An Agent Zero: Spy Thriller. The First Verses, Amun

Rais

SØNDERBORG, DENMARK

Zero hurried along the platform, hoping he wasn't too late. He scanned every face he passed, eliciting some strange looks but none of alarm or recognition. Where is he?

Every lungful of chilly night air made his ribs ache, but he pushed past the pain as passengers climbed aboard the waiting train that would take them to Munich. The man he was looking for was here. He had to be here, among them somewhere. His night with Maria had been.. it had been what he didn't know hed needed. She had tried once more, lying in his arms in the early morning hours, to convince him to come in with her. But she already knew he wouldn't change his mind. When he woke, she was gone. And so was he, twenty minutes later, leaving the Italian apartment and Turtle Fountain behind.

That was three days ago. Zero hadn't stopped moving since. He'd tracked an Iranian Fraternity member hiding out in Copenhagen, and managed to creatively coerce his biggest lead yet. A Fraternity assassin, high up in the ranks, was heading to Munich. The only opportunity to cut him off would be boarding the train in Sønderborg.

He had precious little else to go on. He knew that the assassin had green eyes. And he had a name. Rais. It was likely an alias, but still it was something.

And he new that this assassin had recently made a trip to the United States. He had to now. He had to dispel the prevailing theory that had been running through his mind ever since her death. It would be easy, even convenient, for it to have been at Fraternity hands. But then came that same nagging doubt that he always returned to-why lie to him? It made sense for the official record to show an embolism over an assassination.

But why try to tell the same lie to her husband?

There were less than two dozen people remaining on the platform as the train slowly filled. Zero was getting desperate. He searched faces and found no answers. He didn't want to resort to making a scene. But, he told himself, there was always going to be a Scene.

Zero tooka deep breath, filling his lungs, ribs aching, and he bellowed as loud as he could. "Rais!"

Several heads turned toward him. Most wore expressions of confusion or irritation at this bellowing American i***t. But in that instant, one head jerked strangely, as if trying to resist the instinctual reaction of hearing one's name shouted. And then the man bolted toward the train.

There were still too many people for Zero to attempt a clean shot. He surged forward as well, shoving passengers aside, ignoring the gripes and shouts in his wake. The dark-haired man was around his age, possibly a few years younger, with close-cropped dark hair and the shadow of a beard on his angular chin. He glanced over at Zero quickly as he pushed to get aboard the train in time, and even in the dim light Zero saw his eyes. A deep green, like the color of a dense forest.

The assassin elbowed a woman out of the way as he tried to step up onto the train. Zero sprang forward, throwing himself with reckless abandon and not a thought to his still-battered ribs. He caught the green-eyed assassin in the midsection and wrapped his arms, driving him forward in a linebacker's tackle and down to the platform with his entire body weight.

The assassin grunted as the air whooshed from his lungs. Zero's teeth impulsively gritted at the pain that shot through his own abdomen, but he forced himself forward, rolling and jumping to his feet, in the same motion reaching for the Glock holsteredbeneath his jacket. The assassin was fast. Faster than Zero would have guessed. He too leapt deftly to standing, balanced on one foot and striking out with the other. Zero's hand stung viciously as the Glock skittered across the platform.

At the sight of the g*n, passengers screamed and parted, dashing for the train or the safety of the station behind them. But Zero kept his focus forward, on this assassin, this Rais, who rushed forward with a flurry of rapid punches. He was trained, Zero realized as he kept his hands up to defend against the blows. Better trained than most assassins Zero had encountered. It was one thing to be a good shot, or handy with a knife, but the typical marked trait in an assassin was the willingness to kill. Rais seemed to have all of those qualities and then some.

It was all Zero could do to stay on the offensive, giving up ground a half-step at a time until he saw an opening. Rais feinted with a left, struck with a right, shot low again with his left. Zero twisted but knuckles glanced across his ribs and sent fresh pain surging through him. Nerve endings screamed and his legs threatened to buckle. So he let them. Zero lurched forward and grabbed the lapels of the assassin's leather jacket with both hands as his legs gave out beneath him and dragged the man down to the platform with him. Zero rolled atop him and lashed out with balled fists, striking again and again as quickly as he could. Rais held his hands up in front of his face, grunting as he tried to deflect the blows. With a growl, the assassin bucked his hips. Zero teetered off balance, throwing out a hand to steady himself, as a fist connected with the side of his head. He rolled to the side, urging himself to stand.

Rais clambered to his feet first and jammed an arm into his jacket.

"Stop! a shrill voice cried out. Several yards behind the assassin was a security guard, tall and thin with a hooked nose and a hand on his belt. He repeated the order in Danish as he popped the clasp on the revolver's holster. With Rais's back to him, the guard couldn't see that the assassin was already pulling loose a small, silver pistol.

"No, don't"

Rais spun, and Zero's second word was drowned out by the single bark of the PPK. The shot was flawless. The Danish security guard's head jerked, blood and pieces of skull spraying across the glass doors of the station.

There was more screaming. More running. But Zero saw only the assassin. With a roar, he suddenly found strength again in his limbs and charged forward. As Rais turned his attention back, Zero grabbed the hand that held the g*n and forced it upward, pummeling the assassin's face with the other. Blood blossomed from Rais's nostrils, but he hardly seemed to notice as his own free hand came up in a wide arc and caught the side of Zero's face. He felt his orbital bone c***k. But he wouldn't relent. He struck again and again. At some point--he didn't know when-the PPK fel loose and Rais attacked with both hands. Neither man tried to defend the blows. There was no grace, no strategy. It was an all-out brawl, each battering the other, swinging and connecting over and over. It felt like minutes but must have been only seconds before the assassin's strikes weakened. A hook caught Zero on the jaw but he barely felt it. Rais teetered and lost his balance, falling on his a*s to the platform. Zero charged forward but fell to his own knees, panting hard, struggling to catch his breath. And then, Rais laughed. It was a soft laugh, little more than a chuckle, but with blood running from his nose and cracked lips and a cut across his forehead, it looked like absolute madness. The platform was empty around them. Beyond the glass doors of the station Zero could still see people huddled for safety, some watching cautiously. The police would certainly be on their way. The station would be evacuated. They might both be shot, if either was still alive.

And Rais laughed. "You" he said hoarsely. "You must be Agent Zero." Zero could not hide the shock in his expression. "I have to admit," the assassin said, wiping blood from his eyes, "I thought you were a ghost story." "You're American" Zero murmured. The Glock was twelve yards away. He didn't think he could do much but crawl for it. The PPK was nowhere in sight. "I am."' Zero tried to make a fist. A new shock wave of pain ran up his arm. He was fairly certain one of the fingers on his right hand was broken. "Did you kill her?" he asked flatly.

Rais stared at him then. He didn't confirm or deny. His expression was not quizzical or taunting, but rather flat. Assessing, maybe. "Hm" was all he said. Sirens wailed in the distance. They were different in Europe in a way that Zero had trouble getting used to, but unmistakable nonetheless. Rais noticed too. He grunted as he climbed slowly to his feet. Zero sucked in a breath as he planted one foot on the ground. But his other leg failed him. Every part of his body screamed in pain. He stayed like that, on one knee, urging himself up but unable to do it. His strength was gone. Maria had been right; he was hardly in a condition totravel, let alone fight. And now he saw where the PPK had gone. Rais had fallen on it, and the small silver pistol was now in his hand. "t was a genuine pleasure to meet you, Zero." The assassin put one foot on Zero's chest and pushed. He fell onto his back. Then he was staring at the tiny void that was the pistol's barrel. In a moment, a flash, a bang, it would deliver his death. Maybe l'lIl see Kate again.

Something dug into his hip. Something hard and unyielding. In his pocket. "Goodbye." Zero closed his eyes.

Rais pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. No explosion of light and sound. No deliverance. Not even a click. Jammed. The pistol had jammed. He should be dead. But he wasn't.

Rais frowned and pulled the trigger again. Still nothing. He wouldn't get a third chance. In the precious few seconds of confusion, Zero puled the butterfly knife from his pocket, spinning it open in the same motion. The assassin saw the flash of silver and tried to take a step back, but not fast enough. Zero threw himself forward and buried the knife to its hilt. The blade vanished just below the assassin's navel. "Oh" The sound came out more like a loss of breath than an exclamation. The PPK fell again and clattered. But that wasn't good enough. Not yet. Zero wrapped both fists around the knife handle and, with a burst of strength that he was sure was his last in this fight, hauled the blade straight up. He tore Rais open from navel to ribcage. The knife caught and stuck in the cartilage of his xiphoid process and Zero let go, let it stay there. He fell back. Rais's hands flew to the wound as if he could hold the edges of his opened stomach together. "I..." The assassin collapsed to the platform. "Tm not.." He didn't get to say anything further. Breath hissed from his split lips as his too-green eyes stared up at the stars.

The sirens were louder now. Close. Zero retrieved his Glock and tucked it hastily into his pants. At some point the train to Munich had departed. He hadn't even noticed. But he hopped down from the platform, grimacing as he did, and stole along the tracks and into the darkness. He left Rais there to die.