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  He finished his reload and approached me with his barrel pointed upward, holding it with one hand as he placed a boot on my knee. He stepped up, his immense weight applied momentarily to my knee, then took another step onto my shoulder as he opened the hatch above him and hoisted himself up with a grace I hadn’t believed possible.

  He vanished into the black space above me.

  Boss and I heard thumping in the attic, followed by Matz muttering, “Let’s go, shithead.”

  The primary target’s round, sweating face appeared in the open hatch, his eyes wild with fear. Matz maneuvered him until his body came crashing to the closet floor.

  Sliding my M4 to my back, I grabbed him under the arms and dragged him into the bedroom as he screamed, “GET OFF OF ME! DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME!”

  I released him on the floor, my gloves coming away bloody from his bullet wounds. Matz jumped down as Boss took a picture of the man’s face.

  “That’s payday,” he said.

  Matz fired his M4 three times into the man’s head, stepping back for Boss to take another picture before patting down the body. He withdrew a cell phone from the target’s pocket and deposited it into a dump pouch on his hip, then grabbed the giant’s empty machine pistol from the ground and did the same.

  Boss transmitted, “Net call, JACKPOT JACKPOT JACKPOT. Assault and Support moving to pickup.”

  “Sniper copies,” Ophie replied.

  I turned to the massive body of the man who had choked me and pulled the knife out of his neck, then handed it to Matz. He reinserted it into his vest and led the way out of the house, limping down the stairs.

  As we set foot on the ground floor, the door to the garage swung open and Ian staggered forward, his pistol in his hand and a duffel bag on his back, looking as excited as a child on Christmas morning.

  “They had so much shit in that van and I got it all. You have no idea. Also, the cops will be here any second—no rush.”

  We trotted into the bright sunshine of the back porch as the wail of police sirens approached, and Boss snatched his grenade launcher from the wall at the breach point. Neighborhood dogs were still barking from all directions as we crossed to the edge of the yard, fighting our way into the underbrush to disappear into the woods. Running through thick foliage as the ground softened underfoot, we splashed through a narrow creek and ascended up a wooded hill as the police sirens grew fainter.

  We ran on a due west course toward our pickup site, covering ground as quickly as the vegetation and Matz’s limp would allow. Once we crested the hill and moved down the opposite side, Boss stopped us. He put pressure dressings on Matz’s arms as Matz slid a tourniquet into place high on his right thigh.

  The entire process was over within a minute.

  “David, take point,” Boss said. “Ian, you cover the back. Let’s move.”

  He helped Matz to his feet, supporting his weight as he limped forward.

  I led the way through the woods as the others trailed behind. After walking several hundred meters, I glimpsed the dirt construction road through the trees.

  I transmitted, “Stop movement, I have eyes on the road.”

  “Copy.”

  I crouched lower and crept forward as I identified the silver SUV. The driver was leaning against the front quarter panel, looking bored and smoking a cigarette. I watched for a few seconds, then took a breath and transmitted over the radio.

  “Boss, our driver must have been killed by some kind of stunning ethereal goddess. I’m getting in the car anyway.”

  Matz immediately replied, “FUCK you, Suicide. I’ll stab you in the head just like that fucking guard—”

  I pulled out my earpieces and strode into the open.

  She had the frame of a gymnast, petite and slender and carried with an effortless grace. Shoulder-length blonde hair fell sharply around her face and was jetted with streaks of dark pink. As the long cloud of cigarette smoke began to dissipate, I saw her clear blue eyes and pale pink lipstick.

  I extended my hand and smiled. “Hi, I’m David Rivers.”

  She casually transferred her cigarette to her left hand and shook mine. Her slim arm was tattooed from the wrist up with cherry blossoms and colorful Koi fish.

  “Where’s Matz?” she asked.

  “Taking his time. Seems he got himself shot.”

  “Is he all right?”

  “He’ll be fine.”

  “Too bad. Cigarette?”

  “Those things will kill you.”

  She examined my eyes humorlessly. “Your face is covered in blood.”

  “On second thought, I’d love one… Special K?”

  “Karma.”

  “Of course.”

  The others emerged from the woods. Matz hissed, “Get in the fucking car,” as Boss assisted him into the vehicle. Ian unslung his bag and got in behind them. Karma watched them with a neutral expression, then rotated the cigarette in her hand and, holding it backwards between her thumb and forefinger, raised it to my lips.

  I leaned forward and took a single draw, tasting her lipstick on the filter and pulling smoke into lungs that only minutes ago were deprived of oxygen. Suppressing the urge to cough, I exhaled coolly. “Until next time, Karma.”

  I got into the back, and Karma slid herself into the driver’s seat. Closing the door behind her, she started the car and pulled forward.

  Matz ordered, “Pick up Ophie and then detour to the medical point.”

  Karma slammed on the brakes, jolting everyone forward in their seats.

  She glared at him in the rearview mirror. “Oh, is that what we’re doing? I thought you wanted to bleed out on the way to the airport after leaving Ophie behind.”

  “Nice to see you, Karma!” Ian said with a grin.

  I added, “You’re beautiful, Karma.”

  “Stop talking right now,” Matz said. “Both of you.”

  The truck lurched forward once again. Boss said nothing, but I could see a rare smile of amusement on his face. We rolled down the bumpy dirt path until the construction trail met the paved street of a neighborhood, and then took a right turn toward the main road.

  * * *

  The roll-up door to the storage unit slid open as we approached, and Karma navigated into it. A severe-looking elderly man waved us forward, crossing his arms to stop us once the SUV was fully inside. Karma killed the engine and we exited into a narrow space. The unit was deep enough to fit a second truck, but the remaining area was packed with two folding tables and metal shelves lined with medical supplies. Yellow work lights mounted atop tripod stands lit the interior, and lengths of extension cords ran along the floor.

  “Casualty to me,” the old man directed. “Close that door, and our man will lock it from the outside. Don’t step outside the unit or you’ll be on camera.” Ian pulled down the door, the shrill scraping sound echoing inside the concrete space.

  Ophie and I helped Matz out of the truck and led him toward the tables.

  The man asked, “Any symptoms or treatments since you called?”

  “No,” Matz said.

  “Get his equipment off and set him on the table.”

  Ophie unclipped Matz’s armored vest and carefully lifted it from his shoulders. The front was peppered with bullets, their round holes neatly bored into his spare magazines and armored plate.

  Ophie gave a low whistle. “Looks like you spit in God’s face again.”

  I helped Matz onto the table and stepped back as the man approached him with a stethoscope.

  “Czechoslovakia’s finest,” Ophie said admiringly. I turned to see him holding the machine pistol he had pulled from Matz’s dump pouch. “This is the new one?”

  Matz replied, “Yeah. The charging handle on the old one was—”

  “Gentlemen,” the old man barked in a hoarse tone. “I need to get a set of vitals. No talking from the casualty, and the rest of you please keep it down. This is a commercial facility.”

  “This is a family restaurant,”
Karma said in a husky imitation of the man’s tone. “No talking from the bullet magnet.”

  Ophie set down the machine pistol and turned to her. “You are such a bitch.”

  “Just trying to blend in with the present company.”

  “How did the art show go?”

  “Unfortunately, not well enough to turn down this stellar use of my time. Trust me, Ophie, the day I’ve got enough to retire is the day I stop answering your calls whenever you guys need a winsome driver to cart you around.”

  The doctor murmured to himself as he treated Matz. Blood poured from the wounds as he removed the pressure dressings Boss had applied.

  “When we get married,” Ophie told her, “I’ll buy everything you ever paint.”

  “You’ve never seen my work.”

  “Semantics. Boss tells me you’re coming back to the house.”

  “Imagine my enthusiasm.”

  I turned to see Ian laying his duffel bag on the ground in front of the SUV. He crouched over it, powered on a laptop with decryption software, and began going through the bag. He plugged in a portable hard drive as Boss joined him, taking a knee and whispering to him.

  Ophie continued, “Well, look on the bright side: you’re moonlighting as the highest paid taxi driver in the world.”

  “Just what every girl dreams of.”

  “There can only be so many jobs left before we’re done.”

  “You guys said that a year ago.”

  “Now we mean it.” He looked over at me. “David, have you and Karma been formally introduced?”

  I answered, “We had a very deep and meaningful human connection at the pickup site.”

  “You just stay away from her, if you know what’s good for you,” Ophie said. “She’s already promised herself to me if she ever returns to men.”

  She shook her head. “How many times do I have to explain I’m not a lesbian? You know what? Let’s keep pretending I am; it would give me some peace and quiet during these little excursions.”

  I heard Ian whisper a sharp, “Holy FUCK,” and turned to see him staring into the laptop’s glowing screen. Then, he said to Boss, “You need to get this hard drive to him.”

  “To who?” Boss said.

  “Him. You need to send it to him because I’m sure as shit not going to.”

  Boss squinted at the screen. “What is it?”

  “Retirement. These are the account numbers the Five Heads are using to launder money for their organization.”

  “So what?”

  “So these accounts are the only thing isolating their legitimate financiers from the illegal part of the operation. If they’re exposed, a lot of people very high up on the food chain will be caught benefiting from the outlaws.”

  “You think the Handler can use this to force the Five Heads into negotiations?”

  “I know he can. This is the key to destroying the entire organization without firing a single shot.”

  Boss gazed hollowly at the screen, but his expression remained placid. “All right. Let me know what else you find.”

  Ian unplugged the hard drive and set it to the side, then withdrew another one from his bag and plugged it in.

  Boss rose and walked to the doctor. I waited until he passed before approaching Ian and kneeling beside him.

  “Why are you so worried about the Handler?”

  Ian performed a flurry of keystrokes on the computer, but didn’t slow as he answered, “They don’t believe me, do they?”

  “I’m not going to lie to you, Ian. They make fun of you a little bit.”

  “I just don’t want to see us destroyed by our own creator.”

  “How do you mean?”

  Ian stopped typing and looked at me, as if gauging whether I was serious. “He invented us, David. No one hired special operations folks to kill the competition until he did, and then it became an arms race between organizations. And those only end one way.”

  “What kind of organizations?”

  Boss snapped his fingers. “Ian. That’s enough.”

  We looked up to see him standing over us. Behind him, Karma, who had been watching me closely, turned away. I rose, both knees popping.

  “That’s the third and final bullet,” the doctor announced, holding a bloody piece of metal between the tined ends of his forceps.

  As he began dressing the entry wound, Boss asked, “How’s he doing, Doc?”

  “He was hit in both arms and the right leg, all three only resulting in muscular damage. You can do the math on how many rounds his front plate and soft armor took without failing. He should buy a lottery ticket.”

  Ophie responded, “We’ve tried the lottery tickets before—turns out his luck is dog shit unless he’s getting shot at.”

  “What’s his recovery looking like?” Boss asked.

  “He needs three weeks of bed rest to let his leg heal.”

  Matz snorted. “Well, I’ve heard that before.”

  The elderly doctor looked at him. “After that, limited activity for another few months. You’re looking at four months, maybe five, until he fully recovers. That’s if you take recuperation seriously. If not, it could be much longer.”

  “Thanks, Doc,” Boss said. “You have a pack for him?”

  The doctor grabbed a paper bag from the shelf and handed it to Boss.

  “Antibiotics, disinfectant, and additional dressings. The wounds will need to be cleaned and evaluated daily—you guys know the drill. At a minimum, get him reevaluated weekly by a doctor until the wounds start healing over.”

  “We’ll see to it, Doc.”

  We changed into clean civilian clothes and packed our weapons and equipment into the back of the truck. After Ian’s men screened the route to the airport for police checkpoints, we loaded up and left the storage unit.

  Once we got to the airport, Joe’s plane was waiting.

  * * *

  I sat in my room with the lights out, hearing a toilet flush before the final door closed. We had arrived well after dark, and went to bed minutes after shuttling the boxes of equipment to the basement.

  Once the house fell silent, I went to the kitchen.

  Retrieving the bottle of Woodford and a short glass, I filled the latter a third of the way with ice. I poured bourbon to the very top and polished it off within a minute. Two more followed in short succession before I reached the trance-like state I would sustain like a Buddhist monk for the next three to four hours.

  Pouring a fourth drink, I considered sitting at the oak table where the team had decided my fate after I killed Saamir. Then, thinking better of it, I turned off the light and went onto the back porch to watch the wide expanse of stars glow across a cloudless sky. The air was thick and heavy, and I settled into an old wooden chair with my glass, undeterred by the mosquitos flittering around my head.

  I slowly sipped my bourbon, my mind restoring itself to a state of beautiful harmony amid the lucid, alcohol-laced memories of our firefight. My thoughts drifted from room to room in the house, from being crushed by the giant to emerging with our lives, marred by the blood of our enemies but ultimately victorious against forces of fate that seemed greater than we were.

  The back door opened, and Karma stepped out onto the porch.

  Nearby crickets fell silent as the door closed behind her, leaving only a distant chorus from the woods. She took a few steps and set a wine glass on the rail, then withdrew a cigarette from a shiny blue pack and slid it between her lips. I watched her raise the lighter to her mouth, the soft profile of her face lit in the flickering glow for just a moment, until all that remained in the blackness was the ember of her cigarette. She turned toward me and jumped.

  “Hi, David. I didn’t see you there.”

  “Hi, Karma.”

  She took a drag and blew the smoke sideways over the rail. “So how’d you get mixed up with the wayward boys here at the shittiest summer camp on the planet?”

  “Mutual acquaintance.” My mind drifted back to the
image of Peter collapsed on the floor and begging for his life. “I could ask you the same thing. When they said Special K was coming, I wasn’t sure what to expect.”

  “Well, when they said there was a new guy named Suicide, I anticipated someone over the age of eighteen.”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “Jesus. You’re the youngest guy here by almost ten years. Here, I still owe you one of these.” She produced another cigarette, lit it with her own, and handed it to me. I accepted it as she continued, “Matz tells me they pulled some kind of a bear gun off you because you were going to blow off your own head.”

  “Matz has a flair for the dramatic.”

  “He’s not known for an overactive imagination. And he said you still might.”

  I took a drag, the smoke dancing in my lungs before I blew a cloud toward the dark forest. “Who knows?”

  “You’re still a kid, David. And you’re not one of these guys yet, thank God. It’s not too late for you to have a life outside of here.” There was something infinitely sexy about her voice, a scratchiness that hummed along with her every thought, melodious.

  “I might point out that you’re standing here beside me.”

  “That’s fair. God knows I’ve got my own circumstances, and I’m not trying to judge you. But you know the only thing that’s the end of the world, David? The end of the world. You can recover from everything else, and you can’t be putting a gun to your head every time something goes wrong in your life. Boss told me a little about your past. I know you don’t have any family, but there’s got to be something you can go back to.”

  “I’m not asking for your sympathy, Karma. Things turned out how they turned out, and I have no cause for complaint.”

  I took a drink while she watched me, smoke drifting through her parted lips. The nearby crickets resumed their chorus, but now pulsated out of rhythm with the song from the woods.

  “I hope you find what you’re looking for, David. I really do. But if you’re like this now, I’m scared to think of how you’ll be when you’re as old as these guys. I see the way you look at them. You probably listen to them talk about how close they are to the end and how great everything will be in retirement, and you’re buying it hook, line, and sinker.”