Codename: UnSub (The Last Survivors Book 2) Read online

  Mac smirked. “Well, there is. Someone left a suitcase here for you. We scanned it for explosives and other electronics, and then we opened it. You have thirty thousand dollars waiting for you in the back.”

  “You said there was only money. There was no note. You did not see who left it?”

  “Nope, and we checked the security cameras, nothing.”

  Kyle didn’t even shrug. “Then whoever left the money just threw it away. I don’t take money from anonymous sources. I didn’t agree to it, and have not even been approached. If whomever left it comes in, tell him to play games with someone else. I have no time for children with more money than sense.”

  Mac smiled, and almost cheered. “Great! More for us!”

  Kyle let Mac bounce off, the smaller man not even stopping to ask what the assassin was doing at the bar, if he was not there for his money. As Mac headed down the stairs by the bar to the dance floor, Elsen moved into the back, navigating the small hallway toward Lotus’s quarters.

  In her office, Lotus sat looking into the computer screen, tapping away methodically. He had the feeling that she wasn’t all that interested in what she was working on. The small girl was “cute” according to Kevin Anderson, though Kyle didn’t really notice.

  Though all three were skilled computer hackers, they all had their own specialized skills. Mac handled the bar and all face-to-face negotiations and contacts, particularly with the Hackers’ Union. Mickie dealt out drinks laced with interesting chemical mixtures guaranteed to create an open and honest discussion. Lotus was the programmer, and a programmer so skilled that she could have joined the Hackers Union; but she wanted to stay with her family, and the bar. All three wanted to get out of San Francisco one day, and leaving San Francisco was even harder to do when you were essentially running it, like the Hackers were.

  “Hello, Mr. Elsen,” Lotus said, barely looking up from the computer. “What can I help you with?” she asked softly. Her voice was hardly ever above a whisper, not even on the day they had first met, when she had stopped him from tearing her brother’s throat out. She was not a people person, and never had been.

  “I have questions for you.”

  “Yes, Mr. Elsen?”

  “First of all… has anyone recently shown up in San Francisco showing the same level of capability and skill as an Assassin?”

  She blinked, turning her full attention on him. “How do you mean?”

  “Aside from the job you obviously know I am preparing for, I am looking for someone. Said party is Mercenary, Exile, or Assassin, and has had my level of training in the Arts. If it is an Exile, then it would have to be only a recent arrival, and here only a short time."

  Lotus nodded. “They generally don’t last long if they don’t get an immediate start. Why are you looking for them?”

  “She…or he…has inconvenienced me. A target I was contracted for was killed, and the manner in which it was done is one I will not abide.” His voice was hard.

  Lotus said nothing. Annoying Kyle only ended in bloodshed, so she knew what she was doing. She had helped him kill people before, and almost all of them, to her mild surprise, deserved it. And for someone to, in essence, “steal” a kill from Kyle Elsen, was too stupid to live. However, if this killer didn’t know that (s)he was treading on Kyle’s territory, he might actually survive the ordeal.

  “How fast do you want it?”

  Kyle affected a disinterested demeanor. “Whenever you get around to finding him, or her. I am in no particular hurry for this information. I do not know if he has inconvenienced me on purpose or not, and unless I find out otherwise, there is no need to hunt him down immediately. You don’t even need to bring in anyone else—just do it in your free time, if you have any.”

  She raised a brow. “So I shouldn’t bring this to Mickie or Mac, you mean?”

  “I mean you should not bother them with it. That would be a rush, and there is no rush.”

  Lotus thought it over a moment. Why would Kyle not trust her siblings with this sort of material? She realized it was because he would not want it to get out that this person existed, and, after all, who was there that Lotus would tell, other than her siblings? She was not a people person, and typically shy and aloof from the throng out at the bar. Even the customers didn’t generally bother her, since they understood that. As a result, she wasn’t put up front at the counter all that often. Usually, she operated the bar only when Mickie and Mac were busy yelling at each other in a back office somewhere. She set the music and lights to random and let the computers take care of them.

  As for why Kyle would try and keep this quiet, she didn’t know, but she suspected Kevin Anderson had something to do with it. Kyle generally was not one for circumvention and guile, unless he was on a mission. He was straightforward and honest, and what you saw was exactly what you got. He was not the type to worry about something like this getting out, because his usual solution would negate any effects of the news leaking.

  And, if she were right, it would have taken something major for Kevin Anderson to be able to talk Kyle into getting involved. Even now, Kyle wasn’t exactly lying. He was in no rush; he just wasn’t being extraordinarily forthcoming with the details.

  But she consented. “You can pay me when I find this person. Paying now for something I may not finish within a month would be rushing it, and there is no rush, is there, Mr. Elsen?” She managed a slightly nervous smile.

  Kyle nodded. “You get the idea.”

  He nodded again and walked out, once more disappearing into the night, traveling the hills of San Francisco.

  ***

  Mickie watched Kyle Elsen leave, and looked to Kevin Anderson. “What the heck was that? What did you say to him?”

  Kevin glanced back at her and shrugged. “He’s having a bad day.”

  “He doesn’t have bad days,” she insisted. “He makes other people have bad days.”

  “Granted. But today is his turn.”

  Mickie frowned deeply. Her eyes were wide, and her brow furrowed. She turned to another bartender and told him to take over, and she promptly disappeared into the back.

  Kevin smiled, and shook his head. One of these days, this girl is actually going to use words like “love” and “Kyle” in the same sentence, and it’ll either break her or Elsen. I’m not sure which.

  “I think it’s more of a crush right now than anything else,” said a voice next to him.

  The spy blinked and looked over to Kyle’s chair. Father Jack Patel sat, and nodded at him, raising his beer stein as a little toasting motion. The man’s violet eyes were smiling, which in Kevin’s mind, meant he was up to something.

  The priest nodded where Mickie had been a moment before. “I noticed it, too. If she’s not in love with the bugger eventually, I’d be surprised.”

  He had to laugh. “I’ve never heard of Elsen referred to as simply ’the bugger’ before. It’s usually He Who Must Not Be Named.”

  Father Jack shrugged, which looked more like a mountain moving. “I’ve never been a fan of the new fads, really. Even if they are remaking all the books in that franchise.”

  He winced. “Really? The last one I saw had Billy Mumy as Harry, and Shirley Temple as what’s-her-name.”

  The priest shrugged. “I know. How do you think I feel? I grew up with the originals.” Jack looked at the bulge in the VIP room door. “Have an accident?”

  “I told Kyle a secret. He didn’t handle it well.”

  “I can imagine. He doesn’t strike me as a man who handles emotions well.”

  “Usually, not at all, from what I can tell.” Kevin smiled, and flicked his eyes back towards the way that Mickie came. “I can only imagine what would happen if she ever told him…” Kevin drifted off, and couldn’t even imagine how many listening devices were around. “What we presume. There might be a few issues.”

  Father Jack shook his head. He was about to say something when a voice shouted, “Hey, Father, we have a special seat set up
for you!”

  Kevin and Jack turned, and found Mac striding towards them, a bounce in his step. They shared a glance, as if to say, What is this idiot up to?

  The middle Triplet bounced to a stop in front of them, a big broad grin on his face. “Hey! Father! You’re in the wrong place! Your booth is ready.”

  Mac pointed to a corner of the room, at the other end of the Ground Zero. There was a full booth, all right, and it was clearly made of the same wood paneling as the rest of the bar.

  Kevin blinked. “You set up a confessional? In the bar?”

  Mac giggled, like a teenage girl playing a practical joke. “Yup! Enjoy!”

  Father Jack puffed out his lips a moment, and nodded thoughtfully. “Thanks.” He reached over, took his beer stein, and started for the confessional.

  Mac’s jaw dropped. “But, wait, you’re not supposed to do that!” He started for the priest, but before he could get within swinging distance, a giant hand clamped down on his shoulder.

  “Mickie said it stays,” Leo the bouncer told him.

  Mac looked up at him. And up. “But—but—”

  Leo looked over at Father Jack and said, “There’s a sign in there for you.”

  Jack arched a brow, and looked in the confessional. He placed the stein in the booth, and came back with a sign. He placed it on the booth like a doctor’s shingle, and then sat inside, closing the door behind him. The sign: “The confessor is in.”

  Chapter 8: Diogenes’ Lamp

  The fog came in handy for Kyle, since he still lived in what was once the Guild Hall. The old UC-San Francisco campus had been at the top of a hill, and the fog generally concealed his comings and goings. That hill was now his own, with the Children of Thanatos protecting his territory in the same manner they protected Kevin Anderson’s, and for the same reason—he and Kyle were so proficient at killing, that they must be servants to the Angel of Death, hence their titles as “Angel-Servants.”

  The Children of Thanatos were especially skilled at killing people, since they thought that death was their gift for the people of San Francisco. Not all of them, just certain people, the ones that they deemed to be in the most “pain,” according to how they judged pain. Kyle never cared how they judged it, as long as they left him alone. The Children would have personally served Kyle if he let them, but he wouldn’t associate himself with people so pathetic. They practically deified him, even though he was just an assassin.

  He slipped into what had been referred to as the main hall of the Guild. It was a very simple room—it had been a theater during the early days of UC-SF.

  He knew every inch of these corridors and walkways, for he had spent months cleaning the blood and the gore of his comrades out of the hallways. They were wide enough to allow for several people side-to-side, made of a bullet-catching concrete-polymer hybrid material. They were wide enough for Assassins to be able to fight with ease, were the Guild Hall to be attacked.

  It had been a matter of pride for his teachers that the ‘Hall was built the way it was—they had designed it, they believed, to enable every member of their Guild to use the environment of the space to their advantage in any situation, training or otherwise.

  Even still, it had not been enough to save his brothers and sisters. Kyle had picked up body parts in these hallways and casually put them into garbage bags—he could not find body bags. The walls still had some scorch marks from where the fires had burned away the paint. He had never bothered to repaint. It wasn’t important.

  Finally, he reached the Guild library. It was a large, open room, with many shelves—shelves that had once been filled with books of useful information—on practically any subject an Assassin would have found useful in his work, and even some that had nothing to do with such things. The shelves that were still there, and many of the books on them, had been severely damaged by the flames, and it had taken Kyle a long time to clear the ashes and broken pieces of wood left from the destroyed shelves, tables and chairs.

  He reached up and grabbed a book off the shelves—one of the few that had not really been damaged. It was less a book, though, and more of a ring binder. He blew off the dust from the top edge and walked over with the binder to a chair. It had been some time since he had opened up the book—he had opened it twice in two years. One time was when he had first heard of Kevin Anderson within his city. With the skills demonstrated by the spy from out of town, he had looked through the binder to see if it was someone he might have known.

  The binder in his hands was the roster for the Assassins’ Guild. In it were various markings, and well over half the names within had been scratched out. He had once had hopes of finding another professional in the city, and had spent time marking and hunting down any murder that held even a whiff of the old professionalism he had ever seen from his comrades. Over the years, he had been disappointed more than a few times.

  Derek was still alive. He had in all likelihood sold out the guild.

  Derek was another survivor of the Guild Hall massacre.

  The question was, did Derek have the skill to cause the damage he had seen tonight? Could he have shown that much utter destructive force on a victim as skilled as the target had been?

  It was certainly possible. Derek hated Kyle for his dismissal… Ruedés had only gotten into the Guild in the first place because his father was a friend to members of the Board. His temperament had gotten him hurled out of the Guild so fast, the disciplinary board was almost embarrassed that he had been allowed into the Guild in the first place. On the way out the door, he had blamed Kyle for being sacked, blamed Kyle for making him lose his temper, and had done everything but blame Kyle for the creation of Bubonic-AIDS. He would have not only killed Kyle’s target, but he would have done it for free, and out of spite…

  It was totally unprofessional behavior, and once again it reminded Kyle of why someone like Derek had no business being a member of the Guild.

  I should also have a chat with my most recent employer and see if anyone showed up at his door with evidence of the kill and asked for the money he should have paid me.

  But why had it happened now? Had Dunn’s attempt on Kyle’s life given Derek ideas? If some cockroach amateur could almost kill him, a fellow bug like Derek could take him out? With Derek, it wasn’t impossible. Derek was lousy at tactics. In fact, it had been in that course, Tactics, that he had the temper tantrum. Unfortunately, while Derek had the temperament of a child, he was a very dangerous child.

  This also made the assumption that Derek had killed his target. That it wasn’t someone else who had stumbled upon his prey. If that was the case, and if someone else had hired an assassin to kill the same target, a man with knowledge of the same skills that Kyle had, then it would be very interesting to see what happened next.

  He turned his thoughts elsewhere, now, or at least considered doing that. With this killer being introduced into the city, Kyle had a choice—either turn his attention to the Burners and their anonymous leader, or to hunt down and have a long, and potentially painful chat with Derek Ruedés, the man most likely responsible for the death of the entire Assassins’ Guild.

  Kyle had always, under every circumstance, maintained a total detachment from the assignments he took on, and from almost everything else. The only level of sentiment in his life was where he lived, and what he kept from his past. There were some things that would not be useful to anyone in the future to learn from the mistakes of the past. They were barely readable now, and any process to preserve them would probably destroy them.

  However, this was not an assignment. He would talk with Derek, reason with Derek, and if that reasoning happened to involve a set of pliers and a blowtorch, well, those happy little accidents happened from time to time. He was a professional, and he would act as such, and he would not kill Derek, unless there was a reason to…

  ***

  Major Antonio Rohaz lived on top of one of the tallest hills in San Francisco, at the very top of Lombard Street – not fo
r the lavish homes, but for the location. Forty-five mile-an-hour wind speeds made sniper shots all but impossible..

  As the Major entered his house, he knew something was wrong. There weren’t any visible signs, but he hadn’t lived this long by having poor survival instincts.

  He reached for a light switch, and felt a rush of wind past his ear, and the solid thunk of a knife embedding into the wall.

  Major Rohaz smiled. “Good evening, Kyle.”

  “Major.” The word was not delivered in a cold, or rude fashion, but as though two people just acknowledged each other in the street, instead of in a dark room with weapons involved.

  Rohaz stared into the dark for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. Kyle stood behind Rohaz’ desk, in the study, past the foyer and the stairs. “Can I help you with something?”

  “I want Derek Ruedés. I want him now. You know how to get to him.”

  “Four years, and that’s all you have to say to me? I’m disappointed.”

  Kyle cleared his throat. “There is very little that I have to discuss with you that will not end in gunfire.”

  The Major smiled, and moved towards the study, ignoring Kyle and the gun. “And here I thought you were the smart one.” He went to the liquor cabinet, grabbed a glass and a bottle of bourbon, pouring without a care. “All these years, and you haven’t figured out anything.”

  Kyle’s face darkened and he almost scowled. “I came home to an empty home, and a lawn littered with dead Mercenaries. And the hallways, and the rooms. Are you going to tell me that your men destroyed the man who claimed you as a friend, and everything he built, without your knowledge? By all rights, I should shoot you now, but I need you to get to Derek.”

  Rohaz sighed as he took a cigar out of his pocket and clamped it between his teeth. “To start with”—he flicked the lighter and puffed a few times—“you obviously found out that my home is riddled with sensors.”