Kill Fee (32 page)

T
he man called David Gilmour found the target’s apartment. It was a nice building, tall and clean. Gilmour waited outside the front doors until a woman came out with a little gray poodle. Then he ducked in and hurried through the lobby to the elevator.

He rode the elevator alone to the sixteenth floor. Walked out when the doors opened and surveyed the hallway. It was the top floor of the building. There were only four apartments this high. On one end of the hallway was a fire door. The asset walked to it and pushed it open. A stairwell. An escape route.

Eliminate the target and extricate yourself without being detected
.

The asset walked back down the hallway to unit 1604. Hesitated in front of the door. He heard voices. A man’s voice. Had to be the target. Then he paused. There was another voice. A woman’s.

The asset looked up and down the hall. Replayed the phone conversation with the man in his head. Unit 1604, the man had instructed.
There is a man waiting.
Nothing had been said about any woman.

The asset lingered by the door. Felt a slick creeping blackness at the base of his skull as he wondered what he should do. The man wanted the target dead. He didn’t say anything about a woman. Well, hell, the asset would kill the woman, too. A little bonus.

The asset straightened and turned to the door. Felt something like excitement, anticipation. He imagined the target dying in his hands. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use the gun.

The asset raised his hand. Made a fist and knocked on the door.

L
arry Klein squinted at the picture of Wendell Gray. “That could have been him,” he said. “I don’t know. He had long hair and sunglasses, though.”

Stevens nodded. “It’s an old picture.”

“I was a little bit tipsy, see,” Klein said. “From those one-dollar beers. And it all happened so fast.”

“LET’S ASSUME WENDELL GRAY IS OUR GUY,”
Stevens told the FBI agents as they rode the hospital elevator down to the parking lot. “Let’s just see where it takes us. Based on Miami and Minnesota, what do we know?”

“They probably flew into town the night before and flew out immediately after the fact,” said Windermere. “There’s no Wendell Gray on any FAA manifests—you’re welcome, I checked—but that’s hardly a surprise.”

“Probably used an alias,” said Stevens. “Gray and O’Brien both.”

“And the third man, too, for that matter.”

“Exactly,” said Stevens. “So we check the FAA manifests for any suspicious trips into Vegas this weekend, likely from the Eastern Seaboard. O’Brien probably arrived Friday night. Gray and his partner on Saturday.”

“And then what?” said Windermere. “O’Brien took off Saturday night with the job left unfinished? Why didn’t he stick around and kill Ramirez himself?”

Stevens pictured the kid on the security footage at the Bellagio, the look on his face as he’d waited for the elevator after failing to kill Julio Ramirez. He’d been scared. Just for a moment, the fear had shown through.

“He bugged out,” Stevens said. “Couldn’t do it. Something clicked in him and he couldn’t kill Ramirez.”

Windermere stared at him. “So Killswitch brought a couple more killers—Gray, and whoever—out here to finish the job.”

“Exactly,” said Stevens. “Gray and his partner are O’Brien’s replacements.”

“Christ. How many more of these zombie bastards are there?”

“I don’t know,” Stevens said. “But Killswitch is controlling them all.” He looked at Windermere. “We have to find this guy.”

T
he girl stared at him. “Who are you, Richard?” she said. “Andrew. Whatever. What the hell is your deal?”

Lind didn’t answer. Her questions made his head hurt. Made the black panic grow colder. The blood pounded in his ears, and he looked away. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
”

He could feel her eyes on him. “There’s something wrong with you,” she said. “I can’t be here.”

Lind heard her footsteps and didn’t move to stop her. He knew he
should let her leave. The man would want it that way. Pretty soon she’d be gone and everything would be fine.

Except it wouldn’t. The visions would come back. The man would give him more assignments. Somewhere, deep down, he knew he needed her to stay. “Stop,” he said, standing, unsteady. “Please.”

Caity looked back at him from the edge of the living room. “You scare me,” she said. “I’m sorry, Richard. I have to go.”

“Please,” he said. “Don’t.”

She studied his face, her brow furrowed. “You have some issues, man,” she said. “Seriously. I mean—”

There was a knock at the door. One single knock, loud. Caity froze. “You expecting somebody?”

“No,” Lind said. “Never.”

There was another loud knock. Then the door splintered open with a sound like a gunshot. Sagged off its hinges and fell inward. Caity screamed.

There was a man on the other side of the door. Tall and long-haired and lanky. He stared in at Caity and Lind, his eyes cold and emotionless.

Caity screamed again. The man came for her, quickly. Grabbed her by the throat and threw her against the wall. She made a sound like a deflating basketball. Slumped, her eyes lidded. The man came for Lind.

Lind didn’t think. He was trained for this. The attacker came at him, reached for him. Lind swatted him away. Backed up and regrouped. Threw a punch that caught the bigger man in the stomach. The man didn’t flinch. He kept coming.

Lind swung again. The man blocked him. Countered with a punch of his own. Lind saw it coming, tried to duck away. The punch caught his left shoulder and sent him reeling across the room. His shoulder tingled, went dead. The attacker kept coming.

Lind fought with his right hand. Tried to dodge the man’s punches.
The man was quick for his size. His punches packed power. Lind caught him once in the jaw. Froze him, momentarily. Then the man countered, an uppercut that knocked Lind off his feet.

The man loomed above him. Lind sat up, breathing heavily, searching for a way out. Across the room, Caity Sherman moaned. Struggled to stand up and collapsed in a heap. The attacker looked at Lind with the hint of a grin. He hadn’t said anything. He’d just come in and destroyed.

He’s going to kill you.
He’ll kill you and Caity unless you do something, fast.

There was a gun in the kitchen. The man had given Lind two pistols, SIG Sauer P220s, told him to hide one under the sink and the other in the car. Use only in emergencies. This was an emergency.

The attacker followed Lind’s gaze. Grinned at him, a soulless, evil grin. “Go ahead,” he said. “Get the gun.”

Lind stared at him, his mind struggling to process. The attacker knew about the gun. He leered down at Lind, breathing hard. Leaned down with both hands open and reached for Lind’s throat.

Lind rolled away from him.
“Caity.”
Caity Sherman looked up at him, slow. Her eyes were dazed, unfocused. “There’s a gun under the sink,” he said.
“Get it.”

The attacker laughed in Lind’s face. Crossed the living room toward the kitchen. Lind pushed himself to his feet. Had to move. Bolted across the living room just as the attacker opened the cupboard door and came out with the pistol.

“I was going to kill you slow,” he said. “You had to ruin it.”

Lind flung open a cupboard drawer. Came out with a carving knife. Flung himself at the man as the man turned around, plunged the knife deep into his shoulder. The man screamed. Dropped the gun. Swung at Lind with his free hand and caught him flat in the face, knocking him back across the kitchen floor.

Lind picked himself up. Watched the attacker pull the bloody knife from his shoulder. The gun was five or six feet away. The attacker was still closer. Lind looked at Caity, and then he looked at the door.

Time to go.

He ran to Caity. The attacker dove for the gun. Fumbled with it, his hands slick with fresh blood. Lind pulled Caity to her feet and hurried her out the doorway.
“Come on.”

Lind pulled Caity down the hall to the fire escape door and shoved her through. There was a noise behind him, and Lind turned back and saw the attacker in his open doorway, leaning against the ruined frame, clutching his shoulder. In his other hand, he held the gun.

Lind locked eyes with the attacker once more. Felt a chill run through his body. Then the man raised the gun. Lind spun through the doorway, hit the stairs. Heard the door slam shut above him just as the gun went off.

L
ind half dragged, half carried Caity Sherman down the fire escape stairwell.
“Hurry,”
he told her.
“We gotta move.”

Caity was still dazed. She moved slowly, said nothing. Let Lind maneuver her down toward the parking garage.

There were no sounds from above. No doors slammed open. No gunshots. The only sounds in the stairwell were their own pounding footsteps and Caity Sherman’s gasps for breath. Lind hurried her down as fast as he could go.

He didn’t know who the attacker was. Couldn’t imagine who wanted
them dead. All he knew was that he needed to get away, and quickly. And he knew instinctively that he should save the girl.

They ran down the stairs, endless flights. Caity lagged behind him. Lind pulled her onward. They reached the parking level and he burst through the door, ran through the dim lot to his car. Shoved Caity into the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel.

He drove out of the garage and stepped on the gas. There were sirens in the air, police cars down the block. Lind searched the sidewalk, but didn’t see the attacker. He kept his foot planted and sped away from the scene.

T
he man called David Gilmour listened to the target’s footsteps recede in the stairwell. He leaned against the open doorframe and clutched his shoulder where the target had stabbed him. The wound hurt. It was deep. The pain wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

The target was escaping. The asset knew this. He was already gone. The asset looked at the pistol in his hand. Its grip was smeared with blood. His blood. The bastard had stabbed him.

The target had escaped. He’d taken the girl with him. The asset stood in the doorway a moment. Then he straightened.

Extricate yourself without being detected
.

He retreated into the target’s apartment. Found a clean T-shirt in the bedroom and wrapped his wound as best he could. Then he walked back into the hallway. There was someone waiting.

A man. A young man in black-framed glasses. He peered out at the asset from his own doorway. Saw the blood. Saw the gun. His eyes widened. “Holy shit, man. What are you—”

The asset shot him. Once, in the chest. The man staggered backward into his apartment. The asset waited until his door had swung closed. Then he walked to the elevator and pressed the call button down.

P
arkerson was in his office when the Killswitch phone rang. He checked that his door was closed and then answered. “Are we good?”

A pause. Then a long breath. “No.”

“Jesus Christ.” Parkerson felt every muscle in his body get tight. “What the hell happened?”

“The target escaped,” the asset said. “He injured me with a knife. Then escaped before I could kill him.”

“Shit.” Parkerson ran his hand over his face. “
Shit.
Are you wounded? Were you seen?”

“I’m not wounded. Not seriously.”

“But were you
seen
?”

The asset paused. “One person. I eliminated him.”

“God
damn
it.” One witness dead. And Lind still alive. Parkerson wondered if this was what a heart attack felt like.

“There was a woman with him also, sir. With the target.”

“Impossible,” said Parkerson. “The target doesn’t know any women. You had the wrong unit.”

“Negative. I entered unit 1604, as instructed. The target was waiting inside the apartment with the woman. I neutralized them and found the gun under the sink. Before I could eliminate either of them, however, the target attacked me. Then they both escaped.”

“Jesus Christ.” Parkerson sat back in his chair. “Where are you now?”

“I’ve returned to the hotel and am awaiting further instructions.”

“Keep waiting,” Parkerson told him. “I’ll call you back shortly.” He hung up the phone. Then he exhaled, long and slow.
Jesus Christ,
he thought.
How the hell am I going to fix this?

H
oly
crap
.” Caity Sherman shook her head and tried to focus her thoughts. “What the
hell
just happened?”

Richard—or Andrew, or whatever his name was—didn’t answer. He was driving. They were out of the city now, headed south on the Delaware Expressway. Richard hadn’t said anything since he’d thrown her in the car. Before that, she could barely remember.

“Where are we going?” she said. “Say something. Please.”

Richard kept driving. Caity looked at his face and shivered. His eyes were blank. His face was expressionless. His apartment had just been invaded by a crazy psychopath and he should have been absolutely losing his shit. He wasn’t even sweating.

Caity, meanwhile, was scared enough for the both of them, and by now they’d put a good fifteen miles between themselves and the attacker. Her head hurt. She was pretty sure she had a concussion. Somebody had just tried to kill her and she had no idea why. “Richard,” she said. “Andrew. Where are we going?”

Richard blinked and looked at her. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Caity looked out the sports car’s side window. Saw industry, warehouses. She shivered again. “You’re just driving.”

“Yeah.”

He was into something serious, she could tell. He was a part of this
madness. Real people would have cornered the first cop they saw. Explained the situation and let the professionals handle things. Richard hadn’t even looked for a cop. He just drove.

Now he pulled out a cell phone. Held it to his ear and waited. “Yes,” he said. “There was a problem.”

He listened. Caity listened. The man on the other end said something. “I had to leave the apartment,” he said.

Shit,
she thought.
That’s putting it mildly.

“Interstate 95. Southbound.” Richard glanced at her. “A civilian. She was in danger.” He looked at her. Bit his lip and shook his head. Suddenly, there was emotion in his eyes again. There was
fear
. “No,” he said. “
No.
She was in danger.”

Caity shivered and looked out the window. The highway was grim and featureless. It occurred to her that Richard might be taking her somewhere to kill her. She looked at him and tried to convince herself she was crazy. She couldn’t.

“I understand,” Richard said. He looked out the front windshield. “Exit 6. Just across the state line.” Another pause. “I understand.”

Richard ended the phone call. Signaled right and cut across two lanes of traffic to the Exit 6 off-ramp. “We’re safe,” he said. “My boss is coming to get us.”