THE 13: STAND BOOK TWO (12 page)

“Who are you? And what are you doing in my house?”

P
emberton checked his watch. His guest should be arriving any minute. He chose this place specifically for its quaint, sophisticated—and ridiculously expensive—menu, complete with privacy, yet
very
public. To the casual observer—or any of the staff who knew him as a regular patron—it would appear that the old man had done it again. Just another date with a young lady—not his wife—who found his Southern charm irresistible.

His server came by and topped off his water. He lifted the other half-empty glass on the table and wagged it back and forth, to let her know he wanted another bourbon. She politely nodded and said, “Yes, Mr. Pemberton. I’ll have that right out.”

As she left, another young lady appeared. The hostess. Following behind her was a tall blond woman with a strong jawline. She had ice-blue eyes—eyes that said,
I’d just as soon kill you as look at you
. Her gait was upright and sophisticated—he hated women that walked slouched over, as if they were carrying a backpack or something. She was attractive, for sure. But not so much that every guy in the place strained his neck to see her pass by—though he figured that was intentional. With a different set of clothes, hair done differently, and the right amount of makeup, she could probably stand out among a line of supermodels.

The hostess pulled a seat out for the woman and gestured for her to sit. “May I get you something to drink while you wait for your server, ma’am?”

“Water is fine. Thank you.”

The hostess left again. Pemberton waited till she was out of earshot.

“You’re seven minutes early.”

“Punctuality is kind of a thing for me,” she said.

Pemberton smiled. “I like that. Good business.”

She nodded.

“I, on the other hand, like to make people wait,” he said. “Let’s them know who’s in charge.”

“My last boss was that way, too.”

“Sounds like my kind of guy. What happened to him?” He reached for his glass.

“Her. And I killed her.”

Pemberton’s eyebrows shot up. He coughed as the swig of bourbon he’d just taken somehow managed to go down the wrong hole. He glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. Nothing. Good. He was quickly reminded why he liked this place. Little tables tucked into nooks and pockets. Not too much interaction with the other guests. Quaint. Private. “Works for me.” He set the glass back down. “Guess she had it coming?”

A thin smile crossed her lips. “Mr….”

“Carlson.”

“Mr. Carlson, I don’t make much of small talk. Especially with someone I don’t know.”

“Well, now you know me.”

Again the thin smile. “I don’t think so. For instance, just now, you didn’t even tell me your real name.”

Pemberton sat up in his chair and was about to speak.

“But…” She cut him off. “That’s fine. I don’t put much stock into names. Mr. Carlson, Mr. Moroney, Mr. Johnson…whatever. A name is a name, is a name. What
is
important is that I’ve seen your face.”

At the mention of that, Pemberton felt the blood drain from his. And that unnerved him. Because he didn’t get unnerved for anyone. But this woman was different. There was something very unsettling about her.
Probably the fact that she’s a world-famous assassin, Gavin
, he told himself.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Carlson. I have no intention of killing you. At least not now. And until you give me a reason to. Killing employers is bad for business. I prefer repeat customers.”

“Pemberton.”

“Excuse me?”

“Pemberton. That’s my name.” He decided she was right. Names were irrelevant at this point. If she ever decided to kill him, it probably wouldn’t matter what name he gave her.

She stuck her hand across the table. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Pemberton. I’m Alex. Alex Smith.”

The server came with his bourbon. She pulled a small tablet from her apron and asked if they’d like to order. Pemberton ordered a filet, medium rare, with the parmesan sautéed asparagus and creamed spinach. He pointed to Alex.

“I’m fine, thank you. I won’t be staying for dinner.”

Again the server nodded and left them alone.

“Not staying? This is one of the finest restaurants in all of Raleigh.”

“Thank you, but I have other things that need my attention.”

Pemberton shrugged. “Suit yourself.” Then, “Let’s get to it.”

“That would be agreeable.”

“I need you to take care of something for me.”

He watched as she slowly took a sip of her water. She let the glass dangle next to her cheek and leaned in closer. “Mr. Pemberton, as I said before, I have other things to do tonight. So I’m going to save you and me the runaround and skip right to it. I have a rule. You could say it’s kind of like my
thing
. I enjoy it. Some may find it superfluous, but nevertheless, it’s my rule.”

Pemberton leaned in, in anticipation.

“You are going to have to say it.”

“Excuse me?” He set his glass down and leaned back in his chair.

“I want you to say the words to me. What exactly you want me to do. I need to hear you say it.”

That was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. Why in the world—? She must be some kind of sicko, he reasoned. But whatever. For all his inquiring, she was the best. And he needed the best, if this were to be done right. He grabbed the fresh glass of bourbon and drained it.

He wiped his mouth with his napkin, leaned in closer, and stared right into her ice-blue eyes. “I want you to kill the president of the United States of America.”

K
eene felt the barrel of the SKS-56 pressing against the back of his skull. Boz was on the ground, seemingly unconscious. The guard in front stood with his weapon pointed at Boz. The words of the Prophet’s note rang in his ears.

“It’s
imperative that you both make it back safely.”

He quickly raced though his options. He had one guard down, one in front, and one in back. The one in back was really his only threat right now. The other guard had his focus on Boz. He could disarm the guard behind him, no problem. But the one in front, if Keene made any move, would certainly react. And he was on the other side of the door. That didn’t make for too difficult a task, but it would probably require making more noise than he wanted to right now. Though they were at the top of an overpass, and it was night, there were still people around. That little convenience store was only a quarter mile away. He could see it down the road. If those other guards were still there, they would possibly hear the gunfire and immediately come.

The other guard stepped forward, closer to the door, obviously satisfied that Boz was unconscious. Keene saw his opportunity and moved swiftly.

He gently leaned back, just enough to nudge the guard behind him backward. When he did, he kicked the driver’s-side door forward, as hard as he could.

The door exploded forward and crashed into the front guard’s nose, immediately knocking him off his feet, causing his rifle to fall to the ground. Keene could hear the cartilage crunch as the door smashed his face. At the same time that he kicked the door, he swept his left arm up behind him and turned his body left, into the sweep. The gun barrel clanked hard against the door frame and fell loose from the guard’s hand. Continuing with his body moving left, he brought a crushing straight right hand, in a chopping motion, across the rear guard’s windpipe. The guard immediately reached for his throat and began to spasm, trying desperately to breathe.

Keene was on top of him quickly. He delivered a flat palm to the man’s solar plexus, and then punched him as hard as he could in the left side of his head. The guard slumped to the ground as his eyes rolled back into his head. All of it in less than five seconds.

As he turned back around, the front guard was beginning to regain his balance and his bearings. The guard had already retrieved his SKS-56 and was bringing it up to level, pointed at Keene’s head. Keene kicked the door again and was rewarded with the same result. This time, the man screamed in agony as the door connected with his already-broken nose. The man fell to his knees, dropping his gun.

Keene raced around the door and got behind the guard, cupping his mouth to muffle the man’s wailing. He placed his forearm under the man’s chin and began to squeeze. Within a few seconds, the man went limp as Keene choked him out.

With all three guards down now, Keene turned his attention to Boz, who was lying facedown on the pavement. Suddenly, Keene heard the engine of another vehicle coming down from the other side of the overpass. Then he saw the headlights playing on the trees. Whoever it was, was about to happen upon them right in the middle of this little soiree. He needed to make sure Boz was okay. But first, he needed to deal with whoever this was.

Seconds later the headlights and engine noise gave way to a small pickup truck. The pickup rolled out from the tree line and onto the overpass. As it got closer, it began to slow down. Keene had already taken his post, with one of the guards’ SKS rifles at the rear of the military truck.

The pickup came to a stop, just in front of where Keene was standing. The passenger’s-side window lowered and a voice called out.

“Anybody there?”

Keene stayed still and quiet.

“Hey!” the voice called again. “If you’re an American and need help…”

Keene knew he was taking a big risk here. But Boz was still lying on the pavement. He needed any chance he could get right now. He raised his hands above his head, still holding the SKS—in case this went south quickly—and began walking out from behind the military truck toward the pickup. “I’m an American. Don’t shoot!”

The driver’s-side door to the pickup opened up and an older man—probably in his late fifties—with long wisps of white hair sticking out from under a ball cap stepped out. He looked fit for his age but carried himself with a slight limp. Keene knew at once that if this did go badly he could take the old man out quickly and quietly.

“Easy there, son.” The older man was also holding his hands up for Keene to see he was unarmed. “I just want to help. What’s going on here?”

Keene decided right away he wasn’t going to tell this man the truth. “Me and my friend were just taking a walk and these guards stopped and jumped us. Guess they just wanted to beat up on some Americans. But my friend got popped in the back of the head with a rifle. He’s hurt. I need to go look at him.”

The older man looked at Keene, then to the front of the military truck, then back to Keene. “You say they jumped you?”

“Yeah.”

“What for? What were y’all doing out walking after curfew?”

The last thing Keene wanted right now was to get into a debate with a stranger. “What are you doing out driving after curfew?”

The older man crinkled his nose. “Good point.” Then, “Where’s your friend?”

Keene lowered his arms, and the SKS, and started walking back toward the front of the military truck. “This way.”

Boz was right where Keene had left him a few moments ago. Still facedown. Still unconscious. He rolled him over and checked to make sure Boz was still breathing. He was, and that was good, but Keene knew he needed to get Boz out of there. And quick. Someone else could come by at any second and then this party was going to get out of hand. He looked over his shoulder to the older man. “Can you help me? Get his feet. I’ll get his arms.”

The older man just looked at him. “And what do you suppose we do with him?”

Again, Keene ran through his options. One, he could take the military truck and leave the guards. There wasn’t any place to hide their bodies, so he’d just have to leave them in the road. And that was going to have to be the case, regardless of whatever else he did. Two, he could knock the older man out and take his truck. But that wasn’t really something he wanted to do. The older man had stopped and offered to help. Three, he could ask his new friend to take him and Boz somewhere, till he could get Boz awake and ready to move. He hated to involve this poor guy, but it looked like he didn’t have a choice at the moment.

The older man walked around the front of the door and examined the guards’ bodies. “You do this?”

Keene was still checking Boz for other broken bones or fractures from falling hard to the pavement. “Yes, sir. I guess I did.”

“Hmmm…Who did you say you were, again?”

Keene didn’t make eye contact with the man. “I didn’t.”

The older man leaned down to where Keene was. He took off his jacket and undid the button on his shirtsleeve. He rolled it up, just past the elbow and showed it to Keene.

Keene smiled at the older man’s tattoo. A sudden wave of relief swept over him.

The old man looked at him. “Now, I’ve seen work like that before.” He pointed at the three downed guards. “But not in a long time. Not since I was back in BUDS.” He stuck his hand out to Keene. “Name’s Lynch. Gary.”

Keene took the man’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Ranger.” Referring to Lynch’s tattoo.

“Tell you what,” Lynch said. “My place is about a mile and a half back that way.” He pointed back up the overpass. “Your friend here is going to need a bed and that head cleaned up. I’ll take you back to my place. Let’s go.”

“What about them?” Keene pointed to the guards.

“Agh, let ’em be. This neighborhood? They get jumped all the time around here. The main station will send around some more patrols. But that’s about it. There’s still a bunch of us here who haven’t quite given in to their ways yet.”

Keene picked Boz up from his arms, while Lynch grabbed his legs.

“We’ll put him in the bed. You can ride back there with him,” Lynch said. “Like I said, I just live about a mile and a half back up the road.”

“Thank, you, Mr. Lynch.”

Lynch nodded and got back into the cab of the truck. Keene rapped his knuckles on the top of the cab when he was all set in the back. Lynch did a quick U-turn and headed back up the hill.

Lynch was true to his promise. A couple of minutes later the truck was pulling into a short drive of a one-story, brick ranch-style home. It had a small porch with two rocking chairs on it, and a chain-link fence that started out from the side of the house and continued around back. Keene could hear the barking of the dog as they pulled in the drive.