Contractor (28 page)

but no one was coming his way. He started

down again, clambering down shelf by shelf

until he hit the concrete floor. He slipped up

to the edge of a row of crates.

The far end of the warehouse was

actually open into the river itself, creating a

small indoor dock. A rusty boat stacked with

iron shipping crates was moored inside. Men

were busy wheeling smaller boxes off the

ship and stacking them up near a steel garage

door that opened onto the street. Others stood

around, keeping an eye on the proceedings. A

lot of them had rifles. Daniel wasn’t an

expert on firearms, but the big curved

magazine told him it would turn him into

something resembling Swiss cheese very

quickly.

One of the men hit a button near the

door, and the steel plates clacked upwards.

Rudy’s car backed into the warehouse. The

boys hopped out of it. Rudy’s friends seemed

awed by the operation.

"Welcome to the big leagues," Rudy

said.

One of the older men folded his arms.

"Where’s the crud?"

"In the trunk."

"You put something down, right?"

"Yeah, we used some plastic. He was

wearing pretty thick clothes though."

"You don’t want a fucking bloodstain in

your car. Open it up. We’ll put him in the

harbor."

Rudy’s friends jumped to follow the

instructions. A few men cleared a cart of

crates. Daniel noticed that one of the

containers was open, its contents unpackaged

onto a table. Mixed with folded T-shirts

were plastic-wrapped white bricks. Another

man had a few glasses of some clear liquid;

he was watching the white powder drift into

them with a critical eye.

"Hey Daniel, what’s it look like?"

Daniel flinched—but they were talking

to the man watching the glasses, not him. The

other Daniel looked up. "I’ve seen worse,

but they didn’t do us a favor or anything.

How much for the load?"

"About three."

One of Rudy’s friends made a face.

"Three? Three what?"

"Million, you fucktard," Rudy said.

"Don’t ask dumb questions, you’ll embarrass

us."

"Hey, shit, I dunno."

"Do the math for a change."

"Man, I ain’t here to do no math. I’m

here to dump this shit and go home."

Rudy sighed. "Then lift."

They hefted Pete’s body out of the trunk

and onto the cart, then pushed it toward the

ship. Daniel used the opportunity to try and

form some sort of strategy. He counted 21

heads, though there might be more on the

boat. Those that didn’t have rifles had pistols

in their pockets or sticking from their

waistbands. Probably safe to assume

everyone had a gun.

He really wasn’t prepared for this kind

of thing. Being a contractor was living the

life of an opportunist. He only fought when

he had to, when the extractors came.

But the name Daniel was being sullied

here, in this crappy warehouse by the river.

It irked him.

"Hey! Who the fuck are you?!" Daniel

spun on his hands and knees, keeping in his

crouch. A man was walking toward him from

the corner of the shelving behind him. His

rifle was shouldered and aimed at Daniel’s

face. "I said, who fuck are you?"

Daniel slowly raised his hands, but

didn’t say anything. The man stopped a few

feet away. "The hell? What are you, Iron

Man? Hey, people! We got some freak over

here!"

Daniel heard the threatening click of a

pump-action shotgun. He swallowed.

Footsteps and voices were getting closer.

The man still had his gun trained.

"Hey, kid. Hands on the ground, slow.

Then lay down flat." Daniel didn’t move.

"Today, unless you want to get shot."

Daniel looked over the guy’s shoulder,

widened his eyes in alarm, and pointed. His

assailant glanced back.

Daniel’s punch caught him right in the

jaw. There was a crack as the iron plates on

his fists followed through. The man dropped

to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

For a moment, Daniel thought that he’d

just killed him. A groan and shifting legs told

him otherwise. He ran down the aisle of

shelves as two other riflemen came up

behind him.

"Runner!"

"Fucking shoot him!"

Gunshots exploded. It was nothing like

Daniel expected—not like the movies. Every

single one sounded like an explosion in his

ears, amplified off the walls of the

warehouse.

He poured power into his legs and

sprinted down the wall. Bullets whizzed

over his head, ricocheting off steel and

wood. A crate behind him shattered.

He kept running all the way to the end of

the dock—and then he was out of room to

run. And another gunman was right in front of

him. His momentum was too much. His feet

slipped and churned on the smooth concrete.

He slammed full-body into the man and

knocked him into the water.

Daniel leaned back as the river water

splashed onto his clothes. Not exactly a

graceful stop, but it worked.

Bullets sprayed into the wall nearby. He

glanced around, but he was cornered—no

windows, no doors. A group of four men

were coming up on him fast.

The boat. He crouched, then leapt. In a

moment, he was rolling on the deck between

the shipping crates.

"Holy shit!"

"Did you see him jump?!"

"He’s on the boat!"

Daniel had to cut them off before they

could pen him in. The gangway was just

opposite him, on the other side of the boat.

His side was nailed in. He flipped out his

knife, turned it white, and then sliced though

the steel. The gangway dropped into the

water.

Daniel heard a gun cock. He turned. A

man was standing at the deck entrance to the

ship’s control room, a machine pistol

leveled straight at him.

Daniel poured his power into his armor,

every piece at the same time.

A hail of bullets rained down on him.

He shielded his facemask with his arms.

Metal pinged and clacked off him as the

gunman emptied the magazine.

There was a sharp click. Daniel looked

up. The man’s finger pulled at the trigger, but

no more bullets came. He’d just taken a gun

head on and lived.

"…heh." Daniel grinned. "Is that it?"

The man backed up a step. His hand felt

frantically at his pocket. He fumbled with

another clip.

Too slow. Daniel slid in low and

grabbed his ankle. He stood. The man was

flipped upside down. Daniel grabbed him,

then chucked him over the edge of the boat

before he had a chance to start kicking.

Another satisfying splash echoed over him.

"What the hell is going on?"

"There’s some kid on the boat!"

"He knocked out John!"

"What happened to the gangway?!"

They were in disarray. Daniel had to

make something happen. He looked up. The

warehouse ceiling had a few iron

crossbeams—he might be able to jump up to

one and get to a skylight. But he’d be wide

open to get shot. The front side of his armor

was the toughest. The joints did have cracks.

His gaze fell back to the bridge. The

controls for the boat were probably in there.

Daniel ducked inside and ran straight

into another man. They fell in a tangle. The

man’s fingers grabbed at his arm, but slipped

off his armor. Daniel elbowed him in the gut.

He felt his leg being bent back, and

twisted. Daniel shoved power into the limb

and pulled back. The man clung on for dear

life as Daniel dragged him across the floor.

Daniel kicked, hard, and the man went flying

across the cabin.

He collapsed against the end of the

hallway on his knees. Daniel was there in an

instant before he could get back up. His boot

took the guy right in the liver. His breath

whooshed out of his mouth, and he fell flat

on his face.

Daniel kicked him again for good

measure, then took the stairs at the end of the

hall two at a time. He shut the door behind

him and clicked the lock. Turning, he found

himself faced with a captain’s chair, a

dizzying array of buttons and knobs, and a

windowed view down into the warehouse.

They were scurrying around like ants. It

looked like a group of them were pulling out

one of the long wood shelves to use as a

makeshift gangway. One of them pointed up

at him. Guns were leveled at the windows.

Daniel ducked. A storm of bullets hit the

cabin. He covered his neck as slivers of

glass sliced around him.

After a few seconds, it stopped. He

didn’t risk poking his head up again. It was

only a matter of time before they got onto the

ship.

He looked at the controls. A key was

sitting in position, turned into an on switch.

Was the boat idling?

Two levers sitting on a red-and-green

half circle looked like the main power. The

red section was small and read reverse.

Well, he couldn’t sail through concrete.

Daniel gripped both levers in one hand and

threw them backwards.

The boat rumbled. The engine’s roar

thrummed through the warehouse. Water

started churning under the docks. The boat

moved backwards.

Daniel crouched again as guns were

pointed up at him. More bullets sprayed into

the cabin. He folded himself under the

console for protection.

The ship shuddered. Daniel put a hand

out to steady himself. There was a long, ugly

groan.

The dock wasn’t open to the harbor.

The shriek of tearing metal made him

cover his ears. There was a snap, and then a

bang.

The right side of the cabin erupted in

plastic and wooden splinters. Half of a

broken bay door was gutting the wall like a

razor blade. Daniel threw himself down. The

steel carved a path of destruction over his

head. The control console snapped and

fizzed as wiring was wrenched out.

When he next raised his head, the cool

night air of Boston harbor was blowing

freely through a gaping hole in the bridge.

The skyline was reflected on the black river

below. The boat wasn’t slowing—it was

picking up speed.

In a few moments, he was clear of the

warehouse, sailing out into the inner harbor.

A few idle shots were taken at the boat.

Daniel stood tall and gave them the finger.

He was still picking up speed. He

looked at the console. Most of it was gone—

scattered pieces of electronics were littered

across the shipping containers below him.

The levers that controlled the power were

gone, and he was pretty sure he had no way

to steer.

Daniel took stock. He was in the middle

of Boston Harbor, riding a stolen ship

holding several million dollars of cocaine.

The opposite side of the harbor was

approaching at an alarming rate.

He wracked his brain for options. No

brilliant thoughts came to mind. How did this

happen, again? All he wanted to do was kill

Vorid.

He probably had about ten seconds until

he smashed into the docks. He had to get off

the boat.

Daniel climbed up on top of the broken

section of wall. He balanced there, exposed

to the sky. The other side of the river held a

small marina. He had a feeling some boats

might get dinged up, but the ship would

probably stop at some point.

Wait. That guy was still down in the

hallway.

The boat slammed into the docks. Daniel

was flung off his perch. He spun, flailing his

arms and legs. A roaring whirlpool of white

foam and crunching wood swirled below

him.

Daniel shoved his power out at full

blast.

The world slowed down.

He could see the light of the city twinkle

in individual drops of water. The docks

were steadily sucked into the roar of the

engines like planks being fed into a wood

chipper. A nearby boat was crushed to the

side as the cruiser plowed forward. Daniel

watched its siding bend, ripple, and then

crack, all in slow motion. Individual flakes

of paint soared into the air like snow.

He was falling right behind the ship. He

began to right his fall. It didn’t happen

immediately. His mind was working a

thousand times faster than his body. Slowly,

he rotated. He kicked against the back of the

ship. The metal hull bent inward where his

feet impacted.

He sailed forward, across the marina,

clearing the death zone near the engines and

tumbling to a stop on the docks. He heaved in

his breaths. He’d never slipped into his

sped-up mode for so long.

The dock shivered under him. The sound

turned back on. The boat was raging toward

Daniel in a mad fury of iron and water and