Chapter 156: The Unexpected Assassin

Richter tucked the tablet under his left arm and pulled a pair of heavy-duty plastic zip-ties from his cargo pocket. He walked over with calm, unhurried steps.

Down the hallway, the boots of the Delta response team were getting louder, but Richter looked completely relaxed. He had dealt with ambushes before. To him, an assassin with a fancy dagger was just another hostile target waiting to be processed.

"Keep those hands behind your head," Richter said, stepping behind her right side. "Cross your thumbs. Make any sudden moves, and the Commander puts a hole through your skull."

The cloaked girl didn’t say a word. She kept her hands raised near her ears, her head held low.

Richter reached out with his left hand, grabbing her left wrist to pull it down behind her back.

He never got the zip-tie on.

The moment Richter’s fingers touched her skin, the girl moved.

She didn’t use magic. She didn’t try to blink away. She used pure, explosive physical speed.

Dropping her hips, she spun hard on her left heel, driving her right elbow straight into Richter’s chest.

THUD!

The blow hit Richter right in his sternum with shocking force. It was far stronger than any normal girl her size should have been capable of. The sheer impact knocked the breath out of the seasoned colonel, shoving his two-hundred-pound frame backward three full paces. His combat boots skidded across the slick marble floor as he fought to keep his footing, his tablet tumbling from his grip and clattering against the wall.

John reacted instantly.

He didn’t hesitate. He pulled the trigger.

BANG!

The 9mm bullet grazed the edge of her hood, tearing through the black fabric as she ducked low under the gunfire.

Instead of turning to strike John, the assassin kicked hard off the floor, using the burst of speed to launch herself down the corridor. She didn’t try to fight anymore. She knew her ambush had failed, and she knew the gun could kill her. Her only goal was escape.

She bolted toward the massive open archway at the end of the gallery. Beyond that archway was a three-story drop into the palace gardens, where the thick hedges and drainage tunnels offered an easy way out.

"Hostile breaking toward the courtyard!" Richter coughed, shaking off the hit to his ribs and reaching for his sidearm.

The assassin was fast. Unnaturally fast. Her black cloak flapped behind her like raven wings as her boots barely touched the ground. In less than two seconds, she cleared thirty feet of hallway, already leaping into the air to dive over the stone balustrade.

She thought she was free.

She was wrong.

John didn’t bother shooting at a running target down a hallway where Delta operators were entering. Instead, he narrowed his eyes, feeling the cold, familiar tug in his chest.

Shadow Step.

The space around John warped. His vision flickered black for a split second, the world bending around him.

He vanished from where he stood.

A millisecond later, he tore back into reality directly in front of the balcony ledge—right in her flight path.

The assassin’s eyes widened in sheer horror. She was already mid-air, her momentum carrying her forward, completely unable to change direction.

John planted his back foot and met her head-on.

He caught her right out of the air.

His left arm hooked hard around her torso, absorbing the kinetic shock of her leap. Using her own forward momentum against her, John pivoted on his heel and slammed her down onto the hard marble floor.

SLAM!

The impact knocked the wind clean out of her lungs.

"Gah!" she choked, the air blowing out of her mouth in a sharp gasp.

She was tough. Even after hitting the stone with that much force, her hand immediately shot toward her boot, reaching for a backup throwing blade hidden in her leather wraps.

John didn’t give her the chance.

He dropped his full weight down on her chest, his heavy combat knee pinning her right shoulder flat against the floor. With his left hand, he pinned her flailing arm down, trapping her wrist against the stone.

Before she could grab the blade with her other hand, John reversed his grip on his pistol.

He brought the heavy steel butt of the grip down in a short, brutal arc, striking the side of her neck right along the nerve cluster.

CRACK!

The assassin’s body gave one sharp jerk. Her eyes rolled back into her head, the amber glow fading instantly into darkness.

Her limbs went completely limp. Her fingers slipped off her boot, falling lifelessly against the floor.

She was out cold.

John stayed on top of her for another two seconds, his breathing steady, making sure she wasn’t faking the knockout. When her muscles remained totally loose, he eased off, standing up and tucking the pistol back into his holster.

Down the hall, the squad of four Delta operators finally slid to a halt, weapons raised, scanning the area before lowering their muzzles.

"Sir! Are you secure?" the team lead called out.

"Secure," John replied calmly. "Get a medic down here with a sedative just in case. And bring real iron cuffs, not plastic ties. She hits like a truck."

Richter walked up, rubbing his chest with a scowl on his face. He looked down at the unconscious girl lying flat on the marble.

"Damn," Richter grunted, catching his breath. "That little runt packed a punch. My chest feels like I caught a stray baseball bat. Normal humans don’t hit that hard without a spell."

"That’s because she isn’t a normal human," John said quietly.

He knelt down beside the girl.

Her black cloak was tangled around her torso, torn from the fall and scorched by powder burns. Her curved poison dagger was still lying twenty feet back down the hall.

John reached out, grabbed the coarse edge of her dark hood, and yanked it back.

Then he reached down and pulled away the black cloth mask covering the lower half of her face.

The mask came off, and the silence in the corridor deepened.

Underneath the hood, short, glossy black hair spilled across the white marble.

She had smooth, pale skin, delicate features, and a small, narrow nose. Her face was clearly of East Asian descent—distinctly Japanese. She didn’t look older than nineteen or twenty.

Richter leaned over, looking down at her face, then looked up at John.

"She’s from Earth," Richter said, his voice flat with surprise.

"Yeah, possibly, she’s familiar. Let’s take her and interrogate."