Chapter 9 The hunt continues

Burns rummaged through the cluttered drawer of his desk, a graveyard of forgotten pens and crumpled receipts. Finally, his fingers brushed against the cool, familiar plastic of an ancient Nokia mobile. A relic from a bygone era, it felt reassuringly solid in his hand. He punched in a well-worn number, the screen illuminating with a faint green glow."We've got a problem," he rasped into the receiver, his voice a low growl that conveyed the gravity of the situation without a single superfluous word.Across the miles, a weathered hand reached into a pocket, retrieving a phone of similar vintage. The man on the other end, a mountain of muscle obscured by a haze of cigar smoke, grunted in acknowledgment. He glanced down at the file spread before him, the crisp edges marred by the scorch marks of a spent cigarette."Looks like our marionette got its strings cut," he rumbled, his voice a gravelly counterpoint to Burns' clipped efficiency. He swept his gaze over the six other men seated around the worn wooden table, their faces etched with a mixture of grim curiosity and battle-hardened stoicism.These were not your average businessmen. Beneath the veneer of expensive suits and polished facades lay the ghosts of soldiers past, each bearing the invisible scars of countless campaigns. In their military days, they were a force to be reckoned with, a fearsome unit known throughout the ranks as the Jackals.Their ranks, however, were not what they once were. Three chairs remained perpetually empty, a constant reminder of the brutal war with Russia that had claimed one of their own – Burns' brother. The loss still hung heavy in the air, a silent vow of vengeance etched into their hearts."We need to find this woman," the man continued, his voice hardening with resolve, "and ensure the job gets finished."Silence descended upon the room, broken only by the rhythmic tapping of ashes into an overflowing ashtray. The Jackals, bound by an unspoken oath of loyalty and forged in the fires of war, knew exactly what needed to be done.The air in the dimly lit booth crackled with a tension as thick as the stale cigarette smoke that hung in the air. Bob, Neil, and Trevor, the Jackals' elite sharpshooters, sat hunched over a table, their silence a testament to their grim focus. Tim, the group's technological mastermind, his fingers flying across a keyboard, projected a holographic image onto the table – a photograph of a woman with a steely gaze, Emerlda.Steve, the group's weapons specialist, a half-Japanese man with a sardonic glint in his eyes, leaned back in his chair, the dying embers of his cigar casting an angry glow on his face. Roy, Burns' second-in-command, a brute of a man whose fists spoke louder than his words, tossed the file containing Emerlda's information across the table."Heard you were on a little month-long vacation, Stevie," Roy drawled, a mocking grin twisting his lips."Screw you, Roy," Steve retorted, his voice laced with venom. "This ain't some vacation cleanup detail I signed up for." He leaned forward, his face contorted in a grimace, and stubbed his cigar out on the photo of Emerlda. "We've got a bigger fish to fry – gotta move that shipment. This shouldn't take more than a day, then you can get back to your floozies."Tim, his eyes glued to the screen, interjected before Steve could rise. "She's close, at the Bellagio Hotel and Casino. Don't underestimate her, Steve. She tracked down Ginero, and given her location, she likely has an idea where the merchandise is stashed."A flicker of respect, grudging though it may be, passed between Steve and Tim. Roy, however, slammed his fist on the table, rattling the glasses. "Inform Burns," he growled, his voice thick with urgency. "Our safe house has been compromised. The clients arrive in a week. We need a new base."The weight of their predicament settled heavily on the group. A woman they had underestimated had thrown a wrench into their carefully laid plans. Now, they faced not only the task of eliminating Emerlda but also the logistical nightmare of relocating their entire operation on a tight deadline. With a shared grim nod, the Jackals rose, each member shouldering a piece of the burden, their camaraderie forged in the fires of past battles propelling them forward.Emerlda sank deeper into the plush pool chair, the azure water lapping gently against her legs. The Vegas heat, relentless even at dusk, had left her muscles pleasantly loose, a stark contrast to the steely tension that simmered beneath the surface.Daniel, ever the opportunist, was already cavorting with one of the casino's many willing participants. A flicker of disdain crossed Emerlda's face, quickly masked by a practiced indifference.Turning her attention to the file on Burns, she devoured its contents with a predatory focus. His past achievements, carefully curated and likely self-serving, painted a picture of a ruthless and capable leader. The redacted sections, however, were more intriguing, hinting at a past shrouded in secrecy.Emerging from a luxuriously bubbly bath, Emerlda slipped into a bodycon dress of emerald green, the fabric clinging to her curves like a second skin. She descended upon the casino floor, a vision of controlled elegance amidst the flashing lights and clinking of slot machines.At the VIP section, she commanded a table with a queenly air. A waiter materialized instantly, his smile obsequious. "My finest vintage, please," she instructed, her voice a smooth velvet caress.The room buzzed with a familiar energy – celebrities, models, and high rollers, all chasing their own brand of fortune. But amidst the sea of faces, one man stood out. His gaze, a smoldering ember in the well-lit casino, tracked her every move. A cold dread snaked its way down Emerlda's spine.Ignoring the tremor in her hand, she grasped the wine bottle and glass. The man at the bar mirrored her action, downing a double whiskey in a single, savage gulp. He rose, his movements predatory, and began to weave through the throng of people, his eyes fixed on Emerlda's retreating figure.The once-luxurious casino floor now felt like a tightening noose. With a calmness born of years of navigating danger, Emerlda formulated a plan. Reaching the bar, she discreetly slipped a wad of cash into the bartender's hand. Their brief exchange, a silent conversation in itself."Trouble in paradise?" the bartender murmured, his voice barely a whisper.A humorless smile played on Emerlda's lips. "Something like that," she replied, her voice equally quiet. "Need a discrete exit."The tension in the air crackled with anticipation. Emerlda had a stalker, a man fueled by murderous rage. But she was Emerlda, and she wouldn't back down without a fight. The coming confrontation promised a night far more thrilling, and far more dangerous, than any Vegas high roller could ever experience.The emerald silk of Emerlda's dress billowed around her as she flung open Daniel's hotel room door with a resounding crash. Inside, a scene straight out of a cheap romance novel unfolded before her – Daniel, half-clothed and flushed with exertion, entangled with a nameless blonde."Out!" Emerlda roared, her voice laced with ice. The girl, startled out of her reverie, blinked at Emerlda in confusion. Before she could even sputter a protest, a sickening thud echoed in the room. Emerlda, with a cold fury in her eyes, had smashed a wine bottle over the girl's head, sending her sprawling to the floor.Daniel, disentangling himself from the now-unconscious woman, scrambled to his feet. "What the hell, Emerlda!" he bellowed, his voice a mix of outrage and irritation. "Couldn't you have waited until I –"His tirade was cut short as Emerlda shoved him roughly aside. Her movements were frantic, a stark contrast to her usual composed demeanor. She ransacked drawers and tossed clothes aside in a desperate search for a weapon."They're onto us, damn it!" she spat, her voice raw with fear. "I spotted one of their goons lurking downstairs."Even as she spoke, the unmistakable click of a lock sent a jolt of terror through them. Daniel lunged for a pistol hidden beneath his pillow, diving across the bed just as the door swung open.A dark figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, a silenced pistol spitting fire. Bullets ripped through the air, shredding the bedclothes and sending plaster raining down from the ceiling. Daniel and Emerlda scrambled for cover, taking refuge behind the flimsy protection of the nightstand.Emerlda, her heart pounding a frantic tattoo against her ribs, realized with a jolt that she was unarmed. Turning to Daniel, she hissed through gritted teeth, "After we deal with this psycho, you're a dead man. How can you even think about sex when we're about to be taken out?"The figure in the doorway, revealed by a brief flash of lightning outside, was a wiry man with a cold, calculating glint in his eyes. With a mocking grin, he tossed a gun – conspicuously empty – onto the center of the room."Seems you're a bit out of your depth, lovebirds," he drawled, his voice laced with amusement. "Perhaps we can settle this the old-fashioned way… with fists."The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on. Emerlda and Daniel, caught off guard and hopelessly outnumbered, were forced to confront not only their pursuers but also their own desperate situation.

Emerlda with a puzzled face looked at Daniel, "You deal with this psycho!" Daniel whistled as he looked outside the window, Emerlda kicked him at his balls. Emerlda facing Steve who was holding a huge dagger in his hands, "Oh my God, when I kill you can l keep that dagger. I wouldn't want to steal from the dead you know." Daniel was groaning in pain as he clutched his dick in his hands, Emerlda with high heels deflected the killer move imposed by Steve. Emerlda standing on her feet smirked as she looked at Steve. The fight was intense and bloody, looking at the deep cut on her shoulder Emerlda said, "Were you perhaps in the military? Those are pretty good moves." Spitting the blood in his mouth, lose teeth fell on his hands, Steve said, "I am going to fuck your rotting corpse you bitch!" Daniel sitting on a corner with his head balls, reading a book said, "I wouldn't want to be in your shoes Boss."

The air crackled with a morbid tension. Steve's guttural gasps choked off into a horrifying silence as Emerald (with a single "d" for a more elegant feel) wrestled the ornate dagger from beneath the bed. A sickening squelch echoed as she pivoted, the jeweled hilt disappearing into the soft flesh around his eye. Steve convulsed, then crumpled lifelessly to the plush carpet.Emerald, her face a mask of cold fury, kicked him away with a disdainful snort. Her gaze snapped to Daniel, who stood with unnerving composure. "How quaint," she spat, the metallic tang of blood evident in her voice. "How are your rudimentary testicles holding up? Clean this mess."Daniel, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, scanned his phone with a practiced flick of his wrist. "Fascinating," he drawled, his voice devoid of concern. "No prints, no priors. A complete ghost."Emerald, ignoring the macabre humor, snatched a first-aid kit. With a practiced efficiency born of necessity, she cleaned the shallow wound on her arm, her jaw clenched tight as she disinfected the gash with a cotton bud held between gritted teeth. Daniel, ever the pragmatist, moved to assist, his steady hands stitching her flesh back together."Special Forces, of course," he murmured, examining Steve's lifeless form. "This wasn't just some barroom brawl. We're in deep, Em." There was a tremor of unease in his voice, the first crack in his stoic facade."Deep enough that gauze and sutures won't mend it," Emerald retorted, her voice laced with a bitter truth. She discarded her blood-stained clothes, pulling on a comfortable pair of sweats. Daniel, a wraith in the shadows, had already wiped their digital footprints from the hotel's system with an unsettling ease.The once opulent room now bore the stark mark of violence. A single crimson bloom staining the ivory carpet, a stark reminder of the irreversible path they had chosen.The acrid tang of blood hung heavy in the air as Burns and Smith arrived at the crime scene. The maid, a tremor running through her like a faulty engine, stood babbling down at their boots, recounting her discovery. Burns, a man carved from granite, knelt beside the body. Steve Ming, his once-commanding presence reduced to a crumpled form, bore a single, brutal wound on his head. "Did Forensics find anything on the security footage?" Burns' voice, a low rumble, cut through the maid's hysterics.Smith, a younger man with a perpetual knot of tension in his gut, swallowed audibly. "Clean," he replied, the word rasping in his throat. "Twenty-four hours, all wiped clean. We do have a guest list compiled...""Murder weapon?" Burns interrupted, his question punctuated by a fist clenching in his pocket."Missing, sir," Smith squeaked, the weight of the situation finally cracking his veneer of professionalism.Outside, bathed in the harsh glare of news cameras, a BBC reporter stood poised. "We received news this morning of Commander Steve Ming's untimely demise," his voice smooth and practiced, "apparently a murder within the confines of his private hotel room. Two bodies have been recovered. Police and, it seems, the CIA are working tirelessly to uncover the perpetrators behind this bloody affair. Detective Smith, any comment on these developments?"A throng of reporters swarmed Smith as he exited the hotel. "We are devoting every resource at our disposal," he said, his voice tight, "to bringing these criminals to justice." Sliding into his car, he slammed the door shut, a weary sigh escaping his lips. "Just a goddamn break," he muttered under his breath, pulling away from the scene, the weight of the city, and a case growing colder by the minute, pressing down upon him.The glint of the dagger in Esmeralda's hand sent a tremor through Daniel. He gulped, a sensation far more akin to a frantic horse swallowing the vast emptiness of a desert plain than a mere swallow. "Not planning on keeping that… souvenir, are you?" he managed, his voice a cotton thread in the tense air.Esmeralda, her emerald eyes narrowed, held the dagger aloft, its tip a wicked promise aimed directly at Daniel's nether regions. "Present from our charming benefactor yesterday," she purred, a dangerous lilt in her voice. "Always fancied one, you see. Problem is, darling, we're swimming in a sea of zero leads and a tide of very real blood. Criminals, Daniel, that's what we've become." A sardonic chuckle escaped her lips. "So, tell me, have you unearthed any pearls of wisdom from the murky depths of your intel-gathering?"A nervous twitch played at the corner of Daniel's eye. "The C.I.A. building," he blurted, his voice a squeak. "I need to get in, access Burns' laptop, crack his system."Esmeralda lowered the dagger, a sigh escaping her like the last gasp of a dying ember. "Burns and I… let's just say we wouldn't win any 'Best Friends Forever' awards. How on earth do you expect me to waltz into his company and keep him occupied? That building is a pressure cooker, one wrong step and it's all over."Her smirk, slow and predatory, widened as her phone buzzed insistently. "Looks like fate," she drawled, a glint of amusement dancing in her eyes, "has decided to intervene."Esmeralda's choice of attire couldn't have been more deliberate. The scarlet dress hugged every curve, a weapon of its own, and the stiletto heels clicked a lethal rhythm against the marble floor as she sauntered into the interrogation room. Smith, a man who prided himself on his unflappable demeanor, found himself momentarily disarmed by her brazen entrance. He recognized her – a wildcard, a woman who thrived in chaos. A fresh wound marred the back of her hand, a silent testament to the events leading them here."How'd you get that?" he asked, his voice betraying none of the disquiet stirring within him.Esmeralda's reply was a languid shrug, the picture of unconcern. "You know exactly who deserves my time, Detective." Her eyes, sharp as emeralds, held his gaze for a beat longer than necessary, a silent challenge ringing in the air.The door creaked open, revealing Burns, his face a thundercloud. He slammed a manila folder onto the table, the sickening thud echoing in the sterile room. Emeralda didn't flinch. Inside were photographs, stark and gruesome, depicting the crime scene at the Bellagio. "A most unfortunate development, wouldn't you say?" she remarked, her voice dripping with a sardonic amusement that sent chills down Burns' spine. "Las Vegas, the city of sin – one would expect a higher regard for human life."Burns' gaze flickered to the crimson marring the smooth expanse of Emeralda's shoulder, a raw wound that spoke of violence. "Care to explain that?" he demanded, his voice clipped.Emeralda's cheeks flushed a delicate pink, a fleeting betrayal of her steely composure. "Ah, this?" she said, feigning nonchalance as she traced the jagged edges of the wound with a long fingernail. "A little... extracurricular activity with a gentleman I met yesterday. You know, the kind that involves ropes and... well, let's just say things got a little out of hand." A mischievous glint flickered in her emerald eyes. "Perhaps I should offer a demonstration?"Burns held her gaze, unfazed by the thinly veiled threat. Her smile, though alluring, did little to mask the cold, calculating intelligence that shone from beneath her lashes. "Spare me the theatrics," he growled. "What were you doing at the Bellagio, Miss Emeralda? Your esteemed uncle's remains, I understand, are already en route to Russia."Emeralda rose, her scarlet dress swishing against the polished floor as she crossed to the mirrored wall. Her reflection, a vision of fiery hair and emerald eyes, stared back unflinchingly. "Needed to blow off some steam," she replied coolly. "Is that such a crime, Commander Burns? Or are you perhaps implying this little vacation of mine has caught your eagle eye?"The futility of further interrogation settled heavily upon Burns. "Look, Miss Emeralda," he began, his voice a low rumble, "cooperating with the investigation, as frustrating as it may be, would be in your best interest."Emeralda, all studied nonchalance, arched an eyebrow. "Patience, Commander. Grief can be a potent motivator. However," her voice softened slightly, "it would be far more productive if I knew who silenced my uncle."Burns' jaw clenched. "Our men were simply doing their job," he countered, his voice laced with a barely concealed cynicism. "Borstov wasn't exactly a model citizen."A shrill shriek pierced the air, the fire alarm erupting in a cacophony. Emeralda glanced upwards, water cascading from the sprinkler heads. Burns, with a curt nod, exited the room, leaving her momentarily stranded in the deluge.The evacuation was swift. Emeralda emerged, damp and disheveled, into a throng of bewildered people. A waiting car, its windows rolled down, pulled alongside. Inside, a sheepish Daniel awaited."My apologies for the impromptu shower," he offered, "but trust me, it was necessary."Emeralda, her emerald eyes flashing with annoyance, surveyed the ruined state of her dress. "It better be, darling," she purred, a dangerous edge to her voice, "or I might just rip your metaphorical lungs out for this little stunt."From across the street, Burns watched the car disappear into the throng of traffic. Turning to Smith, his face a mask of steely resolve, he commanded, "Report on her every move. And retrieve Borstov's complete file. I have a feeling this fire wasn't an accident."Roy's rage contorted his features as he crumpled the delicate teacup in his hand. Crimson seeped through his clenched fingers, a gruesome counterpoint to the porcelain shards. "Damn her!" he roared, a guttural sound thick with frustration. "I want her dead!"Tim and Neil exchanged a grim glance. Steve's demise hung heavy in the air, casting a pall over the opulent study. "She's a tenacious one," Tim conceded, his voice a low murmur. "Her father, bless his soul, was the easier target."Roy snatched a napkin, hastily stemming the flow of blood. "The package?" he rasped, his voice tight. "Is it secure, Neil?"Neil, ever the stoic, offered a curt nod. "Safe and sound. But she needs to be breathing by tomorrow."Tim, ever the strategist, pulled up a satellite image on a nearby screen. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he pinpointed a location and relayed it to Neil via a secure channel.As Neil melted silently into the shadows, Tim turned to Roy, his voice laced with a chilling calm. "We have Steve's funeral arrangements to handle."Roy poured himself a double shot of whiskey, the amber liquid reflecting the fire burning in his eyes. "His death won't go unpunished," he growled, the words laced with a deadly promise. "That woman will join him in hell soon enough."He tossed back the whiskey in one burning gulp, the sting barely registering on his numbed palate. In the doorway, a small figure peeked into the room, her innocent eyes wide with childish impatience."Daddy, we're going to be late for the party!" she chirped, oblivious to the darkness festering within the walls of the study. "Uncle Tim, can we go?"