Requiem for an Assassin

34

A SECOND AFTER Boaz engaged the device, a cacophony of shrieks emanated from belowdecks on the boat. Among them, I recognized Dox’s baritone roar, and was seized with conflicting emotions: relief that he was alive, horror at the level of pain that could have produced that agonized wail.

I stood there, helpless, the HK in front of me now in a two-handed grip, waiting for someone to stumble off the boat so I could shoot. Nothing happened. If anything, the screaming got worse.

In my peripheral vision, I saw movement on the adjacent craft. I glanced left and right to confirm there was no danger. Civilians, looking out from their boats now to see what was causing the ruckus.

“What’s happening over there?” a Caucasian man yelled in English from the boat to my left.

“Police matter, sir,” I called back in my best command voice. “Please just stay on your craft and keep your head down. There could be shooting and I wouldn’t want you or your family injured.”

The man disappeared without another word.

The screaming went on. Goddamnit, why aren’t they trying to get off the boat?

“Turn it off!” I said. “They must be stuck belowdecks. I’m going in.”

“It’s off,” I heard him say. In my peripheral vision, I saw him pull a pistol from a bellyband. I half turned to him, but he was pointing the gun at the boat, not at me.

“Stay there,” I said. “We might need heat again.” I jumped onto the deck and moved to the stairs.

The screaming had stopped. I paused at the edge of the entrance, glanced down, and pulled my head back. With my eyes adjusted to the glare outside, I couldn’t see what was below. I pulled off the shades and jammed them in a pocket.

Another quick peek. Nothing. Still no screaming.

There were only six stairs. I leaped over all of them and landed in a squat on the deck below. I pivoted, the gun out, tracking for danger. Still nothing. I was in a narrow corridor. There were three doors, all closed, all on my right, all with small windows.

I moved up next to the first of them and snuck a quick peek through the window, then away. Nothing.

I checked the second one the same way. Again, nothing.

I checked the third. Dox, lying on his back, in shackles. A bald guy, his face covered in blood, holding a knife, staggering toward him.

I grabbed the knob. It was locked. Fuck.

I stepped to the side, closed one eye to ensure that if I got hit with debris I’d only be half-blinded, brought up the HK, and fired three rapid shots into the door jamb inside the knob. The HK whispered and kicked in my hands. Wood splinters exploded past me.

I stepped back and launched a front kick just to the side of the knob. The door blasted inward. The bald guy spun to face me. I put two rounds in his chest. He staggered back to the wall and crumbled to the deck.

There was no one else in the room but Dox. I knelt beside him, the gun up, facing the door. “How many others on the boat?” I said. “Do you know?”

“One other,” he grunted. “One other.”

“Hilger?”

“No. Someone else. I think he’s locked in one of the…”

From two doors down came the staccato crack of a half-dozen rapid pistol shots. The guy Dox was talking about, in one of the rooms I’d passed. The windows were small, and I’d been moving quickly. I must have missed him.

There was no cover in the room. I moved up stealthily along the wall, keeping the HK aimed at the door, waiting.

Nothing happened. Whoever he was, he was smart. The defender in a fixed position has a significant advantage over the aggressor who comes looking for him. He knew it, and he was waiting for me to pass him on the way out.

Fuck, I didn’t have time to play it this way. Club security, cops…we had to get out of here.

“Give me five seconds of heat,” I whispered into the earpiece. “Exactly five seconds.”

“Jesus Christ, not again,” Dox mumbled from behind me.

“Three, two, one,” I heard Boaz say, and then my skin was on fire.

An involuntary scream tore loose from my throat, with Dox offering a chorus from the deck behind me. I fought the illusion that the gun was red-hot and battled the overwhelming urge to drop it. It was all I could do to stay on my feet. Whoever was down the hall, the only advantage I had was that I knew what this was, and that it would last only five seconds.

It seemed like a lot longer. But then it was gone, as suddenly as it had started. I gritted my teeth and charged into the hallway.

There-the first door I had passed. It was open, the wood around the jamb torn up by pistol shots. I sprinted down to the edge of the frame and stopped.

“Again-three seconds,” I whispered.

“Three, two, one,” I heard again, and again my nerve endings exploded in fire. I shook with pain, with the effort of not screaming. From inside the room, I heard a long wail. Then, so suddenly it seemed a miracle, the pain was gone. I took a deep breath and spun into the room.

There he was, on the right, splayed on the floor. I brought the HK around.

Whoever he was, he was as quick as I’ve ever seen. He snapped the gun forward and simultaneously rolled to his left. I felt something slam into my chest and heard the double crack of successive pistol shots. I staggered back into the wall and returned fire. My first two shots landed short, but they made him flinch. I walked the muzzle up an inch and kept firing. Again, I was short, but the second two rounds ricocheted along the deck and into his body. He curled up and I kept firing, three times more, two to his torso, the last in his head. He dropped his gun and lay still.

I could barely breathe. Gritting my teeth, I dropped the empty magazine, slammed in a spare, and released the slide. I pressed my left palm to my chest, then brought it to my eyes, fully expecting it to be covered with blood. But it wasn’t. The Dragon Skin. I’d gotten the wind knocked out of me, but it seemed that was all.

I picked up and pocketed the empty mag and staggered back down the hallway. Dox had gotten to his knees, but hadn’t managed any further than that. Amazingly, the bald guy was holding onto the cot, halfway to standing. I brought up the HK.

“Don’t,” Dox said. “Don’t, don’t, don’t do that.”

I turned my head, but kept the muzzle of the gun on the bald guy. “What?” I said.

“Don’t you kill him,” Dox said, coming shakily to his feet. “Give me the gun.”

“There’s no time…”

“Give me the fucking gun!” he screamed.

You have to know when to argue with people, and when not to. This was clearly a “not to” situation.

Dox staggered toward me, and I leaped forward and grabbed his arm before he could fall. I placed the gun in his manacled hands and walked him over to the bald guy. The bald guy watched us coming. His arms shook, and he lost his hold on the cot. He sank to his knees, then slumped to his side, panting and trembling.

Dox stood directly over him. He aimed the gun.

“Just so you know,” he said, “even if I had time, I wouldn’t do to you what you were going to do to me.”

The bald guy started to say something. Dox didn’t wait to hear what. Without another word, he emptied the full magazine into the bald guy’s face. Twelve muffled shots, each fading into the next. Bone and brain matter flew.

He stood for a second, swaying slightly, looking down at what he had done. Then he handed me the smoking pistol. He buckled, and I grabbed his arm to support him.

“Good,” he said. “That was worth ten thousand dollars in therapy right there.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got a spare mag.”

He nodded. “I figured you did.”

I swapped in a fresh magazine, then pulled out an extra baseball hat and jammed it on his head. I eased a pair of shades over his eyes. “You look good,” I said.

“Just get me out of here, man.”

I squeezed his shoulder. “That’s what I’m here for.”

I put on my own shades, took his arm, and helped him down the corridor. “We’re on our way,” I said, into the earpiece. “Just the two of us. Get out the bolt cutters, be ready.”

“Hurry,” Boaz said. “We have a lot of attention.”

I holstered the HK and kept us going. I didn’t know the nature of Dox’s injuries, but he was having a hard time moving, even beyond the limits of the shackles. It took a full minute to get him up the stairs.

Crossing the deck, I saw Boaz was right. There were people staring at us from half a dozen boats. Several groups on foot had stopped and were watching to see what the commotion was. Come on, I thought. Come on, come on…

Boaz reached out and helped Dox hop onto the pier. The chains were heavy, but there’s not much that will stand up to four feet of bolt cutters. Boaz moved in and, three well-placed snaps later, Dox had the use of his hands and feet again. The manacles themselves we could worry about later.

Boaz had already packed up the heater. He shouldered the gear while I scanned the crowd for danger, so far seeing nothing worse than gawkers. Then we set off toward the main pier, hurrying now, Dox’s giant arms around our shoulders, his chains clanking as we moved.

“This man’s hurt!” I called out to the people who were staring at us. “Somebody call a doctor!” There, that ought to make us look more like the good guys and lower the chances of someone disputing our passage. Theoretically.

We made a left onto the main pier and kept moving. I saw that Kanezaki had backed all the way to the edge of the pier. Boaz must have called him. But Christ, it was taking us forever. Why the fuck did the boat have to be on the farthest perpendicular? I thought. Murphy’s Law. Unbelievable.

People stared at us as we walked by. No one said anything, or tried to interfere.

Fifty feet out from the access road, I started to think we were going to make it. I could see the exhaust drifting from Kanezaki’s idling engine.

Two uniformed security guys burst through the main clubhouse doors and onto the pier. They sprinted straight at us. Each was wearing a sidearm, still holstered.

“They’re shooting back there!” I cried out in a high voice. “Hurry!”

For one second, I thought they were going to buy it. They looked down the pier and I could feel their attention shifting. Then their eyes came back to us, their expressions hardening.

For all his concern about rules of engagement, Boaz had his pistol out as fast as I did. “Do not reach for your weapons,” I said, loudly and evenly, pointing the HK at the guy in front of me, while Boaz covered the other man.

Neither said a word. Their mouths dropped open and their hands crept north. Whatever they were paid to provide “security” at the yacht club, this wasn’t part of the job description.

“Over the side,” I said. “Into the water.” Neither moved. I pointed the gigantic suppressed muzzle of the HK directly at the guy’s face, suddenly pleased at the intimidating size of the thing, and shouted, “Now!”

He jumped in without another word. The other guy followed him an instant later.

“Very humane of you,” Boaz said, and we kept hustling forward down the pier. The automatic side door of Kanezaki’s van slid open. We helped Dox in, then followed inside. Kanezaki pulled smoothly away.

“You got him?” Boaz said to me.

For an instant, I didn’t even know what he was talking about. “Who?”

“Hilger.”

I shook my head. “He wasn’t on the boat.”

“Damn it,” he said. “Delilah told me…” He stopped and smiled. “Well, I guess she was wrong.”

“Intel,” I said. “What can you do.”

He laughed. “I think maybe things between you two are better than you let on.”

Dox was lying on his back on the floor. I used the bolt cutters to get the manacles off him. While I cut, Boaz called Naftali. He was a half-mile behind us, and there was no pursuit.

Kanezaki pulled over. I removed the fake plates and we set out again.

We kept driving. Naftali called again. Still all clear.

It looked like we were going to make it. I pulled off the hat and shades and patted Dox’s shoulder. “How are you doing?”

“I feel like shit.”

He looked it, too. He was pale and he was having trouble breathing. Adrenaline was probably masking a lot of his pain, but that wasn’t going to last much longer. I knew Kanezaki had morphine in the medical kit. I got out a syringe and gave Dox a hit.

“How’s that?” I asked.

“Oo-rah,” he said. “John Rain, my angel of mercy.”

I laughed.

“Who’s driving this thing, anyway?” he said.

“It’s me, Dox,” Kanezaki called from up front. “Tom.”

“Good to have you here, man,” Dox said, his voice a little stronger now, rallying from the morphine. “I’d shake your hand and thank you properly, but I’m a little laid up at the moment. And who’s this?”

Boaz pulled off the hat, wig, and shades. “Boaz,” he said.

Dox held up his hand and Boaz shook it.

“I didn’t know John had other friends,” Dox said, the words slurring slightly. “I thought I was his only one.”

Boaz smiled. “I guess that’s why he wanted to get you off that boat so much.”

“My skin’s starting to hurt,” Dox said. “What did you guys use, some kind of millimeter wave device?”

“Am I the only one who’s never heard of these things?” I said, and heard Kanezaki laugh.

“Sorry,” Boaz said. “Calibrating the waves isn’t an exact science. You probably have first-degree burns, maybe second.”

Dox laughed, grimacing as he did so. “Jesus Christ, you think I give a rat’s ass about a sunburn? Uncle Fester back there was fixing to decapitate Nessie.”

Kanezaki glanced back. “Nessie?”

“Please don’t ask him,” I said.

“If you’d shown up ten seconds later, I’d be singing in a girl’s choir somewhere, I’ll tell you that,” he said, laughing and grimacing harder. “Goddamn, I’m telling you, that was a near, near thing.”

Then his voice cracked. “I…ah, fuck, this is embarrassing,” he said. “I really thought I was dead, though, I…ah, fuck.”

He lay there, gritting his teeth and shaking, and the tears rolled silently down his face. I put a hand on his shoulder. “Go ahead,” I said. “Get it out.”

“Why did it have to be in front of you?” he said, half laughing, half crying. “You never puke, you never cry, and you’re going to make fun of me for this for the rest of my life.”

“I’m going to tell all your lady friends, too,” I said, and he laughed again through the tears.

It lasted another minute, then played itself out. “Thanks for bailing me out,” he said, looking around. “All of you. You too, Boaz, whoever you are. I will not, ever, forget it.”

“I’m glad we could help,” Boaz said. “And I’m sorry about the sunburn.”

Dox tilted his head back toward Kanezaki. “Where are we, anyway?”

“Singapore,” Kanezaki said. “On the way to a private jet at Changi. We’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Five minutes,” Dox said. “Good. ’Cause I’ve got a joke to tell.”

“You don’t really have to,” I said, familiar with Dox’s notions of comedy.

“Tell me,” Boaz said, with the boyish grin.

“I swore I’d tell John the kabunga joke if I came out of this alive, and I mean to keep my word, even high on morphine.”

“You really don’t have to…” I tried again, but he was already rolling.

“There are these three missionaries,” he said, “and they get captured by a nasty tribe of aborigines deep in the jungle.” He looked at Boaz. “You don’t know this one, do you?”

Boaz shook his head. “Keep going.”

“Well, the aborigines tie them up and set them down before the chief, who as it happens speaks a little English. The chief says to them, ‘We are a hostile tribe, and we despise you and your missionary ways. So you have only two choices. Death or…kabunga.’ Then he gestures to the first missionary and says, ‘Choose!’

“Well, the man doesn’t know what this kabunga business is, but he knows what death is, all right, and he knows he doesn’t want that. So he looks at the chief and says, ‘I choose…kabunga.’

“The chief raises his arms and cries out, ‘Kabunga!’ And a dozen warriors rush out. They throw this boy down, pull off his clothes, and sodomize him but good.”

“There’s a theme in your jokes, are you aware of that?” I said.

Boaz said, “Shhh. I like it. Keep going.”

“So now the chief looks at the second missionary, and he says, ‘My friend, what do you choose? Will it be death, or…kabunga?’

“Well, this boy knows what kabunga is now, and he doesn’t want any of it. But choosing death, well, that’d be suicide, and suicide is against his religious principles. So he swallows hard and says to the chief, ‘I…I choose…kabunga.’

“The chief raises his arms and cries out, ‘Kabunga!’ And once again, a dozen warriors rush out, and they have their way with this boy, and it goes on for an awful hour. Finally, it’s over. The chief looks at the third missionary and says, ‘What will it be, my friend? Death, or…kabunga?’

“Now this boy’s seen just about all the kabunga he can stand. And even though it’s against his religious principles, and even though he knows death is the end, he just can’t face kabunga. So he screws up all his courage, sticks out his chin, looks the chief straight in the eye, and says, ‘I choose death!’

“The chief raises his arms and cries out, ‘Death! But first, kabunga!’”

Boaz threw back his head and roared, and his hilarity was infectious. Within seconds, the inside of the van reverberated with laughter. As Dox had said, it had been a near, near thing. Laughter was one of the reactions. There would be others.

“Wait, wait,” Boaz said, wiping his eyes. “I’ve got one, too. These three missionaries…”

And it went on from there. I had a feeling we would be seeing Boaz again when all of this was done.

I didn’t mind the thought at all.