Kill Zone

Her eyes scanned the bar room for anyone she might have run into on her previous missions. Someone who might recognize her. In her line of work, recognition was dangerous. In the 12 years she'd been doing this, she'd never been made, but she never took any chances, and it was one of many rules she abided by: Never move forward with the mission if someone recognized her. She only killed those who needed killing. Innocent people, women, and children were completely off the table for her. She moved carefully to the bar, her peripheral vision still scanning for threats of any kind. She took a seat on the corner edge of the bar top, her back to the wall and where she was able to completely cover the entire room. She had no clue what he looked like; all she knew is that he walked with a barely perceivable limp.

She was magnificent. The short shorts and tank top she wore clung tightly to her frame, highlighting all the right features. She had shoulder-length blonde hair and tanned skin. He couldn't see her eyes in the darkness, but he could tell that they were dark and observant. The way she had moved through the crowd was like that of a hunter stalking its prey: methodical, alert, and ready to pounce at any moment. They sat in a bar in an independent hotel on a small island in the Caribbean. It wasn't a huge tourist attraction, but it drew tourists every now and then, mostly for its secluded location. She, however, was no tourist. She was here to kill him. She just didn't know it yet.

Four men. All of them wore soft body armor underneath their clothes. To a civilian, it wasn't obvious, but to him, it was. They probably all carried Glock 17s with a Glock 40 suppressed subcompact as their backup piece. Forty rounds of armor-piercing ammunition per weapon. He only had two 17-round magazines for his Ruger SR9. If shooting started, he was in trouble, and so was she. The minute he'd seen them split into two pairs, he knew they were there for them both. The first pair worked their way to his area of the hotel bar; the second pair, to hers. By the looks of it, they didn't know who they were looking for exactly, but he guessed it wouldn't be long before they either figured it out, or their employer sent them a picture of their intended targets. His mind raced as he surveyed his surroundings...

They had come after all. Her advisor had told her they'd come, but she hadn't necessarily believed it. Maybe it was because she thought her previous employers had no reason to fear her--she had never betrayed any of them, nor had she ever revealed their identities. But now she knew. They were here to kill her, despite her absolute loyalty the past 12 years. She watched them split into two pairs. The first pair started searching on the far side of the bar; the second moved to her side. She quickly realized that they weren't just there for her; they must be there for her target, too. Furthermore, they had no clue as to what she looked like, or they would have picked her out of the crowd very quickly--she knew her stunning beauty was hard to miss. She guessed they were armed and wore body armor of some sort. She had counted 17 people in the hotel bar area. Nine women and eight men. She did not want any needless casualties, so she decided in under 30 seconds that she would kill them with using only a knife.

They had not recognized him yet, but they were getting closer to his table. He glanced toward her; she knew that they were there for them both. He figured she would be fine on her own, according to her reputation, so he'd decided within the first minute he'd seen them split up that he'd only have to worry about these two. One was tall and broad, roughly 6-feet-1-inch and the other was short, probably around 5-feet-7-inches. The short one would be the first to die, with a throwing knife to his throat. He shifted his weight slightly in his seat, sliding his hand slowly behind the small of his back. A small tactical, throwing knife with a black blade appeared in his right hand. He waited until they were only 10 feet from his table. His hand flashed. Shorty took the blade on the left side of his throat, near the jugular. He desperately grasped his throat as blood spurted from it. He had been behind his partner, so his partner had no clue what had happened, and was still intently scanning the faces in the small crowd. He slipped behind the second man and stabbed him twice in the kidney, then in the jugular; he instantly slumped to the floor, dead.

She moved effortlessly off her barstool and toward the pair of men, walking as if she'd had too much to drink. Her knife was a small tactical SOG fixed blade, which she concealed in the palm of her left hand. When she was about 5 feet from the pair of assassins, she stumbled toward the man on the left. She bumped into him, and, as he caught her in his arms to unknowingly help her, she acted as if she was slipping her arms around his neck. She pulled him in tight and simultaneously stabbed him at the base of the back of his neck, instantly paralyzing him. The second man turned toward them, and she spun around rapidly, plunging the knife deep into his heart, then twisting. He slumped to the floor, dead. She glanced over to where the other two men had been, but they were no longer standing. She presumed her target had taken them out. He was obviously efficient, if he had done it as quickly as her. This was no ordinary man she had been employed to kill.

"We need to get out of here," a voice behind her said.

She turned and faced the man she'd been sent to kill. He grabbed her by the arm and they moved quickly to the door, which led to the beach. Had they known what awaited them on the beachfront, they would have chosen the back door instead...

****

An instant before he wanted to burst out onto the boardwalk outside the hotel bar, he hesitated. A bullet struck the doorjamb where his head would have been if he hadn't stopped short. Splinters from the doorjamb hit his forearm as he shielded his face. She was behind him, and instantly drew her sidearm, her Glock 19 sub-compact, quickly and effortlessly moving to the opposite side of the door. She scanned what was in her field of vision from her position.

"It looks like there are at least 20 of them out there," she said.

He simply nodded. She noticed his handgun had materialized in his hand somehow. She hadn't seen him even move other than to shield his face from the splinters. He was very good. Why had he hesitated? Some kind of sixth sense, maybe? Did he know the organization that sent these men, and that they had sent more than just the four they had killed? How could he know them and she couldn't. Who exactly was he...?

His eyes surveyed the scene to his front: She was right, there were at least 20 men out there, all cold-blooded killers, there for him. And now for her. No snipers--there was nowhere for them to hide on the beachfront. That was a bonus. From what he could tell, they had no heavy weaponry, either, which was another bonus. Besides being outnumbered, the odds were seemingly in their favor. She was deadly, he could tell from the moment he laid eyes on her. He knew she'd been sent to kill him; she was the best in the world... next to him. He guessed these men had been sent as a sweeper team, to kill him if she failed, or to kill her after she had succeeded. This organization left no loose ends. Ever. This time, though, they might have met their match. And they were about to feel his wrath, his anger, his ice-cold fury. He would hold nothing back. He would kill as many as he could, and he knew she would do the same.

He fixed his eyes on a hardened structure about 20 yards away, to the left. If they could get to that building, they might just get out of here alive. He looked at her as she quickly fired off four rounds. Two men down. Eighteen to go. She looked over at him and winked. She was ahead now, four to two. His turn: He sighted in on a man attempting a poorly executed low-crawl to a nearby sand berm. He fired a round at the man's knee. He got the instant reaction he wanted--the man screamed in pain, jerking himself into a sitting position, and grasping his knee in pain. A bullet to his head. Four to three. Seventeen to go...

"Building to our left, 20 yards out," he said.

"Cover me!" she shouted, and took off at a dead sprint.

He laid down suppressive fire, quickly, but proficiently. Just enough to keep their heads down and give her the five seconds he knew she needed to cover the 20 yards. She crashed through the door and took up a position where she could cover his run to the building with ease. His turn. He set off at an amazingly fast sprint, she noted, as she emptied a 15-round magazine, taking out three more men. Seven to three. Fourteen to go. She'd give him a run for his money, she knew that.

He quickly scanned the small structure and found what he had hoped for—keys to boats. And then, the odds were in their favor; he saw a set of keys to a Fountain 47 Lightning. A six-passenger speed boat with two 1,075-horsepower engines and a max speed of 115 mph. None of the other boat keys were of interest now; he'd made his choice, and knew if they made it to that boat, they'd be in the clear.