Codename: UnSub (The Last Survivors Book 2) Page 18

Nevaeh Kraft sighed as she walked next to him, looking through the mists of San Francisco. “Great question. I’m not sure which one is the option with the least worst outcome.”

  “Right.” Kevin kept his hands in the pockets of the leather jacket he wore. “Though between a monster who wants to actively hunt dangerous men, or someone is hired to do it, I think I’ll take someone who’s hired to do it.”

  Nevaeh nodded. “I can see your point.”

  They walked along in silence for a time, just wandering in the general direction of Kevin’s home. It was a basic night in San Francisco – a moderate night with a constant wind. It was quiet enough. In fact, by Kevin’s lights, it was far too quiet. So much so that…

  “Hold it,” Kevin whispered. Nevaeh slowed to a stop, in time with Kevin. They exchanged a look, and Kevin made a point to pull his eyes away from her, and over her shoulder. She did the same.

  All Kevin could see was a dark alley. But he could almost see something that was darker than the night. Lord only knew what Madam Kraft could see.

  “I’m going to kiss you now,” he said, at a normal volume, which, given the empty street, was as good as a shout.

  Nevaeh smiled with her full mouth. “Not if I kiss you first.

  They moved for each other like they were both fully enamored of the other, and they kissed, their hands only lightly sliding along each other’s bodies, not a full embrace.

  And they kissed with their eyes open.

  Kevin pulled back just far enough to breathe, “Now.”

  They disengaged, stepping past one another. Kevin drew his handgun, firing into the shadows of the alleyway. The bullet ricocheted off of an alley wall. The spark of the ricochet provided enough illumination for the next two shots.

  Kevin sidestepped out of direct line of sight of the alley, and turned swinging his gun up to aid Nevaeh.

  Nevaeh Kraft stood there, catching a lit Molotov cocktail out of the air. She spun as the bottle landed in her hand, hurling it back the way it came.

  “Think that’s it?”

  Nevaeh nodded. “Probably. Burners?”

  “Definitely.” Kevin scanned the area with the gun one more time before putting it away. He went back to the alley he shot into, walked inside it, and grabbed one of the figures that had attacked. He dragged him out of the alley. The man was bald and burned badly.

  “Nevaeh, meet Nero.”

  She looked down at the burner. He was unconscious, but not dead. His friend in the alley way dead, if that hole in his head was anything to go by. Nero merely had a bullet in his leg. “I heard about him. Why didn’t you just kill him?”

  Kevin smirked. “Because I want him to keep conveying a message to his boss. They really should stop trying to kill me. It’s getting annoying.” He gestured in the direction they had been walking, she nodded, and they went on about their business, as though nothing had happened.

  “You grew up with Kyle, huh?” he asked her.

  She smiled. “I thought you might lock onto that. Yes. I did. He was interesting to play with. But I suspect he knew that if he played as rough with me as he did the other kids, mom would have skinned him alive.”

  “Played? Kyle could play with someone?”

  “Keep in mind, ’play’ in the Assassin’s Guild was different from other types of play. Remember, Kyle was really rather absurdly young. Ignore whatever else Kyle might have been through in his life, he was essentially a genius when it came to killing people. He was going toe-to-toe with college freshmen in full-on contact combat, like Krav Maga, when they were training for reality, or what they’d probably call MMA if they were training for stamina. I think me and maybe a few other kids did anything with him that resembled ’kid’ things.” Nevaeh smiled. “So, what does Mickie want with him?”

  Kevin arched a brow. “You can’t guess?”

  “He’s like the weird little kid brother I never wanted, but that still doesn’t mean I see why she’d want him.” Nevaeh shrugged. “Keep in mind, even when we were all kids, Kyle was obviously a little broken. He came out of nowhere, dropped outside of Assassin HQ, with some bloody clothes and knife. Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t torturing any cats that I know of, he was perfectly nice, but also perfectly off.”

  Kevin smirked and shook his head. “Glad to see that nothing’s changed. Granted, I like the guy, but off is such a kind way of putting it.”

  “True. Somehow, Mickie’s interested in him. Odd. Do you know—”

  Kevin laughed, held both hands up, and declared, “I know nothing. Really. I already had this conversation once this evening. If you don’t know, then no one does. It’s right up there with asking me why anyone cares to give me a second look.”

  Nevaeh patted him on the shoulder. “Oh, you’re handsome, in a scruffy-looking sort of way. The faint scar helps, too.”

  Kevin’s hand went to the razor-thin scar that traced his jawline. “Yeah, not bad for someone who did his own stitches.”

  “Yeah.” Nevaeh looked around, and said, “isn’t this your place?”

  Kevin blinked, looked, and nodded. “Yes, this is my stop. You sure you don’t want me to walk you home?”

  Nevaeh rolled her eyes. “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself, thanks though.”

  Kevin moved towards her, and stopped. He was trying to figure out if he should give her a hug, given the intimacy of their earlier distraction, or if he should just give her a handshake.

  Nevaeh got there first, reached up, and kissed him on the cheek. “Night, Kevin.”

  Chapter 21: Knife Fight at One Thousand Feet.

  Islamic Republic of France

  Amanda Esmeralda “Mandy” Rohaz was grateful that the whole sorry affair was almost behind her. From a pro bono mission that had gone from “find our missing girl for us” to “oh, look, sexual slavery” to “running gun battle with the religious police,” this was definitely more than she had bargained for when she first set out.

  The helicopter Mandy had requested from her father wouldn’t cost too much – mostly just fuel for a ride across the channel. The UK didn’t care what happened to the IRF, as long as there wasn’t any blowback on them.

  And Mandy had enough gold bars to make it worthwhile for all concerned.

  When the helicopter checked out as the one she expected, she first made sure that the top hatch of the container finally opened, instead of the stupidity she had to deal with earlier. She herded all of the girls into the container of the truck, locked them in, then disconnected it from the engine. She then climbed up to the top of the container to attach the four cables that came down. She attached one cable to each corner of the truck.

  As Mandy turned to slip through the top hatch, she felt something land on top of the container with her.

  She turned, and it was another black-suited mercenary. It was definitely male, and big, and Why is he holding a gun on me?

  She dove and screamed out, “Helicopter, Mandy. Take off, now!”

  Mandy’s hand was already at her left gauntlet control penal when she stopped her roll. Her shoes automatically magnetized, locking her on top of the roof of the container. The sudden jarring threw the other mercenary off his feet and sent him sprawling.

  Mandy drew her gun, switched it to automatic, and fired, stitching a few bullets up the other mercenary’s gun arm. He flailed, still scrambling for purchase.

  “Disarm,” the other mercenary called out. His armor-guided HUD responded, guiding him to shoot the gun out of her hand.

  Mandy was suddenly grateful that auto-aim didn’t allow for locking on to fellow mercenaries.

  Mandy switched off the magnetic lock on her shoes, and pushed off, crashing into the other mercenary, slapping his gun away, and kicking him in the face.

  Mandy slammed her feet on top of the roof of the container, re-magnetized them, and stood.

  Unfortunately, the other mercenary did the same.

  They were only a few feet away from each other, and both of them had their kn
ives drawn.

  “What the hell, buddy?” she growled at him. “What is your problem?”

  “My name is Peter Malliet.”

  Mandy blinked, then paused, then thought, then said, “And?”

  “You and Kevin Anderson killed my brother.”

  “Buddy, I don’t even know you.”

  Malliet’s voice didn’t even flicker. “You threw him off of a building in New York.”

  Mandy winced. Technically, Mandy didn’t throw Malliet’s brother anywhere. Kevin did. “No one reputable was going to guard Senator Todd. Especially when you consider what he and his wife were doing to their kids. Your brother was guarding a duo of sleezebags who had it coming.”

  “He was my brother!” he growled as he charged.

  Mandy had just enough time to draw her knife in a reverse grip as he stabbed for her head. She blocked his stab wrist-to-wrist, then stabbed down. He blocked it as well, but she used her blade to hook around his arm. With a simple swing half turn of her arm, she swung his blocking arm down, out of the way, and she slashed for Malliet’s throat. He leaned back, letting her blade pass her by, then stabbed forward with his own knife, the point going for her face.

  Mandy parried the incoming knife with her left, sending it over her right shoulder. Her knife hand came up, slapping his arm away from her head. She would have followed through with her own attack, but he had pulled back, and came around, stabbing for the left side of her abdomen.

  She blocked with her left forearm, stopping the incoming blade, and jabbed for Malliet’s throat again. His left had come up, and his hand intercepted her arm.

  Mandy shoved off, and they went at each other again. She blocked another attack from the left overhead, this time, her knife was the block – she had aimed for his exposed wrist, but missed, getting the armor of the sleeve. Her left arm came up to keep his knife from proceeding further, and her knife came down to her left hip, and shot forward, stabbing for where the shirt met Malliet’s pants. His hand and knife came down to meet it.

  However, Malliet didn’t see her left hand shoot out with stiff fingers to jab him right in the throat.

  Malliet gagged, and grabbed his throat. Mandy proceeded to stab for his wrists repeatedly. His knife fell to the container roof, and clattered over the side.

  Malliet covered up, meeting her stabs with his left forearm, and leaned in, elbowing her in the head with his right arm. She met his next elbow attack with her left forearm, and pulled back her knife. She bent her knees down so she bobbed, then came up, her knife raking along his armored shirt, and slashing along his throat. It was a glancing slash, but enough to open an artery. Mandy came back down with the knife, hooking into his pants, dragging them down, driving her knife into his lower abdomen, and she worked it back and forth several times.

  The proper word for the end result was “evisceration.”

  However, people don’t die that easily in real life as in the movies. Malliet was still upright as Mandy reached for his gauntlet and tapped a few buttons, turning off every powered system. Malliet’s mouth opened for a moment as his body fell off the container. He had enough left of his consciousness to scream as he fell to his death.

  Mandy sighed, and collapsed. Or she would have, had he feet not been locked into position.

  Mandy turned around and began the arduous journey of walking back to the hatch.

  I need a nap.

  After five minutes, she slipped into the container, closing the hatch behind her.

  The woman who had covered Mandy with her softball skills looked her over. “What happened to you? Is that blood?”

  “Yes it is. But it’s not mine. So it’s fine.” Mandy pointed over to the corner, and said, “I’m going to sit down for a few minutes. Wake me when we land.”

  ***

  San Francisco

  Kevin opened his eyes, and found Moira Dalton, his very, very dead wife, standing over his bed. Moira Dalton was rather cute, even in fatigues. She stood about 5’7”, with porcelain skin, deep sea-blue eyes, short curly black hair, and a wide mouth with lips perfect enough to kiss…

  Kevin then looked below her neck. She had a piece of rebar sticking out of her chest, just like the last time he had seen her alive.

  “Really, Kevin?” She pointed to the rebar. “Are you really going to be harping on the events of my death?”

  Kevin sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. This is the first time I’ve seen you in a while, and the last time, we were, um—”

  Moira smiled. “Screwing like rabbits?” Moira asked dryly. “True. But heck, we never got to finish that honeymoon. Now, about the rebar?” When her image didn’t change, she sighed, reached down, grabbed the rebar, and pulled it out of her chest herself, tossing it aside. “Are you still that adversely affected by finding a new girl?”

  Kevin blinked. “New girl? What new girl?”

  “Nevaeh, duh.” Moira threw herself onto the bed, sitting next to Kevin. “How many other women are there kicking around your life right now?”

  “This is true.” He shrugged. “I barely know her, Mo.”

  Moira sighed. “Do I have to draw you a map, Kevin? Ask her out after this whole serial killer thing is over with. Really. What’s so hard about that, hm?”

  “Isn’t my life confused enough with Mandy in the picture?”

  Moira gave him a half smile and a raised brow. “She’s in the picture? Really? I haven’t seen her around here lately, have you?”

  Kevin rolled his eyes and took Moira’s hand, clasping it firmly. “You know I don’t want to rush this. Have you even been dead a whole year?”

  Moira punched his arm with her free hand. “I died in January. How could you forget that part?”

  “It was a busy year.”

  “And? That’s like forgetting our anniversary.”

  “You died within twelve hours of getting married.”

  She gave him a saucy grin. “You think that’s a good defense? Hardly.”

  “Heh. Oh, just…shut up.”

  Moira leaned close to him and whispered, “Why don’t you make me?”

  Kevin kissed her.

  It was a good dream.

  Chapter 22: Favor Fire

  Some say the world will end in fire/ Some say in ice / From what I’ve tasted of desire

  I hold with those who favor fire. / But if it had to perish twice,/ I think I know enough of hate/

  To know that for destruction ice/ Is also great/ And would suffice.

  Robert Frost, Fire and Ice

  February 5th, 2094

  Kevin Anderson sighed, staring down at the corpse in the middle of Fisherman’s Wharf, just off the embarcadero. Most human beings would have considered dumping the body in the bay, but this killer was smart enough to realize that the body could be kept under wraps longer if he was just stored away somewhere on shore.

  Unless you have concrete shoes, odds are your body will wash up on shore near Seal Rock before being taken out to sea.

  He sighed again. This was going to be a long day.

  “Something wrong, stranger?”

  Kevin smiled. “Not really, Nevaeh, it’s just another body.”

  The magic shop owner stepped up beside him, then glanced around. Pier 39 was one of the few docks not owned by anyone in particular. It was, in fact, a variety of outdoor mall.

  Generally, a lot of people who could shop there and not get shot for approaching were those who voluntarily stayed in San Francisco—corporate employees and respectable upper middle class families who had done more than simply just survive. It was a two-level strip of stores that folded in on itself to make it two aisles. Only three docks down were the docks of the Hacker’s Union, and twenty docks in the other direction were those owned by the Brokers.

  “Awfully risky for an assassination,” she murmured. “Even for a pro Guild member. Public place, crowded almost all the time, cameras everywhere.”

  Kevin n
odded. “Exactly. Unfortunately, it’s starting to fit into a pattern.”

  Kraft turned back to him and studied him with midnight blue eyes. Wow, she was pretty. She almost smiled, as though reading his mind, then stopped. “He’s sadistic, skilled, and enjoys taking risks, we figured this. He doesn’t want to be caught, but he’s killed two of his victims in what could be considered the most dangerous parts of the city. Heck, the mercenaries are just down the street, if someone spotted him, there would be gunships down here inside of five minutes.”

  “So he’s a ghost,” Kevin murmured. “Or he’s the mailman.”

  She blinked. “The mailman?”

  Kevin smiled, then shook his head, as though to clear it. He waved a hand around the pier. “Someone who fits into the area so much that he’s part of the scenery. Normally I would say the mailman, electrician, someone who works in utilities, but it’s not like they have basic uniforms anymore. This is San Francisco, after all,” he added, saying it like it had become the running gag of his life. “He could be something different—the little man who wasn’t there, someone kind and polite, maybe even a clerk. Sam Berkowitz, a serial killer in the 1970s, was quiet, bordered on shy, and was liked by everyone in his workplace, but at night used to go out and hunt people down in their cars, blowing them away. But he was such a nice, quiet guy, the girls in his office would ask him to walk them to their cars. This guy could be something similar.”

  “When did you become an expert?”

  Kevin shrugged. “I was fascinated by serial killers for about five minutes when I was in high school.”

  Nevaeh glanced at the body, but only for a moment. “So, you’re acknowledging that this is a serial killer?”

  Kevin shrugged. “It’s not impossible, but if that’s the case, why Kyle’s targets? And yes, before you ask, he is one of Kyle’s. An even better question is how would he know who to kill? It’s not like Kyle advertises who his weekly targets are. And the only people who know who he’s contracted to kill are usually only himself, the client and…” He drifted off. “That can’t be possible…can it?”