Lone Wolf and Cub
On a high place, overlooking. Approximately three hours until sunrise. Three and a half. The winds can be strong enough to knock you down at this height. They whistle between thin mountains, between us. Warm summer tidings lapping at the end of her hooded cloak. She's trying to keep it steady. She's not used to it yet. We've only sat here for twenty-six minutes and already she is complaining. "This is the job. I told you."
"But don't you think we're wastin time?"
"No. You know the plan. You know why we're here."
"I know what you said..."
I turn and look at her. She begins to wilt.
"... I--I just think we could be doing other things..."
I look away and back to the target area below.
"I mean, there has to be people who need our help out there. Aren't we ignoring them?"
"We are helping. Keep your scope on the entrance." A man exits the door we've been watching. Two others behind him walk at his flanks concealing automatic weapons under their jackets. The binocular lenses track their skeletons as they enter an armored van and infrared scanners count five more in the building they came from. About forty yards. I'm not sure she can make the shot. "Tag the vehicle."
I can hear her mumble something under her breath. Finally. I'll ignore it for now. Her heart rate is quickening and she's breathing heavier. "Calm yourself. Take a deep breath. Remember the training exercises."
"Okay." She swallows a deep gulp of air and holds it there and brings her index finger to the trigger wall. She calls it a gun. I wish she wouldn't, but that's what it is. A barrel, a trigger, a projectile. My enduring hypocrisy. She fires and the recoil shudders her little body. I watch the van. A miss.
"Fire again."
Her gloved fist strikes the roof gravel before she takes the grip and the trigger again and chambers another round. The van is starting to move now. The rifle swivels gradually, subtly. She knows where to go. Meters ahead of it. Not where they are, but where they'll be. The second shot lands. Well done.
"Yes!"
"We have two minutes. Starting now." The barb in the broadside of the van activates and an electrical current channels into the vehicle. Sparks plume. It stops. The target remains inside but the ones armed get out and brandish their weapons. They're searching up and around and encircling the wagon. Staying close. They might be catching on. "Keep your eye trained on the van. I'm going in."
"What if something goes wrong?"
"Improvise." I stand and rest my boot on the curb of the ledge. I dive. She has three rounds left in the magazine. Two, really. One is saved for the target. One shot. When I reach the warehouse roof I glance behind, at the summit. She's perched there, the deep rouge of her body armor and the green lenses of her goggles stark against the midnight grey. Like a bird.
There's a pyramid of windows through which the whole layout of the warehouse can be seen. The rafters, the catwalk laid atop stocked shelves. Stocked with vials of a horrid substance that will suck the life from the broken and lost souls of this city. For what? For money. The latch turns on the pane and it slides over. Almost too easy. The office is at the opposite wall and elevated. Reinforced glass with steel girders. A single guard with a submachine weapon, maybe an MP5, hanging limp on its strap. He's smoking.
The rafter beam is barely as wide as my foot, but it's more than enough. I've sauntered between the peaks of skyscrapers on suspended wire less than the diameter of a penny. She's not ready for that yet. But very soon she will face it. Because death does not wait for you to be ready. She will learn this as I have learned it. As I learn it now.
I drop down to the catwalk. Crouched, hidden in the dark between light fixtures. When I take the man nearest me he says something muffled under my palm and wriggles his feet. The hold puts him out and I let him hit the floor slowly and gently so there's no noise. The lights will have to be dealt with. They're arrayed in rows of eight going across. Five rows, forty in all. A charge from the EMP generator at the belt would take them all out at once. But then they'd know.
"One of the guards is heading back to the warehouse. What do you want me to do?"
I'm tempted to not say anything. Can't tell her what to do all the time. "Do not fire on him."
"But--"
"Stay on the vehicle." The EMP has a latch that flips open and a knob that you pull out and turn. It winds down as its power diminishes. When activated, everything goes dark. Of all my tools it might be my favorite. Its versatility. A wide ranging pulse or a targeted projectile. She has only three rounds. Capable of putting a man down. Long range taser. Steady your hand, girl. Be careful.
They begin scrambling once the lights go out. Within a minute they'll arm themselves with whatever they have. Another sleeper for the one at the base of the staircase. He's gaunt. The protrusion of his vertebra felt rubbing the fabric around my bicep. These aren't common thugs. They aren't equipped. They are paid in this product. An arresting cruelty, but I shouldn't be surprised. Not at this stage.
The two remaining on the floor scramble away toward backup generators. There's a ramshackle lab on the left wall, underneath the catwalk, and one of them is wearing a white coat and painter's mask. If I can keep him conscious, he'd be a valuable informant. But my target is the office up there and the seller inside.
"He's opening the door. He's coming in!"
The door does swing open and the armed guard enters with an AR-15 raised. The eminence from the street lamp outside pours a yellow glow in. He's wearing a vest and after he tries the light switch he turns on a flashlight attachment sidled on the grip of the rifle. I'm already moving. Curving along the perimeter to his flank. He shouts something. He's here! His spotlight scans from right to left and back. It darts toward me. Catches the end of the cape, my shoulder, my face. A burst of fire. I'm ahead of him but he's already caught on. He's fought me before. I dive to the floor and the fire stops. Abrupt. Laying on my side, facing the opened double door. He's on the floor, a dart in the upper of his back. She got him.
The other assailants have scattered behind the shelves at the back. The lone office guard shoots a prattle of wasted ammunition. I am gone, slunk all the way to the other side by the lab. Something hurts. A bullet in my chest. It struck the outer plate, the right edge of the emblem.
"Are you okay?"
"Stay on the vehicle. Stay where you are." There's no puncture. A cracked rib, at worst.
"The other one's coming! They're on to us."
"They are."
"What's your call?"
Learning experiences. I'm grateful for them. "Use your best judgment. Whatever you have to. Don't let the buyer get away."
She doesn't respond. The second rifleman is incapacitated before he reaches the entry. Three pellets roll out of my hand like marbles. In their haze I shoot a line up and hitch the gun to the belt anchor and fly up. The gun. The pearls in the rain puddle, the sewer blood. What a fine line it is. There isn't much time. From the rafter I drop on the smoker at the balcony. A knee to his forehead and his MP5 is in both my hands. We wrestle. Another jab to a pressure point on his collarbone and he doesn't get up again.
Sonar picks up the two workers hoveling in the upper right corner. I won't bother them. They've hurt enough. All's left is the door, the office, the seller. I can see him huddling behind a barricade through the wall. His skeletal image quavering, breathing heavy. The door is steel shut and reinforced. A vault for a coward. Thermite might do the trick. Several charges of it. But suddenly, the seller stands and heaves something up to his waist. He pushes a button. A square port opens. The size of my head. He's got an AK-47 and a drum magazine. I pivot out of his sights and he opens a salvo. A vomit of controlled artillery out of the square like engine exhaust. Then it stops and in its place are lobbed out some choice expletives.
There's shouting coming through the ear piece. Shouting from where? Not the office, not the warehouse. Outside. The van. Shouting, spats of gunfire. The girl. What is she doing? "Status? What is your status?" No answer. I run, leap, from the balcony to the rafters to the roof. A narrow valley perpendicular to where the vehicle idles. The cape cushions my fall and I brace the corner and look and listen.
The driver door is open and the driver, somehow, is prostrate on the sidewalk. There's a hole in the passenger's window. She got him. But the buyer is nowhere. She's nowhere. The rear hatch doors are open on the van. The white van with blacked-out windows. The buyer's briefcase is missing with him. He must have ran off. She must have chased him. I could find his footprint and track him, but the seller's still up there and with all the shooting the police could be on their way. He needs to be dealt with before they arrive. But the girl. I have to find her. A moment of deliberation. Use your seconds wisely. Try her again. "Where are you? Where are you? Give your status."
Radio silence. Unacceptable. Communication is the skill most vital out in the field, if partners are what we're going to be. She knows this, knows better. Unless something far worse has happened. Something compromised... something final. Pearls. Two bullets. The second more impossible than the first. Another slipping out of my feeble grasp, another life lost.
"... I'm--I'm here."
"Where? Where?" Control your voice. Stifle it.
"I'm a couple blocks away. North... west, I think?"
"What--what happened?"
"The guy ran after I took out the driver. I chased him on the roofs closer to the pier."
"Are you hurt?"
"No, no. He shot at me but he didn't hit nothing."
"Didn't hit anything."
"Huh?"
"Nevermind. Rendezvous on top of the warehouse. We're not finished yet."
"What about the guy?"
"Where is he?"
"He's just lying here on the pavement. When he was in range I clipped him with the last shot."
"Cuff him, leave him there. Secure the case." I'll take my time returning to the roof and all the while keep an eye on the seller still hiding in his cage. Partake in the modicum of calm this night has had to offer.
I see her swoop down and around the summit. She's smiling. She isn't like me. The way she sees things. Lighter, more vibrant. My counterweight. Some have questioned why I let her do any of this, and in moments alone with myself, so have I. The danger of it. The risk. But it's what she wants, truly. There's no other way around it. Otherwise she would've quit by now. After seeing the job for what it is, after how hard I've been and will continue to be. There are some in this world who have this line of work in their blood. They were born to it; it was there long before the will to act came to them. The training is about testing that will. How strong it is, how deep it runs. And she has endured. A great pupil. So I will let her have her colors and I will share with her my resources and secrets and knowledge. She will remain a child as long as I can allow and she will be working ally. One day, perhaps my successor. Perhaps even my superior, if I do not fail her.
She lands. The two halves of the rifle have been detached, compacted, and stored stacked on top of each other on the small of her back. As wide as her waist. She keeps a second bandolier on her right thigh and a holster for the grapple. Yellow and green and red.
"So what's the plan?"
"We engage together. I will approach the front, you'll go behind."
"Then what?"
"He's heavily armed. I'll divert his attention while you toss teargas inside."
"Can I be the one to take him down?"
"You may." I don't smile often. Gotta keep up appearances. But I let her see a twinge of a smirk on the side of my mouth. She's excited. She's living.
When the police arrive they find eight criminals incapacitated and conveniently placed in a circle on the warehouse floor alongside a pile of firearms, discarded shell casings, and a briefcase of money in various denominations. They question the two unmarked before they handcuff them. They are officially arrested as accomplices in an illegal enterprise and are also named as eyewitnesses to the night's proceedings. They will be invaluable to the investigation. My hope is that now they will be able to repair their lives. Well, not my hope. Hers. She gives it freely without expecting a return. A young officer whose name I don't know yet comes across something else in the evidence pile. Two sharp, slight pieces of metal in two shapes similar but distinct, and a slip of paper with one thing written on it: "Courtesy of B&R."
"But don't you think we're wastin time?"
"No. You know the plan. You know why we're here."
"I know what you said..."
I turn and look at her. She begins to wilt.
"... I--I just think we could be doing other things..."
I look away and back to the target area below.
"I mean, there has to be people who need our help out there. Aren't we ignoring them?"
"We are helping. Keep your scope on the entrance." A man exits the door we've been watching. Two others behind him walk at his flanks concealing automatic weapons under their jackets. The binocular lenses track their skeletons as they enter an armored van and infrared scanners count five more in the building they came from. About forty yards. I'm not sure she can make the shot. "Tag the vehicle."
I can hear her mumble something under her breath. Finally. I'll ignore it for now. Her heart rate is quickening and she's breathing heavier. "Calm yourself. Take a deep breath. Remember the training exercises."
"Okay." She swallows a deep gulp of air and holds it there and brings her index finger to the trigger wall. She calls it a gun. I wish she wouldn't, but that's what it is. A barrel, a trigger, a projectile. My enduring hypocrisy. She fires and the recoil shudders her little body. I watch the van. A miss.
"Fire again."
Her gloved fist strikes the roof gravel before she takes the grip and the trigger again and chambers another round. The van is starting to move now. The rifle swivels gradually, subtly. She knows where to go. Meters ahead of it. Not where they are, but where they'll be. The second shot lands. Well done.
"Yes!"
"We have two minutes. Starting now." The barb in the broadside of the van activates and an electrical current channels into the vehicle. Sparks plume. It stops. The target remains inside but the ones armed get out and brandish their weapons. They're searching up and around and encircling the wagon. Staying close. They might be catching on. "Keep your eye trained on the van. I'm going in."
"What if something goes wrong?"
"Improvise." I stand and rest my boot on the curb of the ledge. I dive. She has three rounds left in the magazine. Two, really. One is saved for the target. One shot. When I reach the warehouse roof I glance behind, at the summit. She's perched there, the deep rouge of her body armor and the green lenses of her goggles stark against the midnight grey. Like a bird.
There's a pyramid of windows through which the whole layout of the warehouse can be seen. The rafters, the catwalk laid atop stocked shelves. Stocked with vials of a horrid substance that will suck the life from the broken and lost souls of this city. For what? For money. The latch turns on the pane and it slides over. Almost too easy. The office is at the opposite wall and elevated. Reinforced glass with steel girders. A single guard with a submachine weapon, maybe an MP5, hanging limp on its strap. He's smoking.
The rafter beam is barely as wide as my foot, but it's more than enough. I've sauntered between the peaks of skyscrapers on suspended wire less than the diameter of a penny. She's not ready for that yet. But very soon she will face it. Because death does not wait for you to be ready. She will learn this as I have learned it. As I learn it now.
I drop down to the catwalk. Crouched, hidden in the dark between light fixtures. When I take the man nearest me he says something muffled under my palm and wriggles his feet. The hold puts him out and I let him hit the floor slowly and gently so there's no noise. The lights will have to be dealt with. They're arrayed in rows of eight going across. Five rows, forty in all. A charge from the EMP generator at the belt would take them all out at once. But then they'd know.
"One of the guards is heading back to the warehouse. What do you want me to do?"
I'm tempted to not say anything. Can't tell her what to do all the time. "Do not fire on him."
"But--"
"Stay on the vehicle." The EMP has a latch that flips open and a knob that you pull out and turn. It winds down as its power diminishes. When activated, everything goes dark. Of all my tools it might be my favorite. Its versatility. A wide ranging pulse or a targeted projectile. She has only three rounds. Capable of putting a man down. Long range taser. Steady your hand, girl. Be careful.
They begin scrambling once the lights go out. Within a minute they'll arm themselves with whatever they have. Another sleeper for the one at the base of the staircase. He's gaunt. The protrusion of his vertebra felt rubbing the fabric around my bicep. These aren't common thugs. They aren't equipped. They are paid in this product. An arresting cruelty, but I shouldn't be surprised. Not at this stage.
The two remaining on the floor scramble away toward backup generators. There's a ramshackle lab on the left wall, underneath the catwalk, and one of them is wearing a white coat and painter's mask. If I can keep him conscious, he'd be a valuable informant. But my target is the office up there and the seller inside.
"He's opening the door. He's coming in!"
The door does swing open and the armed guard enters with an AR-15 raised. The eminence from the street lamp outside pours a yellow glow in. He's wearing a vest and after he tries the light switch he turns on a flashlight attachment sidled on the grip of the rifle. I'm already moving. Curving along the perimeter to his flank. He shouts something. He's here! His spotlight scans from right to left and back. It darts toward me. Catches the end of the cape, my shoulder, my face. A burst of fire. I'm ahead of him but he's already caught on. He's fought me before. I dive to the floor and the fire stops. Abrupt. Laying on my side, facing the opened double door. He's on the floor, a dart in the upper of his back. She got him.
The other assailants have scattered behind the shelves at the back. The lone office guard shoots a prattle of wasted ammunition. I am gone, slunk all the way to the other side by the lab. Something hurts. A bullet in my chest. It struck the outer plate, the right edge of the emblem.
"Are you okay?"
"Stay on the vehicle. Stay where you are." There's no puncture. A cracked rib, at worst.
"The other one's coming! They're on to us."
"They are."
"What's your call?"
Learning experiences. I'm grateful for them. "Use your best judgment. Whatever you have to. Don't let the buyer get away."
She doesn't respond. The second rifleman is incapacitated before he reaches the entry. Three pellets roll out of my hand like marbles. In their haze I shoot a line up and hitch the gun to the belt anchor and fly up. The gun. The pearls in the rain puddle, the sewer blood. What a fine line it is. There isn't much time. From the rafter I drop on the smoker at the balcony. A knee to his forehead and his MP5 is in both my hands. We wrestle. Another jab to a pressure point on his collarbone and he doesn't get up again.
Sonar picks up the two workers hoveling in the upper right corner. I won't bother them. They've hurt enough. All's left is the door, the office, the seller. I can see him huddling behind a barricade through the wall. His skeletal image quavering, breathing heavy. The door is steel shut and reinforced. A vault for a coward. Thermite might do the trick. Several charges of it. But suddenly, the seller stands and heaves something up to his waist. He pushes a button. A square port opens. The size of my head. He's got an AK-47 and a drum magazine. I pivot out of his sights and he opens a salvo. A vomit of controlled artillery out of the square like engine exhaust. Then it stops and in its place are lobbed out some choice expletives.
There's shouting coming through the ear piece. Shouting from where? Not the office, not the warehouse. Outside. The van. Shouting, spats of gunfire. The girl. What is she doing? "Status? What is your status?" No answer. I run, leap, from the balcony to the rafters to the roof. A narrow valley perpendicular to where the vehicle idles. The cape cushions my fall and I brace the corner and look and listen.
The driver door is open and the driver, somehow, is prostrate on the sidewalk. There's a hole in the passenger's window. She got him. But the buyer is nowhere. She's nowhere. The rear hatch doors are open on the van. The white van with blacked-out windows. The buyer's briefcase is missing with him. He must have ran off. She must have chased him. I could find his footprint and track him, but the seller's still up there and with all the shooting the police could be on their way. He needs to be dealt with before they arrive. But the girl. I have to find her. A moment of deliberation. Use your seconds wisely. Try her again. "Where are you? Where are you? Give your status."
Radio silence. Unacceptable. Communication is the skill most vital out in the field, if partners are what we're going to be. She knows this, knows better. Unless something far worse has happened. Something compromised... something final. Pearls. Two bullets. The second more impossible than the first. Another slipping out of my feeble grasp, another life lost.
"... I'm--I'm here."
"Where? Where?" Control your voice. Stifle it.
"I'm a couple blocks away. North... west, I think?"
"What--what happened?"
"The guy ran after I took out the driver. I chased him on the roofs closer to the pier."
"Are you hurt?"
"No, no. He shot at me but he didn't hit nothing."
"Didn't hit anything."
"Huh?"
"Nevermind. Rendezvous on top of the warehouse. We're not finished yet."
"What about the guy?"
"Where is he?"
"He's just lying here on the pavement. When he was in range I clipped him with the last shot."
"Cuff him, leave him there. Secure the case." I'll take my time returning to the roof and all the while keep an eye on the seller still hiding in his cage. Partake in the modicum of calm this night has had to offer.
I see her swoop down and around the summit. She's smiling. She isn't like me. The way she sees things. Lighter, more vibrant. My counterweight. Some have questioned why I let her do any of this, and in moments alone with myself, so have I. The danger of it. The risk. But it's what she wants, truly. There's no other way around it. Otherwise she would've quit by now. After seeing the job for what it is, after how hard I've been and will continue to be. There are some in this world who have this line of work in their blood. They were born to it; it was there long before the will to act came to them. The training is about testing that will. How strong it is, how deep it runs. And she has endured. A great pupil. So I will let her have her colors and I will share with her my resources and secrets and knowledge. She will remain a child as long as I can allow and she will be working ally. One day, perhaps my successor. Perhaps even my superior, if I do not fail her.
She lands. The two halves of the rifle have been detached, compacted, and stored stacked on top of each other on the small of her back. As wide as her waist. She keeps a second bandolier on her right thigh and a holster for the grapple. Yellow and green and red.
"So what's the plan?"
"We engage together. I will approach the front, you'll go behind."
"Then what?"
"He's heavily armed. I'll divert his attention while you toss teargas inside."
"Can I be the one to take him down?"
"You may." I don't smile often. Gotta keep up appearances. But I let her see a twinge of a smirk on the side of my mouth. She's excited. She's living.
When the police arrive they find eight criminals incapacitated and conveniently placed in a circle on the warehouse floor alongside a pile of firearms, discarded shell casings, and a briefcase of money in various denominations. They question the two unmarked before they handcuff them. They are officially arrested as accomplices in an illegal enterprise and are also named as eyewitnesses to the night's proceedings. They will be invaluable to the investigation. My hope is that now they will be able to repair their lives. Well, not my hope. Hers. She gives it freely without expecting a return. A young officer whose name I don't know yet comes across something else in the evidence pile. Two sharp, slight pieces of metal in two shapes similar but distinct, and a slip of paper with one thing written on it: "Courtesy of B&R."
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