part0023

“There are two men here to kill me—and possibly our good doctor, as well,” Savage replied. He kept his voice low as he moved through the bathroom. Dozens of small decisions needed to be made, all in a couple of seconds, and everything had to be performed to perfection. If not, he definitely wouldn’t walk out of that bathroom. He had a weapon of his own this time, but he wouldn’t be able to initiate a battle that only he knew was starting. He didn’t have the element of surprise. Two trained killers were about to follow him in there, and he needed to be ready for them.

One of the two bathroom stalls was occupied, which meant that nothing could happen while a customer was in there. His would-be assassins knew that as well. The simple fact, though, was that it gave him a little more time.

The operative stepped into the second stall, placed the bottle on the back of the toilet, and looked around. Thankfully, it was still early enough in the night that the toilet paper hadn’t been exhausted by drunk patrons, which gave him precisely what he needed. He sat on the closed seat and quickly yanked out as much of the paper as he could before he stuffed it into the bottle. It was slow work—and immensely stressful when every second counted.

The bathroom door opened. His fingers trembled in a familiar tension response and his heart thudded at a mile an hour. He knew his body had begun to prepare itself for action in the way that only it knew how. While he knew it was necessary, he also knew that he needed to keep himself under control. It wasn’t easy, even under the best of circumstances, to stuff toilet paper through the narrow hole of a soda bottle. Perversely, it seemed so much more difficult now that his fingers were jittery from the sheer volume of adrenaline that pumped through his body.

He needed to remain calm and composed. To simply burst out and attack anything and anyone that crossed his path wouldn’t achieve what he wanted, and it sure as fuck wouldn’t end well for him. This was a situation that demanded skill and precision, not mindless violence.

The door of the stall beside his opened and the blissfully ignorant man stepped out. He’d no doubt head back to the bar to join his friends, unaware of the kind of violence he had barely escaped. Savage wanted to keep the collateral damage to a minimum. And while Carlson was known for his disregard for the body count left by his actions, he couldn’t kill indiscriminately either. Even the ex-CEO made some effort to disguise his killings and cover his well-heeled tracks.

Mum was the proverbial word in this game. Savage’s time had been cut down to however long his newest non-acquaintance took to wash his hands.

It wasn’t that long, he realized after only a few seconds. The man was probably drunk enough that his hygiene wasn’t very high on his list of priorities. After a quick splash and dash, the man left the bathroom in what sounded like a hurry.

“I don’t have eyes in there, Jer,” Anja said and sounded genuinely concerned. “Anything you do will have to be on your own.”

That reality hadn’t really entered his thought process. It wasn’t like he hadn’t lived his whole life that way. Well, that wasn’t entirely fair. Most of his operations had been carried out after months of planning and arduous hours of research by people who would never receive any medals or recognition for their efforts. Once they had done their part, he charged in, killed people, and hauled others out, whether they wanted it or not. Of course, he wasn’t given medals or recognition for his efforts either, so they were all essentially in the same boat there.

At least the people who ran the intel didn’t have to deal with the actual battle and risk life and limb. And, of course, when the mission went bad, they also didn’t have to die or fake their death to ensure that none of the paperwork on a black op ever reached the Pentagon, much less any elected officials. The kind of rules that black ops played by would unleash a host of indictments on any number of people. And those people were usually the kind who weren’t indicted, which made for dangerous repercussions.

Oddly enough, he wasn’t even mad about that. There were people out in the world whom you simply didn’t touch, and Savage knew well who were and who weren’t off limits. The fact that he had been left alive and given money and the opportunity to disappear wasn’t something he would forget. He didn’t exactly forgive those assholes for ruining his life, but he was well aware that he had nothing to gain and everything to lose if he clashed with them.

He refocused on the tissue-filled bottle and knew it was as full as it would get. Satisfied, he adjusted his right shoelace so one side was left with a much longer section before he drew his knife and cut a piece off. Old habits died hard, and he still used the extra-length round nylon braided ones and probably always would. They were a godsend in an emergency, and he still had enough to still tie his boot.

Max had supplied an extended barrel for his pistol, and for some reason, today was the day he’d chosen to fit it. He jammed the barrel into the bottle. It was a tight fit, but it needed to be to accomplish his purpose. With deft movements, he slipped one end of the shoelace through the trigger guard, wound both around the neck—one from each side—and made sure to secure them as tightly as he could. He gripped the pistol and its new, improvised suppressor and slid it into his jacket pocket before he stood, rolled his neck and shook his hands, and stepped out of the bathroom stall.

He gritted his teeth and his stomach lurched sharply when his gaze settled on the two men waiting for him. They stood far apart, and both had their hands on their weapons, prepared for the possibility that he might decide to come out shooting. The distance between them ensured that even if Savage hit one of them, the other would be out of angle for a clear shot on his part and could easily gun him down. Why they had waited for him to step out of the stall was what stirred his curiosity.

Then again, they wouldn’t want any trace of the violence that was about to ensue to remain once they’d left. They were ready for a shootout if they were forced into one, but there were better, simpler ways to eliminate someone like him in a public area that didn’t leave bullet holes and shell casings all over the damned place.

Savage realized that they now waited for him to make a move. If he wanted to regain the element of surprise, he needed to be quicker on the draw than they would be. And he needed them to be relaxed about his preparedness in the situation.

He inhaled slowly and forced out a burp as he leaned against the side of the stall. With a soft, inane laugh, he moved to the sinks and made sure to add a slight stagger to his step. Again, he wouldn’t attempt to indicate that he was fully drunk, only enough to make them think that their opponent in this fight wasn’t at his full capacity.

His gaze tracked their movements in the mirror as he turned the tap on and let the water run until it was icy before he dipped his hands into the flow.

“There’s no need to make this messy,” one of the men said and stepped in closer behind him. Savage noted that the bathroom door had already been locked. Nobody would be able to enter or interfere.

“Make wha’ messy?” he asked and carefully added a hint of a slur to his intonation as he dried his hands. “I…didn’t make a mess in there, I swear. I aimed and everything. And I put the toilet seat down too. I don’t know why since this is the men’s room but it seemed like the right thing to do.”

The two men exchanged a glance, and the one farther back shrugged. The suggestion of confusion between them told him they didn’t actually know who he was. In their minds, he was merely a threat that needed to be handled—which meant that he wasn’t the actual target.

The closer man withdrew what appeared to be a piano wire from inside his coat. In doing so, his hand moved away from the firearm. Savage adopted a bewildered expression but watched the man in the mirror as he moved closer and eventually blocked his comrade’s line of fire when he raised his hands to draw the garotte up and over his target’s head.

Using the guise of discarding the paper towel allowed him to drift his left hand under his coat. He raised the pistol in almost the same motion and used his image in the mirror to aim. It was a point-blank shot, of course, but he only had one attempt.

A look of surprise contorted the man’s face when he felt the elongated, bottle-barrel of his pistol shove into his ribs at the same moment that he tightened the wire around his quarry’s neck. It tightened and loosened almost immediately as the man hesitated and tried to decide if he was better off using the garotte or if he needed his gun.

He didn’t have the time to choose.

Savage pulled the trigger and the garotte tugged for a second as a bullet punched into his assailant. The sound was still loud but not enough to penetrate the dance music that played outside. Besides, it didn’t sound like a gunshot—more a soft pop like a bang snap. His attacker released the garotte, his eyes fixed in a look of shock and surprise as he stumbled back a step.

His partner wasted a second before he realized what had happened. That was all Savage needed as he spun, ready to confront his second assailant. It proved to be a second or two, considering that the man’s own long suppressor had to clear the holster too, which provided time for the operative to grasp the now dead man firmly around his neck with his free hand.

He circled, the movement slow and awkward as he held the dead weight of the first assassin between himself and his opponent as a shield. Hopefully, the blood from the bullet hole in the man’s chest wouldn’t be a problem—how the hell would he explain leaving the bathroom soaked in blood to his date? Anxious to end it now, he shoved his weapon under the first man’s arm and squeezed the trigger. The weapon snapped with the same dull pop and a bullet hole appeared in one of the doors beside the target.

Damn. Maybe the drink had affected him a little more than he realized. It should have been a simple, contained kill at close quarters. Or maybe, a part of his brain analyzed around his adrenaline, he’d lost his edge after all that time in the hospital—and his human shield wasn’t lightweight, either, so the dead arm slowed and restricted his movement. Either way, there was no time to evaluate it.

The assassin’s gun was clear and now aimed at Savage. The corpse jerked when a slug pounded into it. Thankfully, he hadn’t tried to take another shot, or his aim would have been thrown even wider. His human shield already had two holes in him and the chance that he would be on the receiving end of the third was high. The first shot had probably been one of impulse. His adversary would definitely fire again. He was good enough and they were close enough that he would find his target through his partner and didn’t have to hesitate. The man was dead already, and there was no need to even attempt to shoot around his body.

The meat shield had lost his usefulness. Well, most of it, anyway. Savage had only one more shot before the bottle disintegrated. It already looked ragged from the two shots he had already fired. It wouldn’t survive a third. A tactic spilled into his mind, and before it had even crystallized, he pushed into motion.

He shoved the dead man toward his partner and ducked, keeping both hands on his pistol. This was it—the deciding moment—and he couldn’t afford another miss.

As the assailant tried to dodge his falling comrade, Savage raised his weapon and pulled the trigger. Another, louder pop reverberated in the small area as the bottle was shredded by a third bullet. Thankfully, he wouldn’t need a fourth. The man’s knee exploded in white and red and his face contorted suddenly. His leg collapsed and he fell with a shriek of pain. Savage lurched closer to grab the hand with the gun and wrestle the weapon loose.

The assassin held on and he had to deliver a hard jab to the man’s nose before he finally released the pistol. Both of the wounded man’s hands now clutched his leg and he shook his head as if in an attempt to grasp what had happened. He paled even further when the aluminum suppressor pressed against his temple.

“I think you and me should have a little chat, don’t you?” Savage snarled and added sufficient pressure to his grip on the weapon to keep the man on the floor.

“I’m not telling you shit,” his adversary snarled and spat at his feet.

“Let’s not make promises that we’ll regret, asswipe,” he retorted. A small grin settled on his lips as the gun moved away from the man’s temple and jammed against his good knee. “Did you play sports? You look like you were a high-school quarterback—you have that strong jaw structure some people might consider attractive. That means all the girls liked you and all the boys wanted to be like you, which means they always gave you the ball to toss around. Yeah, I’d say you were a quarterback, wouldn’t you say?”

The man shook his head and made no response.

“Yeah, you look like you played QB,” he continued with a nod. “An injury made sure that no college would touch you, though, so you signed up to serve your country. If there’s anything the chicks like more than a man in a gridiron helmet, it’s a man in uniform. But my man, if you think people won’t hire you after a torn ACL took you out for the season, wait until you see the kind of money they offer a guy who needs to walk around with a cane.”

His captive looked firmly at him. There was a suggestion of terror in his eyes as he imagined what his life would be like with both his knees gone, but it wasn’t enough to make him talk. Savage gritted his teeth and shook his head.

“Sorry, pal,” he muttered, raised the pistol to the man’s forehead, and pulled the trigger.

“What?” Anja asked. She’d been silent for a while, obviously leaving him to get on with what he had to do. “I thought you would make him talk. Why did you kill him?”

“Firstly, we don’t have the time to make someone talk,” Savage said in a low voice. “Secondly, torture doesn’t work. The fear of pain is the only thing that will render reliable information. Once you enter the pain itself, you have to reach the person’s pain threshold to make them talk. At that point, any information you acquire is suspect because the person might simply spew what his interrogators want to hear only to make it all stop.”

She didn’t respond, and he didn’t need her to. He searched the dead man and located a small radio connection wired to the man’s arm and ear. Quickly, he tugged it clear, tucked his own pistol into his pocket, and kept the .45 Colt in his hand as he attached the radio system to himself.

“We’ve secured the girl in the van,” another man’s voice said through the connection. “Have you handled the guy inside? Don’t waste time in trying to move him out. You can leave him in the stall and they’ll only figure out that he’s dead in the morning.”

“Well, that’s not nice,” Savage grumbled and moved clear of the man. He dropped beside the first assassin and tugged the garotte from his lifeless fingers. You never knew when you needed to dispose of someone quickly, and if worse came to worst, a garrote worked far better than a tie. He retrieved the man’s weapon as well. On some level, he felt rather like a scavenger, but at this point in his life, it was kill or be killed. He knew which of the two he’d prefer.

“Tell me something, Anja,” he said as he finished looting the two men’s corpses. “Jessica said that the rest of the scientists involved in that facility all got their pink slips. How many of them are still alive?”

Her keyboard tapped rapidly as she ran searches. He assumed that she at least had the names of the people she was looking for, considering that she had been able to capture all the digital information from the facility.

“Shit,” the hacker said softly. “Seven researchers were fired and given hefty severance packages. All have been found dead in their homes. Accidents all around, apparently, except for one that was an overdose suicide. How did you know?”