the masks?”
“To wear them,” I said. “They get in the way, I can’t breathe, and the smell is insulting.”
“Give me a second,” Lucy said upset. I heard more tapping of keys. “Huracan, The Cartel wants total sanitation. No exceptions. She has to go, either you do it or leave her for the cleaners.”
“Fuck,” I muttered. “The cleaners?”
The cleaners were efficient at removing all traces of an operator from a contract site. They were skilled in dealing with the dead. They tended to be brutal with the living.
“If you do it, it will be quick,” Lucy answered. “They won’t be kind. Do her a favor and take care of it.”
I motioned for the girl to come out.
Emaciated and half-naked. Dressed in clothing ten years too old for her. Her arms were trackless, which meant they hadn’t gotten to her yet. Most likely one of the girls intended to be used and thrown away like trash.
Disposable and expendable. One of the nameless thousands that go missing and turn up as ‘Jane Does’ every day in this city. I wanted to go back and kill that fucker, Viktor, a second time. Something was off about this contract. I was missing something and it niggled on the edge of my mind.
“How did Viktor get the drugs and the girls?” I asked. “Who supplied him?”
“Don’t know and don’t care,” Lucy said quickly. “We aren’t being paid to investigate the suicidal tendencies of the recently deceased Mr. Marks, just fulfill a contract.”
“He was good,”—I glanced around the duplex—“but he wasn’t smart enough for this kind of operation. Someone was funding him.”
“That someone can pay for his funeral costs,” Lucy replied. “Finish the contract and get out. We’re running overtime, stop dragging your feet and complete.”
Everyone dies, Huracan. That was the job. No survivors, no witnesses.
Death materialized next to me—a silent presence embracing me.
“Will you kill her, Huracan?” Death sing-songed in my ear. “Remember your code.”
No children—no innocents.
“No one is innocent,” I whispered. “Darkness lives in all of us.”
“This child is no threat to you. Will you spare her? Or give her to me?”
No one betrays The Cartel.
“Contract is total sanitation. She needs to be eliminated.”
Death nodded and crossed her arms. “Do what you must,” she said, vanishing.
Everyone dies.
I raised my blade and took a step forward.
THREE
She fixed me with her eyes, facing death unflinchingly. In that moment, all the words we ever needed were left unspoken. She had the Death Gaze.
“This one belongs to me,” I heard Death whisper. “Like you, she will be my instrument.”
The Death Gaze was what I called the look. It wasn’t a product of being an assassin. People who had this look knew death, were comfortable with her, and embraced the concept and its inevitability. This girl belonged to her, the same way I belonged to Death. It wasn’t my life to take.
Lucy would not be pleased.
“What’s your name?” I asked my voice sharper than my blade.
No answer.
“Huracan?” Lucy asked. “What are you doing? Why do you need her name?”
The girl eyed my blade, not with fear, no, she knew its purpose.
She knew Death.
Fuck.
“C’mon, no one can find you here,” I said. “We need to go.”
“Do not, I repeat, do not do this,” Lucy warned. “Leave her for the cleaners.”
Still no response. Shock had a way of doing that to people. Freezing them and rendering them mute. She didn’t seem shocked, but I was no medic. I sheathed my blade.
“You stay. You die. Your choice.”
Lucy had already called the cleaners. In less than an hour, they would arrive, making sure nothing directly incriminating The Cartel remained. They would then anonymously leak the carnage online. This ensured the wrong people got the right message. If the cleaners found her here, she’d become another victim.
I made to close the closet door and a foot stopped me.
“Estelle,” she said her voice a rasp. “My name is Estelle.
I could hear the traces of an accent, most of it erased in an effort to blend in, be invisible. It didn’t help.
“You can’t use that name anymore,” I said. “Estelle died today.”
“And Huracan along with her,” Lucy added. “Are you insane? The Cartel will make you the next target.”
“Can’t be helped,” I said. “You know the code.”
“The code?” Lucy almost yelled. “You’re committing suicide. Put two in her and call it a day.”
“No,” I said my voice hard. “Final.”
“Very well,” Lucy said, resignedly. “I will begin burial proceedings. What kind of headstone would you like?”
“Unmarked.”
“Of course,” Lucy answered. “If you plan on surviving the hour I suggest you take your rescue and exfil—now. Does she have another name? Not that it matters, she won’t live long enough to enjoy it.”
I extended a hand to Estelle.
“Do you have something else I can call you?”
She nodded and stood shakily, stepping out of the closet.
“Renata,” she said, quietly. “You can call me Renata.”
Rebirth. I nodded. “Good choice. Let’s go, Ren.”
I grabbed a jacket from one of the piles and handed it to Ren.
“How soon before the cleaners get here?”
Ren looked at me confused. “Which cleaners?”
“Not you,” I said, pointing to my head. “Lucy, I need an ETA.”
Ren gave me another look and took a small step back. “Who’s Lucy?”
I held up a hand. “Lucy,” I said with an edge. “this isn’t the time.”
“Actually this is the perfect time, since you’ve clearly lost your mind,” she snapped. “Do you understand what you are doing? You are an operative, a killer. You take lives, not save them.”
“Not this time,” I said. “Give me the ETA.”
“Twenty minutes until they reach you,” Lucy said with a sigh. “If you don’t want to make introductions, I suggest you leave the premises now.”
“Got it,” I said, heading for the door with Ren in tow. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” Lucy said. “I’m still considering if I should erase you myself, and be done with this.”
“What would you do with your time then? You’d be bored shitless.”
“I’d rather be bored out of my mind than dodging bullets and blades, thank you.”
“Which is why you need me,” I said, opening the front door and taking a quick look. “I add that extra spice, that excitement to your dreary and boring life. Yo soy tu sazon. I’m the seasoning of your life.”
“You’re about to be seasoned with plenty of small-arms fire if you stay there.”
I opened the door to the stairwell and looked down over the edge of the railing. The stairs were a stacked affair with landings every few feet. Jumping over the railing would get you an express trip down the center and to the ground floor
with a lethal stop.
It was quiet. If we moved fast we could avoid the cleaners. If we took too long, they would cover the elevator and stairs, trapping us.
“Exfil now,” I said. “Taking the southernmost stairwell. Can you see us?”
“I can see you,” Lucy said. “Your rescue doesn’t have a SCAN. I can’t see her.”
“We’ll deal with that later.”
“Lovely,” Lucy said. “You have more important things to deal with now. Cleaners headed up the stairs.”
“How many?”
“Three lightly armed. This would be a good time to let go of your rescue,” Lucy answered. “Collateral damage is a perfectly reasonable method of execution.”
“Lucy…” I warned under my breath.
“Just a suggestion. I hope she at least knows how to fight?”
“She will,” I said, glancing at Ren. She stared at me with fearless eyes. “She has what she needs.”
“An uzi?”
“Oh, the wit is almost too much to bear.”
“Closing in on your position. Ready?”
I heard the footsteps coming up the stairs. They were trying to be quiet, but lacked the practice. Cleaners weren’t trained in stealth. They arrived on a site after everything was done. Their creeping was awkward and badly timed, which only made them louder. The Cartel was going to lose some cleaners today.
“I got this.”
FOUR
The three men climbed the stairs in a modified phalanx formation. My night vision excelled in the darkened stairwell ,and I saw them clearly as they tried to sneak up. The skylight above us showed me the night sky. In a half hour the sun would illuminate the stairwell and we would be compromised.
This wasn’t going to take that long. I unsheathed my blade.
“Send them to me,” I heard Death whisper in my ear.
I turned back to Ren. “You stay here,” I said, pointing to the ground with the tip of my blade. “Don’t look over the railing. When you hear the firing, stay back against the wall. Understand?”
Ren nodded. “Stay back. Don’t look over the railing.”
The Birth of Death Page 1