Page 85 of Assassin Anonymous

“Azrael,” she says.

Huh.

“Thought Azrael was a man,” I tell her.

“That’s sexist.” She pulls a gun from her lap and points it at me. She’s more than the minimum safe distance. “And sort of the point.”

“Is that an FN Five-seven?” I ask.

She tilts the gun. “High-velocity rounds. From this distance it stands a decent shot of cutting through a level-three vest.”

I pat my chest. “Level four.”

“Really? It doesn’t look like it has plating.”

“Israeli.”

“Ah, that makes sense. Guess I’ll just go for the head.”

“Kinda wish you wouldn’t. As you can imagine, I have questions.”

Like, a lot. It does verify a few things: why she can fight, why she stuck with me through all this. But those realizations just raise more questions. The one thing I can say for sure is that seeing her, oddly, brings me some level of comfort.

“I bet,” she says. “But first we’re getting out of here. Turn around, hands behind your back. Any sudden movement and you get to find out how good a shot I am.”

With most people, I’d get to work, calculating the odds, figuring out how to turn the tables. Astrid—Azrael—is a pro. I’m not inclined to push my luck with a pro. Better to listen until an opportunity presents itself rather than try to manufacture one.

And right now, at least, it’d be nice to get some answers.

She takes my hands and zip-ties them tightly behind me. Then she shoves me forward.

“March.” As she pushes me through the oak doors, there’s a hiss of static and she speaks into her walkie-talkie. “I’m bringing him out. Clear a path to the parking garage. Director’s orders.”

Ravi is dragging himself to his feet. “I didn’t hear that order.”

“You wouldn’t have.”

There’s a sharp crack from behind me and Ravi’s head jerks back. His body folds to the floor like a rag doll.

A few seconds ago I could have watched him get skinned alive while munching popcorn. But my anger is clouded over by the memories of us traveling the world, eating well, sharing laughs after a job. He was still an important part of my life for a long time, and a deep well of sadness swirls through the anger.

“Jesus, Astrid,” I say.

“He bet on you and he lost. That’s just one in a series of screwups. Like I said, Director’s orders.”

When we reach the elevator bank, the only evidence of the mayhem from earlier is the battered furniture and the bullet holes in the walls. Astrid presses the down button and a door opens.

“Right corner,” she says. “Face the wall.”

I lean against it as the elevator begins its descent. “So,” I ask, “how in the hell did I end up at your apartment before Singapore? Was all that by some kind of design?”

“It was good timing. I moonlight as a black-market trauma surgeon. I was a medic in the Special Forces. That was before I was recruited by Ravi. Patching people up, it’s something to earn a little extra money, and to keep my ear to the ground. Like I kept saying, you boys love to brag.”

“And Ravi didn’t know you were with me?”

“Just kept telling him I was right behind you, and he bought it. I’ve been trying to get my hands on Kozlov. Soon as you mentioned him to your friend on that phone call, I knew it was him. I didn’t have his name at that point, but I knew exactly who you meant.”

“What did Kozlov do to you?”

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