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ELSEWHERE
— - —
In a room devoid of light or sound, a man sat at his desk and read. There was a time when the darkness would have impeded him — but that time had passed. Now, he found it comforting. Colors distracted him from his work.
He turned to the next page of the report — despite not needing to ‘see’ the words to read them. Old habits, he supposed. With each successive sentence, his calm gave way to cold, calculated purpose.
The door opened. A blade of light pierced the room, illuminating the man and his desk. It cut across his fingers. He instinctively moved his hand out to cover it.
He looked up. A woman stood at the doorway, hesitating. It was only then that he realized his face was twisted with rage.
He forced himself to relax, acknowledged her with a nod, and motioned her in.
She took two steps forward and spoke: “You’ve heard?”
“Yes.” He closed the report. “Do we know who yet?”
“Not yet.” She moved to approach, but stopped — as if a wind forced her back. “Whoever found the Pinnacle did so with the use of mnestics, and there’s a limited supply. We’re looking.”
“And the Contract?”
The woman didn’t respond.
He sighed. “Theodore?”
“We didn’t find him. If he fell, or was pushed, he might still be falling in the pit. We have to assume the worst.”
The man stood, his eyes fixed on the backs of his own knuckles. “I don’t understand how this could happen. I don’t understand who would do this. Who could do this. Do they even know what they did?” He looked up at her. “This is bad.”
Her expression did not change. “The rest of the 909 council has been alerted. I just came here to make sure you knew.” She took another step forward; her hand fell to his desk. “Maybe… maybe if we just coopera-”
“Whatever you were about to say, don’t.” His voice was flat; something trembled just under the surface. “Whoever they are, they got lucky.”
She frowned. He could see the weariness in her face. There was something she wanted to tell him; there was something she wanted to say. Instead, she just closed her eyes and nodded.
He reached for her hand upon the desk, taking it into his own. His palm was like worn, scraped leather. Hers was ice. “I know you’re tired. I know. God, I know. I’m…”
He forced himself to stop. He took a breath, turned her hand over, and traced the scars along her wrist and forearm. She looked so frail, now. “We can’t stop now. We can’t give up now.”
Her eyes were still closed. “I know.”
“Go, now. Go back to the Garden. You know the way in. You’ll be safe there. I'm going to call up the task forces and we’ll figure out what this is. I’ll call you when it’s clear.”
She squeezed his hand back. At last, her eyes opened. “What about you?”
He smiled. “ I just need to figure some things out, and then I’ll come for you.”
He came around the desk and held her; she held him back. After a few moments of silence, she turned her head up to his. “I—”
The phone rang.
He grimaced. His grip on her loosened. “I’m sorry. I…”
Her expression hardened. She released him, nodding. “I know.” Without another word, she turned and left him alone.
He reached for the phone. and answered
NOW
— - —
“The Assassin.” Jacob found the title amusing. “Do they only have one?”
Sam laughed. “That’s a lot of skill to be on. She must be some sort of uber-nerd.”
“A dire nerd,” Devin offered, his eyes never leaving the screen of his laptop.
This comment drew blank stares from Sam, Jacob, and Karl.
“You know, like a dire assassin? From Assassin’s Creed? from Ubisoft Montreal? Or…” Devin looked up. He immediately scowled, then went right back to typing. “Fuck, you people are old.”
Jacob took a drag of his cigarette and eyed Karl from across the room. “Alright. So, how are you planning on finding all these fucks? I doubt they’re just hanging out at the local pub. They’re probably holed up somewhere with enough anomalous ordinance to make Mordor look like the Shire.” He gave Devin a look, who — without raising his head — lifted two fingers in appreciation.
Karl nodded. “Yeah. This is where it gets tricky. Our mystery agent wrote a lot about the Consulates, and a little bit about where they live, or where they’d be hiding, but a lot of it is situational and might not be helpful. That’s why we’re going after The Assassin first. She’s the one who pays the rent and kills people who leak information, or try to kill the Council. Take her out, and the list of possible safe-houses gets that much smaller. ”
Sam leaned back in her chair. “Perfect. We just need to find this first one, then. The first one of these gods-on-Earth that know we’re coming for them. Do you even have a plan?”
Karl gestured to his right. “I’ve got Devin.”
Devin leaned away from his computer. “Oh, yeah. Right. Yeah, I can find her.”
Jacob snorted. “This’ll be good.”
Devin ignored him: “The Assassin is, as far as we can tell, a mathematical prodigy who specializes in statistical analysis. SH’s a data-sponge — she soaks up information, analyzes it, and finds hidden correlations no one else can see. Everything she does, she does based on these invisible relationships. Her entire route — what she wears, what she drinks, her day-to-day activities — they’re all based on predictions derived from these correlations.”
He turned his screen around to show the others. Several tabs were open in his browser; the current one was a graph of current stock prices. “Now, I probably don’t need to tell you what a person like this could do in stock markets. She analyzes data faster than computers; she can predict the boom and bust of a Fortune 500 based on a goddamn train schedule. And although his ability to see these correlations is anomalous, the correlations themselves aren’t — they’re just impossible for anyone else to understand or decode.”
“Alright,” Jacob said. “But that doesn’t tell us how to—”
“Train schedules,” Sam cut him off. She was focused on one of the unopened tabs on the screen. “In Tiananmen Square?”
Devin grinned and nodded. He opened the tab, revealing a translated train schedule. “The journal mentioned it. I’ve been having Alexander crunching numbers for a few weeks—”
“Alexander?” Jacob narrowed his eyes.
“It’s the name he gave his laptop,” Karl replied. “What did you find?”
“Basically, there’s some sort of weird correlation between international housing markets and train schedules printed in Tiananmen on the fifth day of every third month,” Devin said. “And based on how deliberate this gal is, I’d be willing to bet money she goes to Tiananmen herself to examine those schedules the day they’re printed.”
“Hang on.” Sam leaned in to examine the screen closer. “You said this person is able to make predictions based on correlations no one else can see, right? Wouldn’t that lead her to realize she shouldn’t be where we expect her to be?”
Devin cocked his head. “Are you asking me if she can see into the future?”
“Well, yeah. Isn’t that basically what this is?” Sam turned from the screen and focused her attention on Devin. “If she’s able to magically see connections no one else can, isn’t it possible some piece of information he’s encountered will tell him that we’re coming? Or even who we are?”
“I don’t think so,” Karl said. “I mean, the numbers can be wrong.”
Devin shook his head. “No, she’s — well, mostly right. The numbers can’t be wrong. They’re just data. She can’t know anything for sure, though. She just makes predictions, and those predictions have varying degrees of certainty. That’s the hiccup, here: He can know there’s a 75% chance that today, someone will attack her. He can know there’s a 30% chance it’ll be five people, a 25% chance it’ll be four people, a 20% chance it’ll be three people… so on.”
Jacob massaged his brows. “Look, do we really need to take a probabilities course to kill this fucker? I get that she’s smart, but last time I checked, train schedules don’t stop bullets.”
“But bullets won’t stop someone who isn’t even there,” Sam replied. She turned back to Devin. “So, basically, she can predict extremely complex systems based on seemingly random bits of data. Right?”
Devin nodded. “Right.”
Sam gave them all a very crooked grin. “In that case, I think I know exactly how to beat her.”
— - —
The black car pulled to the side of a street in the Tiananmen financial district. The woman who stepped out was so extraordinarily unremarkable that, under normal circumstances, even her lack of remarkability failed to generate a remark.
Her high-end tailored suit and dark glasses blended with the well-to-dos of the region; her skin was a shade of Navajo-white. Despite being aware of the time, she checked her wristwatch, closed the car door, then took three steps down the sidewalk. The vehicle drove away.
The Assassin was a woman of precision. She slept for exactly seven hours; when she woke, it was on the hour. Each footfall was calculated — each step predetermined. He made no mistakes, took no chances, and accounted for every significant possibility.
That’s why, when she first noticed the young man approaching him from across the street, he took immediate action. The man was in his 30s; short hair, open coat — Caucasian, if she had to wager a guess. Based on the color of the man’s shoes, The Assassin determined he was here to kill her. Based on the current market price of peaches, The Assassin determined he was not alone.
She took a step to the left. A crowd of businessmen had just emerged from a nearby diner; this put at least fifteen people between him and the would-be assassin. One of the fifteen was Japanese — in his mid-50s. He walked with a slight limp and was going bald. This meant the second assassin was in the third story window of the small wine-shop across the street.
The Assassin adjusted her watch, reflecting sunlight off its surface and into the window. The sniper was briefly blinded. Now that neither assassin could see him, she moved to enter a nearby office building.
“Fuck. Glare,” Jacob growled into his mic. “You see him?”
Devin fought his way through the crowd, shaking his head. “No. Lost her. She’s anticipating everything we’re doing. I think — she’s gotta be in that building with the blue glass. Heading for it.”
Sam peeked out from around the corner and touched her ear-piece. “Karl, should I go in with him?”
There was a brief pause before Karl replied: “Yes.”
Sam jogged toward the financial office. Devin pushed his way through several more people to follow her.
The interior was a sprawling three-story lobby framed with marble. A grand staircase extended up to each level, with glass elevators providing an alternate route. Devin’s eyes darted between the various levels.
“Which level?” Devin asked.
She yanked Devin by the arm and pulled. “Neither. This way.”
The two of them took off toward the far-end of the building. An emergency exit led to an alleyway out back. Sam shoved the door open and stepped through; Devin followed. As soon as they stepped outside, they were greeted with the sound of muffled gunfire.
“Shit!” Sam shoved Devin between two dumpsters; she soon followed him, dropping to a crouch. She flipped out her compact mirror and held it out, using the reflection to search the alley ahead.
Two men in suits stood where the alley emptied out into the street. Between them, The Assassin checked her watch.
“Hm. This will work,” she announced. “We’ve got about a minute before I leave to catch my train. So, what can I do for you?”
Sam examined the reflection in her mirror. Devin squinted at the image, frowning. “She’s just standing out in the open,” he whispered. “We could just—”
She reached to touch her ear-piece again. “Karl. Do we go for it?”
Karl’s reply came almost immediately: “No.”
Sam looked to Devin. “Keep him talking.”
Devin nodded. He turned to the side of the dumpster and hollered: “You’re The Assassin, right?”
“You know, I do have a professional title. And a name, if you’d rather—”
“We know who you are,” Devin yelled back. “We’re here to kill you.”
“Yes, I’m aware. Well, here I am. Go ahead. Take a shot.”
Sam gestured for Devin to keep going.
“Uh-huh. But do you know why we’re here to kill you?”
“Twenty nine seconds. You’re very likely the ones I received word about, just this morning. You’re responsible for terminating our contract with Death. I presume you want to murder me over some sort of ideological quibble.”
“An ideological quibble?” Devin’s voice nearly hitched up an octave. Sam reached to touch his shoulder. “You know how many corpses your organization is built on top of? How many people die every day just so you fucks get to run the show?”
“I’ve killed thousands. Of course, I’m certain you’ve killed a few. How many? A dozen? A hundred? Did you bother to learn any of their names?” The Assassin asked. She checked her watch again. “Were any of them children? Just curious.”
Devin jerked against Sam’s grip. She squeezed him, hard. “Don’t,” she whispered. “She’s trying to get a rise out of you.”
“Fuck her,” Devin growled. His grip on his pistol was tight enough to force the blood out of his knuckles. “Like she has killed—”
“Well, if you’re not going to try and murder me, I suppose I’ll just have to leave early,” The Assassin said. Again, she looked at her watch. “Seven seconds.”
“We’re going to miss our chance,” Devin hissed. “I’m going to—”
“No, Karl said—”
Devin was already lunging to his feet — and Sam was lunging to tackle him. Her arms slammed into his legs, forcing him to buckle. In the next instant, a deafening pop rushed out to fill the alleyway. A fist-sized crater appeared in the dumpster behind them — right where Devin’s head had been.
Wisps of smoke swirled up from the hole. Devin and Sam both stared at it, their backs pressed against the other dumpster.
“Shit,” Devin whispered.
“Sniper,” Sam replied.
“One,” The Assassin announced. “Everyone down.”
Several more pops echoed out through the street — accompanied by distant screams. Sam and Devin caught the sound of glass shattering; the popping sounds were followed by additional gunfire.
Jacob’s voice boomed over the earpiece: “I’m covering you. Go.”
Sam and Devin ran for the door. In the distance, they could hear the sirens — along with the squealing rubber of The Assassin’s car as it drove away.
— - —
Sometimes, The Assassin wondered what it was like to live in uncertainty; to exist in a world where you could not predict the most likely outcome based on the data in front of you. She imagined it was a dreadful, unbearable state — like being trapped in a nightmare where nothing made any sense. The thought often prompted a feeling of tremendous pity.
She felt no pity at this moment.
As she approached the boarding station, she checked her watch and revisited the alleyway in her mind. She had replayed the events that unfolded there twenty three times; each time, none of it made sense. None of it fit the model.
She correctly predicted the arrival of the two assassins; he also correctly predicted the arrival of their comrade. But his models had shown that, by standing out in the open and addressing them, there was an overwhelming likelihood that at least one would emerge and be immediately struck down by his stationed sniper.
Nothing was truly certain, he knew. Every rule had its exception; every absolute hid a sliver of doubt. Everything he understood was merely an approximation of something he did not.
But the chance of both assassins emerging from this conflict unscathed were, by her calculations, comparable in magnitude to a tornado arranging a deck into a house of cards — then back into the same ordered deck. It was beyond ‘unlikely’; it was nothing short of miraculous.
Was that what she had witnessed? A miracle of probability? An event as rare and near-impossible as the emergence of life itself?
She stepped on-board the train, providing her ticket. She moved to one of the private rooms, sliding the door aside and taking her seat. As the city began to slip past, she ran through the model for the twenty fourth time, then decided that he would simply need to let it go.
The sliding door rattled open. A not-quite middle-aged man with dark, faintly greying hair stepped in, taking the opposite seat. He casually reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a revolver, aiming it squarely at The Assassin’s heart.
The Assassin stared, uncomprehending. This wasn’t possible. This couldn’t be possible.
Two miracles? In one day?
“How?” she croaked.
Karl reached into his pocket with his other hand, withdrawing a small, unremarkable coin. He perched it on top of his thumb and proceeded to flip it, before snatching it out of the air. He then showed it to The Assassin.
Tails.
The gears in his head started to turn. “You…”
“You’re good at predicting complicated systems," Karl said, "but only when they behave the way they’re supposed to. You can’t predict them if all their decisions are inherently unpredictable.”
“But how did you know I would be—”
“We overheard you say you had a train to catch. There were two train stations nearby. So I flipped a coin.”
The Assassin closed her eyes and smiled. “How utterly boorish. You got lucky.”
“Yeah. But it worked, didn’t it?”
“So it did.” Her eyes opened; she focused her gaze on Karl. "Well. Now you've got me here. What do you want?"
Karl laid a piece of paper in front of him and pulled out a pen. He slid them across the table between them towards The Assassin.
"Names," he said. "Locations. All of the rest of them."
The Assassin sighed. "You want me to give up the names and locations of the other Consulates? What — do you want their PIN numbers, too?"
Karl tapped the revolver on the table. "This probably isn't the time to get smart."
The Assassin sat back in her chair and loosened her tie. "I'm not going to do that. You used a funny trick to put me in a compromising position, and that's clever. But now that we're here, I know exactly how this plays out. Why would I compromise my associates when you're just going to kill me either way?"
Karl shrugged. "There's a difference between being shot and being dragged behind this train."
The woman swallowed. "That's barbaric — and either way, it's not particularly likely. We're not too far from our destination, and there will be too many people around. The way I die is at the end of that gun."
"That doesn't bother you?"
The Assassin rolled her tongue across her teeth. "Of course it does. I haven't thought about the idea of dying in such a long time, and to now be sitting here looking at it, it's nothing short of horrifying. But I'm not going to beg for mercy from a terrorist." He leaned forward. "Do you truly understand what it is you're doing?”
Karl didn't answer. The Consulate sighed.
"Go ahead. We both know what you're going to do next."
Karl squeezed the trigger.
- BACK -
