The Birth of Death

by Orlando A. Sanchez

  “Yes,” I said. “Didn’t take much after that.”

  “Indeed. Choose her blade.”

  I looked at the blade wall and realized I was going to pick a weapon that Ren would use to keep herself alive. It needed to be functional and deadly. She’d need to be trained, but I wanted to give her a blade that worked intuitively with flexibility of strikes.

  In the center of the wall hung two medium-sized karambits—curved blades with finger rings. The black blades resembled claws, long enough to strike outside of melee range with a ripping and slashing motion. Short enough to deal with close-quarter attacks.

  Hard to see, nearly impossible to disarm, they easily dealt with multiple ranges without shifting the body, and designed to deliver two strikes with one motion.

  They were perfect for Ren.

  “These are the blades,” I said, taking both off the wall. “She’ll need training, but I have a feeling these will flow with her.”

  Hanso took the blades to a nearby table covered in tools. He struck a small metal stylus with a hammer several times on each blade.

  “And so the Phoenix gets her claws,” Hanso said, taking the blades, sheathing them, and handing them back to me. “This was a good choice.”

  “What do they say?” I asked, unsheathing them and looking at the symbols on the blades.

  “Her true name—Phoenix.”

  TWENTY—FOUR

  I needed an army and only had a platoon. This was going to require some creative killing.

  Granted, Hanso’s people were some of the best, but Sam was coming with overwhelming numbers, despite the lack of operators on the way here. We needed to use the Forge to our advantage.

  “How long before Sam gets here?” I asked as we headed up the ramp. “Wouldn’t it be better to face him downstairs?”

  “There are too many breaches in the wall,” Hanso said, looking at the damage on the ground floor. “Holing up downstairs will accomplish nothing. We need to deal with this.”

  “We?” I asked, surveying the damage. “He’s not after you.”

  “He dared to attack the Forge,” Hanso said, his voice hard. “If I don’t answer this insult, anyone will think it safe to attack us. This is unacceptable.”

  “Samael is being backed by Degas,” I said. “I apologize for bringing this to your door.”

  Hanso waved my words away. “Clearly, my reputation is in need of refreshing,” he said quietly. “Five years ago no one would have dared move against the Forge. I will have to remind them why this was a mistake. Degas will lose many operators in the next few days for sanctioning this.”

  “I need to give Ren her blades,” I said. “Is there a place we can position her? Out of the direct conflict?”

  Hanso looked away from the damage and gave me the ‘you must be joking’ look every instructor possesses.

  “The safest place for your padawan is by your side,” Hanso answered. “My people will be too busy dealing with Samael’s dogs and Ren is your responsibility.”

  I attached the earpiece and turned on the SCAN phone.

  “And Samael?” I asked. “I defer first choice to you.”

  “No,” Hanso said shaking his head. “Samael is yours. You will make reparations to the Forge by sending a message to Degas. We will, however, deal with the tank crew.”

  I understood. I would have to deal with Samael, who was on his way. In order to set things right with the Forge, I’d have to send Degas a message. It was easier said than done, but I didn’t have a choice.

  “Let’s take care of Sam, then I’ll have a conversation with Degas.”

  Hanso nodded. “Engage Sam and his dogs on this level,” he said. “If you find your position being overrun, retreat and regroup, but stay on this level.”

  “The lower levels—?”

  “Will be layered with traps and nastiness. Don’t go down there. This level is large enough to regroup.”

  “Regroup?” I asked. “It’s just me and Ren.”

  “Then it should be easy,” Hanso paused before heading to the stairs. “Give her the weapons, call your handler, and get in position. He’s on his way.”

  “Lucy,” I said, pressing the only button on the device. “Can you hear me?”

  “I have your signal,” Lucy answered. “Seriously, I think we’d get a better connection from two cans and a string.”

  “Better than nothing,” I said. “Can you set up a small network between the four of us? Hanso tells me Sam is on his way.”

  “One moment,” Lucy replied in the midst of considerable background noise. “There. This network is flimsy, but it should work temporarily. We may lose you Huracan, since your device is the weak link in the chain.”

  “Wonderful, spotty service is just what I need when I’m getting shot at.”

  “I can, however, connect you to the old frequency for a short time—two minutes and thirty seconds at best, before they burn the transmission.” Lucy answered. “Anyone you’d like to speak to?”

  “Yes,” I said, giving her a list. “Let’s hold onto that for now. Can you tell me where Sam is and what I’m looking at?”

  “He’s coming down Centre Street and, even with all of Hanso’s people, we don’t have enough,” Wood said in my ear. “I hope we have a hidden army somewhere. Once I start dropping them, it’s going to get hot.”

  “Good to hear your voice, Wood,” I answered. “Where on Centre are they?”

  “Just passed Reade Street, less than a block away,” Wood replied. “I see lots of heavy vehicles, but no tanks. How does Samael have so many people?”

  “He doesn’t,” I said, motioning for Ren, who had just reached the top of the stairs, to join me. “Cartel, or better said, Degas, is giving him the manpower.”

  “Either you really pissed off Degas,” Wood answered. “Or this puzzle is incomplete.”

  “I think I have the piece Degas wants,” I glanced at Ren. “I just don’t know why.”

  “Brace yourself then,” Wood said. “Sam is on his way to educate us.”

  An explosion rocked the entrance.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  “These are for you,” I said, handing Ren the blades. “A few things.”

  “I don’t know—” she started, looking down at the karambits.

  “I know you don’t know how to use them—yet,” I said. “Put them away for now. Stay close, stick to cover, use the gun, and don’t go downstairs, no matter what.”

  “He’s coming,” Ren said.

  “Death”—I glanced around quickly—“taxes, and Cartel operators,” I said, checking my gun and blade. “Are inevitable and inescapable. Don’t stray too far when the shooting starts.”

  I handed her extra magazines for the Beretta. She placed them in the side pockets of her pants.

  “Will this be enough?” Ren said, holding up the small gun. “This seems kind of small compared to a tank.”

  “You won’t be facing a tank,” I said. “Those are explosive rounds. Trust me, it will be enough. Even the smallest thing can possess world-ending power.”

  “Really?” she said looking at me skeptically. “World-ending? Isn’t that a little extreme?”

  “Atoms happen to be very small, but if you split one? Game over.”

  “That’s very zen of you, Huracan,” Wood said in my earpiece. “I’ll stick with big, Beautiful Bertha over your tiny atoms.”

  “I’d prefer a nuke over this gun anytime,” Ren added. “Or at least an RPG.”

  “Neither of which you know how to use,” I said. “And probably end up blowing all of us up.”

  “It’s simple, Ren,” Wood said. “If it moves and it’s not one of Hanso’s people—shoot it.”

  “It’s never that simple,” I said, shaking my head.

  “I disagree,” Wood answered. “Shoot first and sort them later.”

  “I’ll deal with Sam,” I said. “Hanso will run interference and deal with the pack. Wood you make sure we don’t get out-flanked and Lucy yo
u handle the comms.”

  “I’d prefer you stay radio silent unless needed,”Lucy said. “I’ll be dealing with a mobile platform.”

  “Mobile platform?” I asked. “What do you mean—?”

  “We have incoming,” Wood said cutting me off. “Heavy vehicles on Chambers Street and cargo vans on Elk Street. Both groups converging on us. I’m going to guess Sam is in the half-track surrounded by heavy artillery.”

  “Half-track?” I asked. “Does The Cartel have a connection with the military I don’t know about? I thought those things disappeared after the second World War?”

  “This thing started out as a half-track, but its been retrofitted,” Wood answered. “Looks like auto-machine guns on top and reinforced iron around the driver, may as well be a mini-tank.”

  “Actually, after the tank I’ve been tracking down any military contacts,” Lucy said. “If Degas has one, I’ll find it.”

  “Send me that info once you have it,” I said. “I’d like to know who thought giving Sam a tank was a good idea.”

  The tank and the absence of local NYPD, EMS, or the FDNY, meant The Cartel had gone through steps to keep this contained. It was the standard Cartel MO. Several blocks away from our position, far enough to deter any casual onlookers, several Cartel operators would be dressed as caterers and sidewalk wranglers.

  The streets would be closed due to the one thing more ubiquitous in this city than yellow taxicabs—a movie shoot.

  If I looked outside, I knew I’d see the white trailers blocks away, along with the wooden barricades closing off the streets going South. They would be filming the latest action movie no one would ever see, possess all the right permits for shooting, and have a crew in place to erase all of us.

  In this city, it was the perfect way to hide in plain sight.

  “Huracan,” I heard over a loudspeaker. “I’m coming for you and the little bitch too.”

  “Subtle as always, Sam,” I said under my breath. “Wood, fire at will. Lucy, monitor the situation. I need a sitrep every three minutes.”

  “Affirmative,” Lucy said and I swore I heard the sound of an engine in the background. A familiar engine.

  “You’re still at the Farm, right?” I asked. “Because that sounds very much like your ’67 Shelby Mustang Gt500, but that would be impossible. Since that monster stays in your garage, never to be driven.”

  “Correct,” Lucy answered over the throaty roar of an engine. “That would mean I’ve left the Farm. We both know that’s impossible.”

  “Because you never leave the Farm—for anyone.”

  “Whatever device Hanso gave you must be malfunctioning. Going radio silent until next sitrep.”

  “Holy shit,” Wood said. “You better find some cover, fast. You have incoming.”

  It was clear she had left the Farm, but I had more urgent things to worry about as I looked down the street at the approaching convoy.

  Like the group of rockets heading our way.

  TWENTY-SIX

  I grabbed Ren, and we slid behind one of the larger marble slabs as the rockets punched into the main wall, blasting it apart.

  Hanso’s people spilled out of the Forge, and engaged the vehicles and Sam’s pack. It felt like a movie set, except I knew the bullets, rockets, and explosives were real. I could hear Wood cutting the numbers down and ran to one of the side entrances with Ren in tow.

  “Lucy,” I said. “Cut into Sam’s line. I’d like to have a word. Make sure it’s an isolated line.”

  “Not my first rodeo,” Lucy snapped. “Keep it short. I have the signal bouncing, but if Bloody Mary is tracking it, she’ll find you…eventually.”

  “Got it, put me through.”

  Lucy went silent, and I heard a hiss, followed by several tones, blips, and clicks. Another moment of silence, and I heard his breathing.

  “Hello, Sam,” I said, looking down the street at the convoy. “Does Degas know what you’re up to?”

  We both knew the answer to that, but I wanted to see if I could rile him into showing his face. Sam was unstable, but he managed to stay alive by following operational protocol.

  “What the fuck? Huracan, how did you get on my SCAN?”

  “Doesn’t matter, Sammy,” I said, hearing more men drop as Wood got into a groove. “Sounds like you’re having some trouble. Do you really think Hanso is going to let you live after this?”

  “Hanso can kiss my ass—get down!” he yelled. “Who do you have out here? Treeboy?”

  “Did that little shit just call me, Treeboy?” Wood said, unleashing more death on Sam’s pack. “Ask him to poke his head out just a little. I want to say fuck you.”

  “Wood isn’t there,” I lied. “If he were, your brains would be all over the sidewalk.”

  “My plan exactly,” Wood muttered under his breath. “Treeboy, really?”

  “I’m going to shoot you and the girl and collect my forty mil, before Degas gets too pissed.”

  The convoy had stopped moving, and the outer vehicles had taken up defensive positions, providing cover for the inner circle of vans and Sam’s half-track hybrid. Hanso’s people were still firing, but they were outnumbered.

  “Sometimes you’re so smart, you’re stupid,” I said. “You haven’t wondered why Degas left you alone while you broke protocol?”

  “Because I’m the best!” Sam yelled. “Better than Picasso and better than you or any other named operator in The Cartel. Degas finally saw that. You—you betrayed us. You broke the contract, and I’m dealing with your mistake. Tying up loose ends.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I broke the contract.”

  “He trusts me,” Sam said and I could hear the tinge of hysteria. He was unraveling. “He trusts me to fix what you did. You don’t turn your back on The Cartel. We’re your family.”

  Every family has a dash of insanity—some more than others. The Cartel had enough insanity to start an asylum.

  “I chose to uphold my beliefs.”

  “Your beliefs? Your beliefs?” Sam scoffed with a laugh. “I’m going to kill you, your beliefs, and that little girl worth thirty mil. That’s what I believe.”

  That’s when I saw it. The manipulation. Degas knew. He had maneuvered me from the start.

  “Shit,” I said and Sam laughed again. “I should’ve known.”

  “That’s right,” Sam answered. “Your precious code. Your code is going to get you erased today.”

  “End call.”

  The line went dead. There was no reasoning with Sam. He had no moral compass and Degas knew this. If The Cartel was going to expand into drugs, trafficking, and prostitution, Sam was the perfect point man, except for one thing—he was insane.

  Sam had become a liability, but Degas couldn’t move against him directly.

  Degas knew about my code.

  He knew I would’t kill Ren or leave her for the cleaners. He knew I’d break the contract. This was his way of cleaning house. He’d get me to eliminate Samael and then have me terminated for the ultimate sin in The Cartel—breach of contract. Sam wasn’t the one funding Viktor.

  It was Degas.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  “Lucy,” I said. “Did you want to come join the party?”

  “I don’t leave the Farm for people I like,” Lucy said. “I barely tolerate you—pass.”

  “Couldn’t hurt to ask. Didn’t want you to feel left out.”

  “What did you tell Sam?”

  “Not much,” I answered and shared my conclusions with her. “Typical raving psycho nonsense, which is probably why Degas needs him gone.”

  “That actually makes sense. What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to end Samael and his pack of dogs.”

  “And Degas?”

  “Much harder target. No patterns. He’s always surrounded by security, and has no soft areas.”

  “Home?”

  “Fort Knox would be easier.”

  “Exactly. He would never expect an attack the
re.”

  “You’re talking suicide,” I said as gunfire erupted down the street.

  “Possibly. The alternative?”

  “Running for the rest of our lives.”

  “Huracan, I’m too old to be running,” Lucy said with a short sigh. “You need to Navy Seal this.”

  “You want me to call in Seal Team Six? If you have their number handy—I could use the help.”

  “Stop being dense. Seals pick the hardest, most difficult, and improbable route to their objective. Do you know why?”

  “Shock and awe. No one expects them to come that way.”

  “You need to do that to Degas,” Lucy said. “You’re one of the best. If anyone can do this—you can.”

  “How soon until my SCAN is recalibrated?”

  “Another two hours.”

  “Make sure the plans to Degas’ house are on it when it reboots.”

  “Affirmative.”

  I sensed the attack before I saw them move and rolled back, shoving Ren to the side and behind another marble slab. Gunfire raced across the wall where I stood a moment earlier.

  I scrambled behind a broken column and motioned for Ren to stay down. If Sam’s people were getting this close, it meant Hanso was suffering serious casualties.

  “We have a freelancer on the field,” Wood said. “Someone is chewing through Sam’s pack like a hellhound with a sausage.”

  “Can you ID them?”

  “Not them, her,” Wood answered. “Wearing a mask and moving too damn fast. Whoever she is, I’m glad she’s on our side—shit. Sam is breaching the Forge. Get ready.”

  “Do you have a shot on him?”

  “Negative, he’s taking the half-track in and making his own entrance,” Wood said over the sound of gunfire. “Relocating. Too hot here.”

  The half-track broke through the structurally compromised wall, and rolled to a stop in the middle of the floor. The machine was more like a mini-tank, completely enclosed except for small slits to allow the driver to see where he was going. I was sure state-of-the-art tech made the slits obsolete, providing accurate radar.