Project Halo Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

 

            Devin put a hand to his ribs; a few were cracked and others were broken in some places. Those blasted surgeons had actually jumped him! Of course if he’d been armed he could have taken a few of them out and escaped, but those morons had done the job for him.

            He looked around and realized that the river had dumped him into the city, far from the compound, far from the bloodshed and treachery of the others. Had Saint shared a similar fate? But then, the director favored him.

            All hope of Saint escaping the facility had vanished in an instant.

            “I saw the body down here!”” a voice called from the darkness. Footsteps thundered down the riverbank and Devin swore.

            He knew the director had probably sent the other assassins to pursue him and wondered if Marksman was part of the small entourage as five men raced down the bank.

            “There’s Bull’s-eye there!”

            “He lived—kill him!”

            Devin narrowly avoided a bullet that hit the water, causing ripples to flow across its surface. Another hit the sand in front of him, spraying up dirt. He whirled and took off in the opposite direction followed by loud swear words and bullets that splashed into the murky river water.

            “You can’t escape, Devin!” Marksman’s cry cut him short. He stumbled, fell to the sand.

            A shadow fell over him and he cocked his head; an expression of terror coming onto his face.

            “What the hell are you doing?” Devin asked.

            “Following orders,” Marksman said with a sneer. “It ends here, Devin. And after I splatter your brains across the sand, your apprentice is mine.”

            “Saint’s going to kill you,” Devin said.

            “Are you so sure?” Marksman laughed. “What makes you think that the boy isn’t on our side by now?”

            “He won’t join you once he finds out who the director of your operation is,” Devin said acidly.

            “Well that’s a shame,” Marksman mused. “I was hoping—”

            Devin brought his arm up and let loose a bullet. The tiny iron round grazed the other’s cheek. Marksman let out an oath as Devin squeezed the trigger again.

            The gun clicked and Devin groaned at the ominous sound.

            “You know, Devin, if I didn’t have pressing matters to attend to I would have made your death torturous and slow. But as it is…you need to die.”

            Marksman pointed the barrel at him and shot. His hand bucked, Devin’s body jerked, and then it was over. Marksman glanced over his shoulder where the others were waiting on the opposite riverbank.

            One of the assassins detached themselves from the group and joined him.

            “Marksman?” the assassin asked.

            He grunted and said, “Make the call, Dagger.”

            The assassin whose name originated from his talent with knives, flicked open a cell phone and placed it in Marksman’s hand.

            “Our little traitor is dead,” Marksman told his employer, nudging Devin’s corpse with his boot.

            “Good. Now get to my office and collect your bounty.”

            “What about the boy?” Dagger asked when Marksman handed back the phone.

            “The director said nothing about Saint,” Marksman replied coolly. “Just said to collect our money.”

            “He’s only paying us to hush up,” Dagger said.

            Marksman shrugged, indignant. “I’ll take your payload then, sine you won’t grow a pair.”

            A blade flicked out and the knife touched the assassin’s exposed throat. Marksman smirked.

            “That’s what I thought.”