| "Another Variable" | ||
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University of Hertfordshire May 28, 2008, 2037 hours Lima Time As they watched the film he couldn't keep his mind on the images flickering before his eyes. Instead it wondered, taking twists and turns much like those of the past five days. The information the hit-man had provided had proven useful, though not to the men it had ended up killing. Six more people had been added to his unofficial tally; unofficial in as much as he didn't envisage himself claiming them before his team. What would they say if they knew their leader was a killer? He wasn't sure he would be able to justify his reasons to them, but then again maybe he could. It wasn't as if they were completely different in their thinking; all of them had killed people, and all had things they regretted doing in their lives. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard after all. The last man to look at him with dying eyes, a pimp who had said the wrong thing to him at the wrong time, had actually provided him with the information that had brought him here, to the room of another person from his past, the girl who had been his best friend since he had been fourteen. From what the pimp had said, Odds had ordered another hit, and the target was Hannah. Sounded like he was trying to unnerve him; mind games hadn't been beyond him, even back then. He had moved as quickly as he could, renting a car and speeding down the motorway towards her, often breaking the speed limit but managing to avoid any brushes with the law. It wouldn't have done to have been caught for speeding; not because of his identity, which was airtight, but because any delay could have meant harm coming to Hannah, something he would not allow. She was as important to him as Yelena, and he would die for Yelena. Not that he planned on dieing or anything. Whatever happened in the next few days, both he and Hannah would be breathing at the end of it. He turned to look at her, saw her pretty face concentrating on the screen, her bright eyes darting around the screen as they kept pace with the action, flickering with anticipation. They then shifted and met his. She smiled at him, the type of warm smile he missed from her. They had been so close when he had been in her life, and once that life had ended he had felt alone. Even when he met Yelena and their friendship grew he still didn't feel complete. The missing piece had caused him a lot of trouble, preventing him from entering his new life smoothly. Had it not been for the chance encounter on the beach in Spain he may never have made it this far. He owed a lot to her, and by staying with her now and protecting her he was going someway to repaying her for bringing balance back into his life. Not that he needed to, and he knew that. Their friendship was such that such things did not matter; it all worked out in the end. "Something's on your mind," she said to him. That was something that he now accepted, but at first it had scared him. She always knew what was going on in his head, one of the few people who could work it out. Added to that, she could always make him feel better, and vice versa. That was how the friendship worked. They could combine to be one, supporting the other when the need arose, but also function separately as the situation dictated. He remembered how they had gone through times when they hadn't seen or spoken to each other for months, due to study/work commitments and a lack of phone credit. The thing that amazed his was how this didn't affect the strength of their friendship; they were just as strong as they had always been. "I'm not even going to try and deny it," he replied. Despite his thoughts he couldn't help but feel safe here. It was almost as if he had been given back the two years that had been taken from him, and was now spending the night, as he probably would have done, sitting with his best mate in her room at Uni, watching a film. The only thing that told him that this was different was the pressure on his back from the silenced pistol that was nestled there. In the bag by the door were the other two. "What is it?" "I thought you would already know," he answered, smiling. "You're much more guarded than you used to be. Beside I'm tired," she said with a smile. "So why don't you just tell me." "Ok. First, I'm going to need some sustentation." "Come on, I'm a poor student! I hardly have any food as it is!" She tried the puppy-dog eyes but to no avail. "Hey, its up to you." She sighed. "Ok, ok, you get your way like usual." The grin said it all. "I'll get you for that," he promised as she opened the door. He made after her, causing her to stop. "I can make a sandwich you know," she said sarcastically. "What did I tell you?" he asked. "That you weren't going to let me out of your sight. Good, poor Ellen must be glad to have some space." He smiled at her for that. She had remembered to use the cover names. "Exactly. I'm your guardian angel." "Look more like a thug to me," she said, grinning. "A thug!?" He put on a pained expression. "That hurts." She walked over and gave him a hug. "I'm sorry, I was only joking." "I know," he replied as he slapped her on the rear. The squeal made him laugh. "Got you." He moved off towards the communal kitchen, realising that the other people on her floor had seen the exchange. He grabbed her and took her into the kitchen. "It's ok, they know there isn't anything going on, and if Liam hears and asks I'll tell him that it was an old school friend. Not lying that way." "You're too clever for your own good, you know that." he told her. "Now, make me my sandwich." She grinned. "Yes sir!" she said, and saluted him. He watched her sleeping on the bed, her face a perfect picture of serenity. He found it amazing how she could sleep so peacefully despite knowing that there was someone on his or her way to kill her. You are the reason, his mind reported. Was that it? Did she trust him so completely that she would put her life in his hands? He knew the answer to that, but it scared him. He couldn't bear to think about what would happen if he screwed up, how it would affect his life. No, it wouldn't affect his life; it would effectively end it. He wouldn't be able to continue with his life knowing he couldn't protect those he loved. You will not fail, he heard his mind say, and it was right: he would succeed. Not a hair on her head would be harmed. He was Ruzhy�, one of the deadliest people on the planet, and no hit-man was going to harm anyone near him on his watch. He would take a thousand bullets before he let one get anywhere near her. These were his thoughts as he sat in the chair facing her. The silenced pistol was on his lap, his right-hand laying on it, his fingers caressing the metal as if it were a young puppy in need of reassurance from it's master. Of course, this master was a worthy one, trained in the art of killing, but unlike the person on their way to this very place with a plan for death, he had a soul, and a conscience, and above all else he had a code by which he lived. It was how he could do what he did without hating himself. He knew some people saw that as a weakness, but that was how he was. Not like Belov, who could do things that would make the most hardened criminal pause for thought. Not that he had anything against the man; in fact they had become good friends over the months. A noise broke his chain of thought, and in an instant he was out the chair, gun in hand, and facing the door. He heard footsteps outside in the hallway, but they were uneven; there was no discernable rhythm; they seemed to stumble around randomly. A voice floated through the door. It was male, and it wasn't sober. Concealing the pistol he headed to the door, taking one last look at the sleeping form of Hannah, then opened it. The drunken man had just passed the door, but he turned back when he heard it open. An alcohol-induced smile appeared on the man's face as he saw the face at the door. "Hi," the drunk slurred. "Hello," he replied. There was no danger here, and he wanted to get back inside where he could keep his eyes on Hannah, so he took a step back and began closing the door. "You Liam?" the man asked as he tried to maintain his balance. "No, I am not. Good night." He closed the door and turned to his seat, only to be greeted with Hannah's eyes looking at him, holding his form before them. "False alarm?" she asked him, a small amount of fear in her voice. "Yeah. One of your flatmates has just returned from a night on the town." "Oh right. Well, now that I'm awake," she said, "we might as well talk. You know, reminisce about the good old days." "If you want. You start," he told her. "Ok. Remember that time I took you shopping?" He laughed. "Yeah, how could I forget? I'd had a rough time, and to cheer me up you decided to take me shopping. Even though I hated shopping, you thought it would be the best thing for me," he said, the playful sarcasm laced around every word. "Was that it? No, course not. You decided that not only would you take me shopping, but you'd take me shopping for brassieres!" "Well, it worked. You were smiling, weren't you?" "Only because I was surprised by the whole thing," he chuckled. "Still worked," she replied. "Remember when we used to sit on your roof before an exam? It used to calm you down, let you focus on things." He laughed. "I only went up there to keep you company. Still, it's helped me since then." "It has?" "Yeah. A lot of things we've done have helped me, even now." She smiled. "Wow. I knew I was good, but not that good!" The resulting laughter was cut off when she looked at his face and saw it change. "Get down," he commanded her. She complied, but her eyes were asking him why. "I thought I saw something," he explained. There was something outside her window. He focused, trying to eek out the dark forms outside. Suddenly the vision in his left eye was impaired, and it took him less than a second to realise the cause. He fell off the chair; it was the quickest way to the floor. A second later a bullet crashed through the window, shattering it around them, before finding its mark in the wall where the laser sight beckoned it. Where his head had been. "Are you ok?" Hannah asked him, her voice faltering. "Yes." He grabbed the bag by the door and removed one of the pistols, throwing it towards her. "If anyone comes near the door, tell them to stay out or you'll shoot them." She whimpered, and he took that as her acknowledgement. He needed to get outside, but they were on the second floor, and by the time he had descended the stairs in the hallway the sniper would be long gone. They were on the second floor. Shit, he thought. Then a piece of information replaced the swear word: there is a tree right outside the window. As soon as that thought entered his mind it vanished, and all others were denied entry into his reasoning. He stood and sprinted the couple of paces he could, then leapt onto the bed and out the window. The tree was large, the product of at least thirty years growth. It branches were sturdy, though the darkness allowed them to hide from him. As he progressed through the air they seemed to fly into his field of vision like demonic bats, intent on confusing and injuring him. He managed to avoid the large ones, twisting his body to change his velocity enough to clear their grasp, angling himself towards the branch he had singled out as he preferred point of contact. He hoped it would take his weight as he bore down on it; the consequences of it snapping where too painful for him to contemplate. His legs moved him speedily towards the fleeing figure; every step taking him closer to his target, his prey, and this prey was no match for his speed. He was a Cheetah, possessing greater swiftness and agility, and his quarry was a wild pig, possessing only a head start, something that was diminishing faster than the enemy appreciated. Despite being a good sixty metres behind the departing body he still removed the pistol from its home in the small of his back and checked it as he ran. The gun was ready. He was ready. It whipped up in front of him, and even though he was moving at top speed he still managed to line up the sights with the target. The vast majority of people would never think of trying to take such a shot, knowing that even in the most skilled hands the chances of success were minimal. He was not the vast majority of people, and his hands were more than just skilled: they were perfected. The target must have sensed their imminent death for they broke sharply to the right and disappeared through a gate. Finding extra pace he reached the gate a few seconds later to find the gate led into a forest. An extremely dark forested, his mind reported. A crack announced the position of his prey further ahead. Nikolai made after him, satisfied to hear, or more to the point not hear, the sound of his footsteps on the leave-strewn ground. The absence of sound emanating from him allowed him to concentrate on following the noises made by his quarry, who seemed to be less than adept at moving quietly at speed. His ears detected a change in location of the sounds, translating as a change in direction for his soon-to-be-victim. He angled off to the right and upped his pace, his eyes searching the ground beneath him for objects that could cause him to trip or fall, flicking up to try and catch a glimpse of the fleeing figure before returning to the ground. This was how he made his way deeper into the forest. His mind wanted to know the size of the forest, seeing as it was located admist a bustling town. It couldn't be very large; buildings probably surrounded it, and developments must have steadily encroached on it over the decades, reducing its area. That would mean that soon he and his prey would run out of forest and enter the streets. Urban combat was becoming more and more common, and while he was proficient at it he still did not look forward to it in the same way as he did an artic battle or jungle warfare, simply because there was so many variables in urban warfare that couldn't have their impact minimised, such as civilians. The leaves in the trees above him disappeared; he was out of the forest. Ahead of him, perhaps twenty metres, was the target, moving swiftly down the street towards a parade of shops. He knew he wouldn't be able to take him down in view of the public; too many questions would be asked, and his cover could be compromised along with his mission. He wasn't going to let that happen. Once more the silenced pistol came up blur, moving from near his hip to being lined up with the target in less than a second. Compensating for his rapid movement, he aimed for the assailant's right leg and squeezed off his shot. The sound was no louder than a whisper, the new style suppresser working perfectly, trapping the escaping gasses and dissipating them in such a way to leave virtually no sound at all. The bullet found its mark just below the fleeing person's knee, causing them to twist into a wall then crash to the ground. He was right over him a couple of seconds later, holding the pistol to the balaclava-hidden face, the silencer digging into the fabric. With his other hand he pulled the mask of, revealing a very pissed off man's face. Pissed off? His mind reported. Why is he pissed off? He should be either resigned to his fate or scared shitless, not pissed off. It didn't make much sense, and before he could question the man he would have to get him somewhere a little more private. He spotted an alley a few metres ahead of them � what was it with all these alleys? � and dragged the downed target into the darkness. The man made no sound, which made sense seeing as his taking up a large part of his vision was a gun, the same gun which had already shot him once. These facts were usually enough to silence someone, and they worked again now. "Who are you working for?" he hissed, the look in his eyes telling the hit-man that a wrong answer wouldn't save his life. "That fucker," the man rasped. "He didn't say anything about protection. Bastard!" "Who are you talking about? Tell me," he commanded. The man paused to catch his breath. "I would never normally reveal my client's name, but he fucked me over." The man looked up at him. "Promise me something. After you've killed me, go and get the bastard." "Don't worry, he won't be having much of a life after this. Now, his name." "Odds. I was hired by Mr Odds." "Thank you," he said, then ended the man's life. The police were there, building a perimeter around the block of flats, protecting Hannah from further harm. He hoped she would understand why he couldn't go back to see her; she should, seeing as they'd discussed it earlier. The gun was gone now, no way he could retrieve it, unless he snuck in later tonight, but that could prove to be more trouble than it was worth. He knew for certain that he didn't want to get caught and questioned. Though he would be able to answer their questions it was the time aspect, and also the fact that any surveillance on him would prove problematic in his mission, especially seeing as he now had some good intelligence on Odds' whereabouts. He turned away from the scene and walked off of the University grounds, avoiding the police and security guards who would doubtless want to question him on his location a few minutes ago, and his intended destination. Once clear of the campus he proceeded to the Mini Cooper S he had hired, and climbed in. Return |
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