10
The serpent, the Cursed One, fouled the earth.
An orgy of blood, Paradise lost.
Kill the firstborn then burn in hell.
The serpent, the Cursed One, all covered in –
‘Pathetic.’
The assassin known as the Dark Angel disabled the iPhone in mid-song, bored with the shrieking vocals and discordant rhythm of the Black Metal music. Nothing but a pack of alienated young white men, their primal screams evoking a violent fantasy world.
So much better to live the fantasy.
Hitching a leather-clad hip against the wrought-iron railing, the assassin scrutinized the little green brick house on the other side of the walkway. The cream-coloured shutters looked newly painted, the brass door knocker was shaped like a pineapple, and the window boxes on the first floor brimmed with pink pansies. Too trite for words. Overlooking a placid stretch of canal, the row of brightly painted residences was more reminiscent of Amsterdam than Washington.
Oh, to be in Amsterdam on a hot, muggy night. With the lurid fluorescent lights and writhing bodies behind plate-glass windows. A red-light district second to none. A true outpost of the erotic frontier. Raw, raunchy and real. What’s your pleasure, bébé?
Annoyed to suddenly hear a tinny buzz, the assassin glanced down. It only took a few seconds for the intrepid mosquito to land on a patch of bare skin, oblivious to its fate. Unaware that the hand of God was two feet away, ready to strike.
How long should I let it live?
‘Hmm … I think that’s long enough.’
Intrigued by the sight of smeared blood and smashed wings, the assassin softly cackled. Do give my regards to Fabius Jutier. Who, no doubt, went to his grave snivelling and sobbing, the Frenchman having been an effeminate weakling.
Not like the two Delta Force commandoes. Fine specimens, the both of them. Real men, as the Americans are fond of saying. All bunched muscles, tightened sinews, eyes burning bright with hatred. Fighting against the restraints with every ounce of power in their big, muscular bodies. Right to the bittersweet end.
Such a shame that stolen pleasures never last long enough.
‘But the night is still young.’
Smiling in anticipation, the assassin glanced at the address scrawled on a crumpled sheet of paper, verifying the house number.
Time to get to work.
11
‘Shit! ’ Finn hollered as the front end of the catering truck smashed into the fire hydrant.
Folding his left arm over his face, he slammed against the steering wheel with a bruising intensity.
Beside him, Kate faired no better, the force of the collision propelling her against his outstretched right arm. Flung forward, a split-second later they boomeranged backward. Like a pair of crash dummies. Except they didn’t have any airbags to cushion the impact.
His spine jangling, Finn turned towards Kate. ‘You okay?’
‘It’s raining,’ she murmured, a dazed look on her face. Then, an instant later, more lucid, she said, ‘No, it’s not raining. It’s the hydrant.’
On the other side of the windscreen a fountain of water gushed skyward.
‘The water main must have burst.’
Finn peered into the wing mirror; they’d had a lucky break. The Mercedes had overshot the turn. The bad guys would have to drive to the next block, turn left and come back around.
Meaning that he and Kate had thirty, maybe forty seconds to get the hell out of there.
‘We’ve got to bolt on the double quick. Those goons will be coming round the corner any second.’ As he spoke, Finn searched the truck cab for a plastic bag. Finding one, he dumped the contents – a half-eaten sandwich and a half-drunk bottle of Coke – and handed the empty sack to Kate. ‘Put the notebook computer inside that. We need to keep it dry.’
Blasted by spewing water when he exited the truck, Finn slogged around the back end and swung the passenger door wide open. Ignoring his co-pilot’s panic-stricken expression, he grabbed the plastic-covered computer off her lap and stuffed it into the waistband of his trousers. That done, he cinched a hand around Kate’s upper arm and yanked her out of the truck. She swayed unsteadily on her high-heel shoes, water trickling down her face.
Finn quickly sized up his teetering companion. Five foot five, 115 pounds. Piece of cake.
Knowing she wouldn’t like what he was about to do, Finn decided to forego getting a signed permission slip. In a big-ass hurry, he shoved his left arm between Kate’s legs, wrapped his right hand around her upper arm, and unceremoniously hefted her on to his shoulder. Turning towards the nearest house, he ran across the soggy front yard. There was no car in the driveway and he figured the happy homeowners were out for the night. Good.
No sooner did he make it to the driveway than Finn heard the roar of a powerful engine at the other end of the block.
The unfriendlies in the Mercedes.
Had to be.
Not planning to stick around long enough to find out, he sprinted down the driveway. A wooden privacy fence enclosed the back yard. Finn stopped at the gate and reached for the latch. If they could just get through the gate before –
Yes!
He noiselessly shut the gate. Peering through the wooden fence slats, he saw a black Mercedes G500 SUV pull up next to the demolished truck.
‘Finn, what’s hap–’
‘Shhh!’
Two men with drawn weapons jumped out of the Mercedes.
Time to hustle.
Pivoting on his heel, Finn headed towards the back fence, sidestepping a kid’s swing. He opened the rear gate and quickly made his way into the alley. Kate started to squirm. Not ready to unload his cargo, he put a hand on her wiggling ass. She instantly stilled.
Passenger subdued, he took off at a fast clip. The alley reeked of urine, rotting garbage and an unidentified dead something. It was a muggy night and the stench hung thickly in the air. As Finn continued down the alley, he heard the rumble of thunder. On the far horizon, like a broken neon sign, streaks of white lightning flickered on and off.
Please, God, no rain, he silently prayed. We’re wet enough as it is.
Figuring they had enough of a lead, he came to a halt and set his passenger on her feet.
‘How far away is Wisconsin Avenue?’ he asked without preamble.
‘Umm –’ She glanced about. ‘I’m guessing it’s about a block and a half from here.’ As she spoke, her lips trembled. ‘We don’t stand a chance, do we?’
Hearing the terrified hitch in Kate’s voice, Finn mentally kicked himself. This was his mess, not hers. ‘If you want to get out of this alive, we need to get a move on it. Capiche?’
She managed a shaky nod.
Thatta girl. Wisconsin Avenue on any given night was party town central, one of those streets where the beer flowed and the denizens flocked in drunken droves. The perfect place to fade into the crowd. He set a quick pace, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. As they neared the cross street, Finn heard the distinctive roar of a German-made V-8 engine.
Kate heard it as well. ‘Oh, no!’
‘Quick! Get behind that dumpster!’ he hissed, placing a hand on Kate’s shoulder as he shoved her towards a large metal receptacle. Right on her six, Finn crouched as close to Kate as humanly possible, wrapping his arms and legs around her backside. Attempting to make his six-foot-four frame as small as possible.
Twenty feet away, the Mercedes slowed, coming to a complete stop at the entrance of the alleyway. Finn heard the soft whhrr of an automatic window being lowered.