~Chapter 15~

~June 26th, 2019- Josh Taske’s House in Eugene, Oregon
Emma woke up more rested than she had in a long while. Maybe it was the feeling of safety she had in this house full of killers. Ironic how that worked, she was safest with the men and women most people feared.
Emma had been assigned what she was told was Lola Taske’s bed, and while the modern style with its pink coloring wasn’t really her thing, the bed was comfy. She looked over where Scarlet was laying on what she understood was Maria Taske’s bed. The red and black ninja motif seemed to fit Scarlet; and Emma had to wonder how well it matched the little girl it belonged to.
She got to her feet, trying to keep as quiet as she could to not disturb the red-haired assassin.
“Don’t bother, I’m awake.”
Scarlet didn’t move a muscle, and her eyes stayed closed.
Emma was surprised, and slightly thrown off guard.
“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to wake you…”
“You didn’t, I’ve been awake for a few hours. I don’t need much sleep normally, and there isn’t much to do around here.”
Emma sat back down on her bed, “There isn’t?”
Scarlet cracked an eyelid to peer at the other woman.
“Well, there is a small gym downstairs and Nathan usually has the fridge well-packed with beer. Other than that, there’s nothing to do.”
Emma was already in a white T-shirt and athletic shorts, and the gym sounded like a welcome distraction.
“A workout sounds like a good idea.”
As she rose to go Scarlet closed her eye and shrugged her shoulders slightly.
“Have fun.”

It took Emma a few tries to find the door to the workout room. She caught a glimpse of Sniper sleeping on the couch, but other than that she saw no one. At least, no one until she found the gym.
As she walked in her attention was first caught by the wooden stand against the far wall that held a number of practice weapons. Between her and the rack was a padded blue mat. Next to the mat was a boxing bag, and along the wall to her right she saw an elliptical and a treadmill, along with a few medicine balls and a rack of dumbbells.
Then the sound of heavy breathing caused her to look to her far right to where a weight bench stood. And there, bare-chested and sweating, was Nathan Wolv. He lay on his back on the bench, rhythmically lifting a bar with three large weights on either end.
As she approached, she was awed by the mercenary’s bulging muscles. They rippled beneath the tanned skin, strong and powerful. She glanced at the weights and was shocked to see they accumulated to 250lbs, and the man was using them as easily as if they were dumbbells.
Nathan seemed to have noticed her approach and lifted the bar up to hook it on the mounts above his head. He sat up, toweling his head off with a white clothe he grabbed off the floor.
Another shock greeted Emma’s eyes, across Nathan’s chest and shoulders were a crisscross pattern of scars. Bullet wounds, knife wounds, wounds left from surgeries, even what appeared to be marks from a lash.
Nathan glanced at her and noticed where her attention was directed.
“You like? Who needs tattoos when you got yer own decorations?”
Emma was almost at a loss for words, “You look like you’ve been through Hell!”
Nathan laughed and stood up. He walked over to the punching bag and picked up a pair of lightweight boxing gloves off the floor.
“Sister, I’ve been through more Hells than God was supposed to have created. Now you hear to workout or stare?”
Emma quickly averted her eyes and moved to a corner of the mat where she commenced with a series of stretches.
“I’m sorry…”
Nathan threw a couple light jabs at the bag.
“Don’t be…”
He suddenly launched six lightning-fast punches that made loud thudding sounds as they connected.
“…Everyone stares.”
Emma was sitting in a butterfly-stretch, and she looked up.
“They shouldn’t, though.”
Nathan turned to glance at her before continuing his assault on the bag.
“Why the Hell not?”
Emma started stretching her legs in a modified pike-stretch.
“It’s not polite to stare at another’s deformity…”
Nathan started laughing so hard he had to stop punching the bag. Shocked and embarrassed by what she had just said, Emma stammered in an attempt to correct herself.
“Uh, what I said… what I meant to say… I don’t mean it is a deformity, I just…”
Nathan’s blue eyes rested on her, and for once they weren’t glaring, accusing, or icy. They were kind, world-weary and tired, but kind.
“They are a deformity. Each scar has a story, a memory, and each story is a part of who I am. I aint perfect, I aint even close to being not perfect. And even if I can forget for a time, and other people can forget for a time, the scars always serve as a reminder that you can go through Hell, and you aint always better off for it.”
Nathan grabbed his towel and walked out of the room. Emma curled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees. She stared numbly at the blue mat, rocking back and forth.
“Are you okay?”
Emma’s head snapped up at the voice, but she relaxed upon seeing it was only Sniper. She stared up at him, feeling he was the only person there who she could really talk to.
“I don’t belong here, not with these people.”
A tear ran down her cheek and the blonde mercenary sat down next to her and put an arm around her shoulder. She leaned her head against his chest and just cried.
Max, taken by surprise by both her crying and his own impulsive actions, just rocked back and forth and spoke in a soft, comforting voice.
“Hey, it’s okay. No one really belongs with these people. They are a team forged by combat and love and they work and think and live with a greater understanding of each other that anyone else could even dream about. But you, your world has fallen around you and your life is in danger. So, yeah, you belong. Their job is to protect lives, especially people like you. You belong.”
He swallowed hard, “And, even if you don’t think you belong with them, you belong with me.”
Somewhere between Los Angeles and Eugene, Sniper had noticed Emma’s frailty, hidden somewhere behind the bold front she normally wore. And, somewhere on that road, the urge to protect that frailty had sprouted deep within him. Maybe that was why he had decided to sit down with her, to try and comfort when normally he let them come to grips.
Emma’s crying had died down, but she had wrapped her arms around Max’s shoulders and still held on tight.
“Sniper…”
Max stroked her dark head softly, “Call me Max.”
Emma smiled through her tears, “Max, will I get through this?”
He smiled back and kissed her head, “We will get through this, together.”
“Together? I’d like that.”
Max, who had followed his instincts and his own logic all his life, had finally decided to follow his heart. And he couldn’t help but wonder: why hadn’t he done it sooner?

~Steve Marr’s Private Airstrip Outside of New York City
Wraith disembarked from the Learjet 36A a little before noon. Steve Marr, the smuggler pilot known as “Wings”, met the Informer on the airstrip, just outside of the hangar.
Steve was an old friend of both josh Taske and Wraith. The graying forty-five year-old smuggler used to be a fighter pilot, but he had applied his talents to the smuggling business when he was discharged under false thieving charges.
The two men shook hands, Wraith with his characteristic amused smile and Marr with a wide grin.
“Wraith, how yah been? What brings you to New York?”
Wraith accepted his small duffel from Joe Binkley, the pilot who had flown the luxury jet.
“Everything is good. I’m here to get information from the Board.”
Steve ran a hand over his crew-cut and whistled.
“Whew, I don’t know how you plan on doing that, but good luck. You gonna need a flight back?”
Wraith slung his duffel over his shoulder and the two men started walking towards the main office.
“Yes, probably tomorrow afternoon. Did you get what I requested?”
Steve nodded and handed Wraith a set of keys, “Yeah, rental car. White Buick, non-descript and easily forgotten. And either me or Binkley will be around to fly you back.”
Wraith opened the door to the office and started for the door leading to the front parking lot.
“Thank you, Steve, see you later.”
Steve watched him go, “Yeah, good luck.”

~ Samuel Grayson’s Apartment, NY
Samuel looked up from the papers spread out on his dining room table as Jay Marcos walked into his room without knocking.
“Ah, my dear Mr. Marcos, was your mission a success?”
Marcos slumped down on the couch and rubbed his tired-looking eyes.
“It took me all night to collected the data and put it in a file, but its there. It should be one of the first things Wraith finds when he starts his search.”
Samuel nodded and sat back in his chair with a contented look in his eyes.
“Good, now we just wait.”

~Josh Taske’s House in Eugene, Oregon
Due to the number of people and the situation they were all in, Josh and Lexy decided to serve all their meals buffet-style. And, also due to the position they in which they found themselves, they couldn’t go anywhere or order out. Josh and Nathan said they could go for groceries, if needed, but otherwise everyone would have to do with what they had.
Breakfast was easy, cereal and toast with coffee. Lunch was also simple, canned chili, salsa and chips. Dinner, however, did not go so well. Lexy soon found out how hard it was to try and grill steaks in the oven, and they burned. So, they settled for sandwiches, beer, and popcorn.
As they ate, Josh, Lexy, and Emma watched TV while Sniper, Scarlet and Nathan played poker at the table. Josh and Lexy were fans of “CSI: Portland”, which was in its fifth season. Emma was unsure at first, but she found she actually enjoyed the show.
The night’s show was about a pair of kids who saw a mob hit and had to be convinced to cooperate with the CSI team. Halfway through the show the mob attacked one of the kids and put him in the hospital. The second kid disappeared, and it wss up to Larry Groben, the CSI team leader, to find the kid and apprehend the bad guys. Emma was surprised to see connections between the CSI team and the group of people she was currently associated with. The leader was strong and intelligent, the women on the team were beautiful and dangerous, and everyone had both a sense of purpose and an uncanny understanding with each other. Not as surprising were the similarities between the mob hit squad and Josh’s group of soldiers. Their ruthlessness and desire to get the job done was almost fanatical.
The TV show had ended, of course, with Larry Groben arresting not only the four hit men, but also their handlers. The card game in the other room ended about the same time and Max and Scarlet came to join them in the living room. Nathan stayed at the table nursing a beer.
Scarlet plopped down on the couch and brushed a strand of dark red hair from her face. She glanced at her watch, eyebrows shooting up in surprise.
“Yikes, only eight? It feels like it should be later.”
Max took a seat next to Emma. They did not touch, but their eyes met and held each other for a quiet moment.
“Hey, anyone think about what we do once Wraith gets back with the data?”
Nathan was standing behind the couch Scarlet lay across, beer in hand. He stared at Josh, waiting for an answer.
Josh was lying on the other black-leather couch with Lexy, an arm around her and her head on his chest. He looked up at Nathan, his grey eyes flickering in the semi-dark living room.
“We plan an entry and take the villa.”
Nathan nodded; it was the answer he expected. He gestured to Emma, blue eyes still on Josh.
“Anybody ask her if she can shoot yet?”
“No, I don’t think we bothered.”
Josh turned his head to look expectantly at Emma.
“Well?”
Emma swallowed, “Well, I used to shoot rifles on my dad’s ranch in Texas, but that was years ago. I’m afraid I haven’t had the need recently.”
Josh nodded and looked back to Nathan, “Grab a suitable pistol from the cache upstairs and take her into the garage for target practice. Use as much ammo as you need, get her up to speed. Oh, and maybe show her around a MP5, just in case.”
Nathan nodded and beckoned Emma to follow him. Reluctantly, she got up and they started out of the room.
“Nathan,” Josh’s sharp gray eyes bore into the mercenary’s back, “Don’t damage any of the cars.”
Nathan turned and saluted in precise military style.
“Aye-aye, Sir!”

Upstairs in the office, Nathan pulled the picture of Crater Lake off the outside wall. Punching the 17-digit combination code into the safe behind where the picture hung, he opened the large wall-safe concealed behind it.
Emma gasped when she saw what the safe contained. Guns of all kinds, pistols of all kinds, machine guns including, but not limited to, a pair of AK-47’s, M-16 assault rifle, and a number of MP7 and MP5 variants. To one side hung a compound bow, crossbow, and four .357 Desert Eagle pistols, Josh Taske’s trademark weapon. On the floor of the weapons cache were boxes of ammo, bundles of arrow, and attachments for the projectile weapons.
Nathan ran a trained eye over the selection and, finally, chose a Zastava M70(k) pistol and a Sig Sauer P228. He also grabbed a compact, boxy-looking firearm, an FN P90. Along with the pistols and the P90, Nathan snagged two boxes of 9mm Parabellums along another of regular 9mm bullets, and a number of long, strange-looking clips for the P90. He then led Emma back downstairs and out the back door.
Before leaving for New York, Wraith had moved Josh’s ’16 Mustang back outside the garage, allowing access to the underground portion of the structure. Nathan quickly typed the counter code to the lockdown and the ramp lowered with a quiet hum of hydraulics.
Once again, Emma was stunned by what she saw. The collection of vehicles, while fairly small, was still very impressive. The garage stretched under the property just behind and to the side of Josh’s Taske’s house. This, of course, lent enough room for Josh’s large collection of cars, trucks, and motorcycles.
Along the wall to the left Josh had left an area open for a small, one-man firing range. A booth stood at one end of the garage where a person could shoot from. Down at the other end was a large rolling target board that was big enough so anyone with even a bad aim wouldn’t miss and ricochet off the concrete behind it. The target could be rolled back and forth, moving it closer or farther away from the shooter, and thereby giving them a variety of distances to test their skill.
Nathan walked over to the booth and placed the guns on the counter. He started loading the clips to the P228 and the M70(k). As he loaded the weapons, he explained to Emma about the guns.
“This little pistol is a Zastava M70(k). Its brother, the M70, is made to fire 32 ACP rounds, but this one chambers nine-mil’s. The Yugoslavian Police swear by it, and it’s popular among civilians as a personal-defense weapon.”
He finished loading the nine-round clip and, chambering a round and setting the safety, handed the gun to Emma to examine. As she looked at the small gun, Nathan moved on to prepping the P228.
“This is the Sig Sauer P228. It was designed to be a more compact version of the P226, which is popular among European assassins. It’s got an aluminum-alloy frame, four-point safety system, and is blowback-operated. Back in the 1980’s, the P228 beat out the Beretta at the US Army Trials. They gave it the designation of M11 and it became the favorite sidearm of anyone who wanted something more compact than the M9. It still is used by a number of intelligence agencies, but it’s been set aside in favor of .40 cal’s in military circles.”
Emma laid down the M70 and accepted the slightly heavier pistol from Nathan. The mercenary picked up the P90 and slid one of the elongated clips into the top of the weapon.
“Last, but not least, is the FN Herstal P90. Also a child of the 1980’s, it’s designed with a cocking handle on both sides of the gun so it can be used ambidextrously. It’s got rails for laser and light attachments, and uses a fifty-round mag with 5.7mm FN ammo. It’s popular as both a personal defense and as a special forces close-quarters weapon. I think it’ll be easier to use than the MP5 or MP7.”
Nathan smiled at her, his crystalline-blue eyes twinkling.
“Well, that’s the history, you ready to try them out?”

Through the next hour and a half, Nathan ran through everything he could think of pertaining to the use of the firearms. Stance, posture, safeties and reloading, and, of course, targeting. Nathan was an expert marksman with any kind of ranged weapon, and he passed as much of his knowledge as he could to the one-time secretary.
It helped that Emma had distant experience with her father’s firearms. She remembered her father had a couple hunting rifles and a revolver she used to shoot with. He also had a shotgun, but he never would let her shoot that, claiming the recoil would knock her on her back. Most of what Nathan showed her on stance and posture her father had taught her years ago, so it was like a refresher course. With the exception of the blowback on the P228 and the procedure for reloading the clips, handling of the handguns was also very familiar.
The P90 had some kick to it, but not as much as she expected. It was designed to absorb as much of the recoil as possible, one reason it was popular among SWAT and secret service agencies. It was also easy to reload, all you did was release the old clip, slide it out of its slot on the top of the gun, and slide the new clip in place. Another merciful feature, spent bullets were ejected through a slot on the bottom of the gun. Other guns, such as the pistols, which ejected their spent rounds out of the side, had always scared Emma.
After watching her aim get quickly better, Nathan left to go back up to the house. He left her five cartridges for the P90, along with the three boxes of pistol ammo. He also left instructions to practice until she was sure he would be satisfied.
Emma watched him go from the corner of her eye as she reloaded the P228. It had proven to be her favorite of the weapons Nathan had introduced her to, although all firearms still held a small amount of terror for her. Sliding the clip into the pistol’s handle, she chambered a round and, taking careful aim, proceeded to empty the weapon’s thirteen-round clip into the target that was now at about a hundred-and-fifty meters. She actually found it rather therapeutic.
She had gone through two clips with the Sig, and another with the M70 when she finally realized she was no longer alone. Max stood, leaning against a car, watching her.
He nodded to her in greeting and, nodding back, she picked up the P90 and chambered one of its 5.7mm FN rounds. She emptied half the clip in a matter of seconds, and was proud to note that only four shots missed the head of the paper silhouette.
“Nathan told you to practice headshots?”
Emma turned and, making sure the safety was on, set the submachine gun on the booth’s counter.
“No, he actually said to aim for the center of the chest so I would be sure to hit my target. But if… I just want to be prepared.”
Max walked over and, standing next to her, started loading the clip to the M70.
“But if you run into James Hughes on this mission, you don’t want to miss, but you don’t want to just wound him either.”
Emma stared at his nimble finger loading the clip and nodded dully.
Finished, Max slammed the clip home, chambered the first round, and emptied the clip into the target’s forehead. Not a single bullet missed, and when the sharp report of the pistol died down, there was only one hole in the target’s black head.
Max set the still-smoking gun on the booth and, looking very satisfied, surveyed the target.
He turned to look inquiringly at her, “What do you plan on doing after James is gone?”
Emma shrugged, “I don’t know… I haven’t thought that far ahead, really.”
Max nodded and began sweeping the spent shells into a hole set into side of the counter. They tumbled into the hole, tinkling lightly as they fell into the recycling container beneath.
“Would you like to see the world?”
Emma stared at him, her heart aflutter.
“Max, what are you asking?”
Max turned and looked into her eyes, a small smile playing across his mouth.
“Run away with me.”
Emma was speechless and, emboldened by her surprise, Max plowed ahead.
“We can go wherever you want, do whatever you want, even be whoever you want to be. We can pick up a pair of fake ID’s from Hollywood, elope at Disneyland maybe, whatever. Just, come with me!”
Emma stared at him, words refusing to leave her lips. Max took a step forward and put his arms around her.
“I don’t have much, I can’t promise you money like James could, but I can promise you me. And…”
Emma stopped him with a kiss on the lips.
“Max, that is all I could ever want.”