Authors: Dakota Banks
She shook her head.
He took the jacket from her. “I’ll take care of this. No problem. Here, put on this sweatshirt. You don’t want to be scaring your neighbors. Go on home now.”
“Thanks, Chick,” she said, and meant it.
“You take care of yourself.”
In the central core of the building, she waited at the bank of three elevators. With Arnie, her arrangement had been that she paid him thirty thousand dollars a month for his assistance and his confidence, plus a one-hundred-thousand-dollar end-of-year bonus. With the investment advice she’d shared, Arnie had become a multi-millionaire during the time Maliha lived at Harbor Point Towers.
Then he’d paid for his association with me with his life. Starting fresh with Chick, maybe I shouldn’t get him involved. He’s already proven himself useful, though, and I think he’s already seen too much.
Eliu was home. Hound had followed Maliha in a cab, arriving a little before the shooting started. He intercepted Eliu as she fled the building.
She was crying. “I’m so sorry,” she said between sobs. “I just wanted to be near something that reminded me of my husband.” Hound was sitting next to her, one arm around her. Amaro stood off to the side with a tissue box in his hand. He might be the best hacker in the world, but confronted with a crying woman, he wavered. A piece of code wouldn’t fix her.
Maliha went over and knelt in front of Eliu. She took the woman’s hands in hers. “It’s not your fault. You’re here with us and safe now. Everything turned out all right.”
Except for a guard who won’t be going home to his family, but this isn’t the time for brutal honesty.
“Oh no, you’re bleeding,” Eliu said. “You’re injured! Is it bad? Let me see!”
Blood had seeped through the light tan sweatshirt. “I’ll be okay. Just nicked by a bullet.”
Eliu straightened up and wiped her eyes. “I did this with my stupidity. It won’t happen again.”
“It’s no problem. . . .”
“Maliha, why don’t you go get cleaned up?” Hound said.
She glanced down at the sweatshirt and saw that the bloodstain was large and growing as she watched. Blood trickled out from her sleeve onto her hand.
He’s right, of course. The sooner I’m out of her sight, the better.
The bleeding stopped quickly with the application of pressure. Maliha took a shower and Amaro bandaged her shoulder. The wounds weren’t deep and the pain was fading. She told Amaro that later that evening, she was going to take Eliu to her haven and tell her to stay there, making sure she didn’t approach the entry foyer from inside. It would be a safe place for her to stay, and now that Eliu’s life had nearly been lost, Maliha wasn’t going to hear any argument about it. It made her a little sad that her private space would be used by someone else, but it would allow the rest of the team to keep Eliu close without having to guard her. Maliha hinted that Amaro and Hound could join her if they wished, but she had little hope that they would.
Maliha wanted to go out into the living room and show Eliu that the wounds were no big deal, but when she opened her bedroom door, Hound waved her off. He was sitting at the table, drinking tea with Eliu, and they were deep in conversation. She looked better than she had in days. Hound had probably told her that Yanmeng was alive.
Later, walking Eliu to the haven, Eliu had questions about that contact. She seemed disappointed that there was nothing more than an image.
“Tell me what he looked like.”
“He was young,” Maliha said. “No more than thirty years old. He had dark hair and was smiling as though looking at someone he loved. He was wearing a white robe that I think was silk. It came all the way to his ankles. The sleeves were very long and hung at his sides. He was so handsome.”
Eliu gasped. “Was he wearing a blue sash?”
Maliha reformed the image in her mind. “Yes! How did you know?”
“That was an image of Yanmeng on our wedding day,” Eliu said. She reached her hand out and touched Maliha’s arm. “He was smiling at me, I know it. It was a message to let me know he’s alive. It had to be.”
“He knew I’d tell you. He gave me the image that would be most comforting to you,” Maliha said.
Eliu’s eyes were bright with tears. “Can you send him an image of me? I have our wedding picture, I can show you what I looked like. It would mean so much to me.”
Maliha’s shoulders sagged. “I can’t do that. I was barely able to contact Yanmeng, and then he’s the one who took over and responded.”
“Do it again, then.”
“I think he used everything he had to send that one image. He’s sedated, and it’s amazing he was able to gather enough strength for that.”
She installed Eliu in the haven and gave her a run-through on how it operated, including warnings to keep out of the booby-trapped area near the entrance.
“What will happen if I don’t?”
“Um, poison darts will rain down on you if you don’t do everything just right.”
“Got it.”
“We’ll keep in touch. There are secure communications between here and the thirty-ninth floor.”
“It’s beautiful here. So peaceful.”
Low-voltage lights sparkled against the dark ceiling, looking like a starry night. Eliu nodded when Maliha showed her the tatami sleeping mat and the futon to be unrolled on it.
“From Japan,” Eliu said about the tatami mat. “We use a mattress and down pillows. But I’m sure I will sleep well.”
Eliu was looking at the displays of treasures collected by Maliha over her lifetime. Maliha thought about the most important of those, the shards and Tablet of the Overlord in the hidden floor safe.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” Eliu said. “I will keep all of this secret.” The look in her eyes said it all. She knew it was an imposition to be in the haven, but now that she knew Yanmeng was alive, she had reason to live—reason to be safe.
Maliha hugged her. “You’ll enjoy the shower. Remember . . .”
Eliu nodded. She wasn’t going to be making any more solitary excursions. While the haven was an elegant place to stay, it was also a prison cell for her. It would literally kill her to leave.
If I hadn’t told Hound and Amaro about my contact with Yanmeng, we wouldn’t have discovered Eliu was missing in time. She’d be dead now.
L
ATITUDE
45˚ 23 58.12N,
LONGITUDE
88˚ 39 59.52W.
The coordinates in the note that came with Yanmeng’s severed hand turned out to be Lakeview Cemetery in Wisconsin. It was located in the Chequamegon-Nicolet National Forest on Forest Road 2358. Locals knew it as Eliot Road.
“I should head there tonight and stay in the closest motel. Looks like I’ll be doing some cross-country skiing,” Maliha said.
“Why not a snowmobile? I’m sure you can rent them around there,” Amaro said.
“Skis are quieter. I’d rather not be heard coming,” she said.
That night Maliha traveled to Wisconsin, rented a Jeep, and stayed in a bed-and-breakfast just outside the national forest, where she’d been summoned to a meeting. There was an eight-inch snowfall overnight, with the temperature around twenty below zero. She was on the road at dawn the next morning, in a white two-piece stretchable outfit that allowed her flexibility and blended in with the snowy surroundings.
I’m wearing more layers than an onion.
She had her whip sword in a sheath around her waist and a throwing knife strapped to each thigh. A Glock 26, the baby Glock specially designed for concealed carry, rested in a pocket holster, and a spare magazine was in her other pocket.
Why would the Blood Countess need an assassin? Can’t she do her own kills?
She parked the Jeep a half mile away, pulling off the road behind some evergreen trees whose branches drooped with heavy snow. She put on her skis. Her shoulder was stiff, but after she warmed up from the skiing, it wasn’t noticeable. Heading off into the forest, she paralleled Eliot Road until she reached the cemetery. She found a hidden spot where she could watch the cemetery entrance and waited. She was early. The day began with a cloudless sky and the sun sparkling on fresh snow, a bluebird day to enjoy, if Maliha hadn’t been heading for a meeting with the Blood Countess. Her breath hung white in the air and the moisture in her nostrils crackled as it froze. When the air hit her lungs, it hadn’t been prewarmed by her nostrils, so it cooled her chest from the inside. It felt like she had stuffed a peppermint patty in each lung. She pressed a button on her goggles and liquid crystal technology darkened the lenses for sunny conditions.
The roar of snowmobiles cut through the stillness of the forest. Elizabeth wasn’t alone.
Her mind flashed to a long-ago assignment in Yakutia, a huge frozen land area in northern Siberia. Images of slashed bodies of men, women, and children—a small settlement subjected to a demon’s revenge with her as the instrument of death. Hot blood spilled on the snow, melting down into it only briefly before freezing. Maliha’s muscles tensed and her senses were hyper-alert. She was ready for anything.
There were four snowmobiles in all. Elizabeth led the way, hair flying in the wind, disdainful of the cold. She rode as if she were straddling a stallion, with a look of wild abandon on her face.
To look at her, you wouldn’t think she’d ever had an evil thought in her head.
Two heavily armed men followed, and between them was a man who carried no weapon. He was confident in his escort.
They pulled into the cemetery, riding over the graves until all four came to an abrupt halt, spewing powder into the air. They dismounted and huddled in a group. It was easy to pick out Elizabeth among them. There were two men with automatic rifles slung over their shoulders—bodyguards, and not the kind Maliha could dismiss. They carried themselves well and confidently, probably with military training in their background. A third man had his back to her. He wore a green parka with a hood. She skied over to meet them, stopped about ten feet away, then used her poles to disengage the heel locks on her ski bindings. She stepped out of the bindings into the snow, sinking a few inches.
If there’s going to be any fighting going on, I can’t maneuver on skis.
The bodyguards were leery of the knives she openly carried and asked her to remove them. She politely declined. They wanted to press the issue but Elizabeth told them to back off. With resentment in their faces, they did.
They don’t like taking orders from her. They’re not her people. I’m coming in late on whatever dynamic is going on here.
Elizabeth had her hand resting on Parka Man’s arm. Her posture and the familiarity of the touch told Maliha they were probably lovers.
“Here she is,” Elizabeth said, “as you requested. She’s the vital element of Project Hammer. Meet Maliha Crayne.”
The man turned toward her. He was wearing goggles, and the hood partially concealed his face, but she knew him right away. He pulled the goggles up on top of his head to get a good look at her, and that confirmed her identification.
“Hello, Maliha, I’m—” he said.
“Roger Cameron, vice president of the United States. We’ve met before, though I looked a bit different then.” He was in his mid-fifties, fit, handsome but not a standout.
“You have me at a disadvantage,” Cameron said.
You have no idea.
“At the president’s first state dinner. I was with the son of the ambassador to India.”
“I think it’s coming back to me.”
“Red dress.”
“Oh, my God, that was you?” He scanned her from head to toe.
Elizabeth had had enough of old times. “Shall we get going? She’s not going to give a show and tell.”
“Are you cold, Liz? Jim, get her a blanket from the snowmobile.”
“No, don’t.” It was said harshly. Elizabeth had let her annoyance show. Maliha saw the bodyguards smile at each other.
“I asked for this because I wanted to talk to the assassin. You just said she was a vital element of the project. Now that I’m here, I’m going to talk,” Cameron said. The bodyguards’ smiles got bigger.
“Maliha, I want you to understand what your role is and why it’s so important.”
“I’m listening,” she said.
He’s talking like I have a choice in the matter.
“I’ll be straight with you about what I want. I want the presidency. I’ve worked toward it all my adult life. You could say I was born to the task. Project Hammer began in 1955. Twelve couples—we call them the New Founders, because they are the originators of the new America—didn’t like the way the country was going. They were wealthy, but even their wealth couldn’t buy the kind of change they were looking for. They made a pact, each pledging a son or daughter to the cause.” He paused with disdain. “Am I boring you, Liz?”
“No, no, I’ve just heard it all before,” Elizabeth said.
“All twelve of us were raised as deep plants in the Democratic and Republican parties. We didn’t have to believe the words we were mouthing, as long as we were convincing. I’ve risen through the ranks building an impeccable record as a moderate Democrat. I’ve made it this close to the Oval Office. The others are at the state-government level and aren’t likely to advance. That makes me the only one who has a shot at it.”
“You want me to assassinate the president,” Maliha said.
“It’s a shame. On a personal level, I like the guy. But gambling on him getting reelected in two years and then elected on my own as president in another four years is risky. Too risky.”
“You know you’re being used by the New Founders, don’t you?” Maliha said. “Is this what you want to do?”
“Yes. I believe in this cause. You could think of me as a puppet, but I’m a willing one.”
No way to put a dent in that. He’s a true believer.
“Once I become president, Project Hammer goes into full effect. Simply put, we’re tired of America being pushed around. America needs to be able to guide the rest of the world through these tumultuous times. That means a stronger military. A much stronger military. One that these terrorists won’t dare challenge. I’d like you to join us in this noble cause. After all, what better way is there for you to save lives?”
Emergency. Emergency. Calling Homeland Security.
“My dear, you have seen the abuse America has suffered firsthand in your travels. All of those oil rich countries throttling back production of vital resources simply to manipulate prices? It’s immoral. If the prices were something we could manage, we could pour the revenues into other sources of energy. We could even stop global warming, save the environment, feed all of the hungry children, if only I could be president. We could force the change that needs to happen by removing people’s right to hesitate.”
This guy is slick. He’s got the patter down perfectly, as long as you don’t examine what he says too closely.
“What about the Constitution and the Bill of Rights?”
“Not written for the twenty-first century. Once I get in office, I don’t plan on leaving. Term limits need a bit of tweaking. It’s going to take a lot more than eight years to convert this country into doing things the right way—the New Founders way.” He unzipped his jacket and handed her an envelope. “Here’s some information on the president’s schedule.”
A delusional ideologue. A very dangerous one, with Elizabeth as his guardian. I can see why her demon set this plan in action.
“Did you have to reveal that much detail?” Elizabeth said.
“What, now that I’ve told Maliha, I have to kill her? She’s part of the grand scheme, just like you. After I’m president, I’m going to need someone to eliminate people who get in the way. We don’t want to have to deal with formalities like court hearings, let alone arbitrators without an understanding of the
real
world, like the Supreme Court.”
Elizabeth did not like being equated with Maliha. She scowled but said nothing.
I don’t think Cameron’s getting lucky tonight.
Maliha rolled the facts over in her mind, trying to determine Cameron’s chance of pulling this off. It seemed like he had a turnkey plan, no doubt with others on his payroll to step into new positions of authority. There was no certainty of success, but the consequences were unthinkable if Elizabeth managed to get him through this. Billions of lives could be at stake with Cameron’s finger on the nuclear button, and what would the world look like after Cameron got through with it? Of course there would be rebellion against his plan, but rebellion could be quashed if he or Elizabeth had anything to say about it. Americans weren’t used to martial law with a ruthless dictator calling the shots. She could contact Homeland Security, but who would they believe, the vice president of the United States or her?
Maliha was horrified to know the depth of the trap in which she was caught. With scheming at this level, and with so many years invested, it seemed unlikely that Yanmeng would ever be returned alive—Elizabeth had said as much in Kelly’s Pub—and that her role as unwilling assassin would never let up.
Maliha’s shoulders sagged with the weight of her decision.
Damn. I can’t risk it. This just became a suicide mission.
Project Hammer had to end here.
She took a step forward, alerting Elizabeth, but there was nothing Maliha could do about that. She dropped the envelope, pulled the whip sword from its sheath at her waist, and lashed out with it toward the two bodyguards. With her other hand, she launched a throwing knife at Cameron’s heart.
The blades of the whip sword caught their targets, and heads rolled into the snow. The bodyguards slumped toward the ground, blood pumping from the severed arteries of their necks. Maliha had her second throwing knife in her hand.
The first one didn’t land in Cameron’s chest as she’d hoped. Elizabeth thrust out her arm, and the blade penetrated it near the elbow, the point emerging on the other side inches from Cameron. Maliha threw the second knife, hoping to slip it past Elizabeth. As soon as the knife left Maliha’s fingers, she pulled her Glock from her jacket pocket.
Elizabeth already had a sword in hand, the same kind Xietai had used. She flicked it in the direction of the knife and as it straightened and formed a hard, deadly blade, it turned the knife aside to fall harmlessly in the snow.
“Get down, fool,” Elizabeth shouted at Cameron. Not waiting for an answer, she swept his legs out from under him and he fell facedown in the snow.
Maliha fired a couple of rounds at Elizabeth in a desperate effort to slow her down, then aimed the weapon at Cameron’s prone form. She got off one shot and hit him in the back.
Elizabeth yanked the knife from her arm and sent it whirling back toward Maliha. It struck the Glock, sending it tumbling from Maliha’s grip. Elizabeth snatched the second knife from the snow and launched it in the air before the gun reached the ground.
The knife landed solidly in Maliha’s right thigh. Pain exploded in her leg, sending shock waves down her leg and up her spine. She struggled to remain standing. Elizabeth moved toward her, the fox to the wounded rabbit.
Oh, shit. Here it comes.
Cameron groaned and tried to move forward weakly. Elizabeth’s orders from the demon took precedence. She shook her head. She was a guardian first, avenger second. She turned around and started dragging Cameron over the snow. With her strength, he glided as smoothly as a sled. She left with him on one of the snowmobiles.