William Dietz - Hitman - Enemy Within

“So,” the Big Kahuna said, as he began to summarize, “We have plenty to celebrate…but we’re facing some problems, as well. Primary among them being competition from the Colombians, who are bringing large quantities of coke into the country in miniature submarines, and undercutting our prices. But by working together, we should be able to counter their efforts. That will take money, however. So, painful though it may be, it’s time for everyone to ante up.”

That statement was followed by a chorus of groans and a small commotion as the gang leaders placed their quarterly payments on the table. The tributes included two attaché cases filled with tightly packed bills, a leather pouch half-filled with diamonds, a money belt loaded with gold wafers, a sheaf of bonds, and the two kilos of lethal smack that were stored in Johnson’s saddlebags. Which, given the crime boss’s appetite for the stuff, BK would no doubt sample before the day was done.

Marla chose that moment to speak, and all hell broke loose.

“Excuse me,” she said politely, “but before this process goes any further, I think we should run some tests on the dope that the so-called Grim Reaper put on the table. Because the real Reaper is dead.”

They say the truth hurts, 47 thought. In this case it hurt the man who was seated directly across from him. The setup had been blown, and the only thing the assassin could do was shoot his way out.

From the moment he noticed Marla’s stare, he had held one of Mel Johnson’s big revolvers under the table. The.357 bucked in 47’s hand, there was a muffled boom, and the biker sitting across from him never knew what hit him as both of them went over backward. The difference being that while the gang leader was dead, 47 was alive, for the moment at least.

Marla removed a Walther PP from its hiding place under her jacket and began to empty a clip in Agent 47’s direction. Fortunately the gang leader seated to the assassin’s left chose that moment to stand, and took two 9 mm slugs to the neck and head.

That bit of misfortune led one of the surviving chieftains to believe Marla was acting on the Big Kahuna’s behalf, which caused him to produce a Browning BDM and begin to shoot at her. He missed Marla, but put a slug into the Big K’s head, which caused the ex-wrestler’s sunglasses to fly off. His sheer bulk kept him from being knocked off his feet. The crime boss just stood there for a moment, as if deciding what to do, before he toppled facedown onto the dirt floor.

Marla took offense at that, brought the German semiauto up in a two-handed grip, and dropped the gang leader with two carefully placed shots. One bullet to the chest and one to the forehead, so that body armor wouldn’t be enough to protect him.

Agent 47 couldn’t target Marla from his position on the ground, as one of the gang leaders jumped onto the loot-laden table and prepared to fire down on him. The assassin brought the wheel gun up and fired twice. The first bullet hit the rat-faced man in the stomach, and the second blew his balls off, which caused him to grab his crotch as he fell toward his killer.

But rather than wait for Rat Face to fall on top of him, 47 rolled to one side, came to his feet, and drew the second Colt just in time to see Marla take cover behind a sturdy post. Splinters flew from wood as a heavy slug nicked the timber.

Then it was Marla’s turn as the Walther barked twice. Agent 47 felt something nip his left arm and was forced to spin away. She might have nailed him then and there if it hadn’t been for Joey. With plenty of targets available, the M16-toting gang member began to shoot indiscriminately at anything that moved.

As the assault rifle began to rattle and bullets blew divots out of the barn’s dirt floor, Marla was forced to duck back, then defend herself. Her bullets missed, but the return fire forced Joey to duck, and that gave the woman time to throw a folding chair through the nearest window. Glass shattered. Casings from Joey’s weapon continued to arc through the air as he began spraying the room again. Marla took three running steps and dove through the newly created opening.

Agent 47 swore as the mysterious woman disappeared, and ran a mental check on his ammo supply. One of the Pythons was empty. And while the loops on Johnson’s western-style gun rig held twelve hollow points, it was unlikely the bikers would give him the time required to reload.

He had to get back to his truck.

So he holstered one revolver and drew the other as he backed toward the door. One of the gang leaders was busy harvesting the loot from the table when another took exception to that initiative and shot the first biker in the back.

Having missed Marla, Joey swiveled the M16 toward 47, and fell as a bullet removed the top of his head.

Harsh sunlight washed over the assassin as he hit the door, backed outside, and the biker named Nix appeared. The gang member clutched a stubby sawed-off shotgun in his hands and was panting heavily.

“Reaper…What the hell’s going on?”

“That Marla chick shot the Big Kahuna!” 47 lied. “But I think he’s still alive. Go on in. The big guy needs your help!”

Nix nodded gamely, charged through the open door, and staggered as a burst of 9 mm bullets slammed into his unprotected chest.

Agent 47 turned and began to run. An automatic weapon began to chatter from the direction of the mobile home as one of the Big Kahuna’s security guards began to chase the assassin with bullets from an AK-47.

Fortunately the biker was short on experience. Rather than lead his target the way he should have, the goon brought his weapon around in an attempt to catch 47 from behind. And since he was firing on full automatic, the assault rifle’s banana-style clip quickly ran dry. That gave the assassin the perfect opportunity to stop, drop, and roll under the high-riding truck.

Agent 47 discarded the Python in order to snatch two micro-Uzis that were clamped to the truck’s frame. Then, with a machine pistol clutched in each fist, the rearmed assassin rolled out from under the far side of the truck just as the idiot with the AK-47 opened fire again.

Safety glass shattered, and the 4X4 shuddered as a hail of lead struck it. The biker was advancing by then, teeth bared as he fired the automatic weapon from the hip. It appeared as if the guard believed the fugitive was hiding in the cab, as half a dozen 7.62 mm slugs pinged the driver’s side door. That was when 47 made his way around the front end of the truck and fired a three-round burst from the left-hand Uzi. Though he was right-handed at “birth,” the asylum’s staff forced their charges to use both hands equally. A skill for which the agent was thankful.

Mr. AK-47 looked surprised as the bullets hit him, and he fired a final burst of slugs into the clear blue sky as he pitched over backward, and skidded across some loose shell casings before finally coming to a stop.

The assassin might have left at that point, and very much wanted to, but knew he couldn’t. Not without retrieving whatever memory device the surveillance system was hooked to. Partially to protect his identity, and to obtain images of Marla, which would help The Agency identify her. That meant he would have to cross open ground, enter the mobile home, and deal with anyone who blocked his way.

But then a final gunshot was fired inside the barn, and an eerie silence settled over the farm.

A jetliner drew a white line across the sky as 47 crossed the open ground, and flies buzzed around the assassin’s head as he opened the screen door. An energetic white dog came out to greet him. The animal yapped madly and danced circles around 47 as the agent entered the double-wide’s living room, and his eyes adjusted to the gloom.