Looks Can Kill: Origins (1 Way Of The Gun)

by declan4

Madison Shaw is a woman whose life was shaped by brutal violence. Beautiful, deadly and fueled by vengeance, she has devoted herself to delivering some revenge against those who wronged her. But on her path she will find out that all is not what it appears to be, and be exposed to revelations that will change her life forever. This is her story. Rated M for violence/language

Chapter 1: The Way Of The Gun

South of the Border

The slums of Mexico City were a depressing place to wait. Cramped, decrepit buildings lay bowed and prostrate in a baking heat. A patchwork of rusting metal roofs and cracked stone walls for as far as the eye could see in every direction.

The air was thick with dust and noise, everywhere was bustling and crowded, the streets filled with people who gave off a different kind of desperation than the slum itself. It was a buzzing anxiety that seemed to hang in the air along with the dust.

From her rooftop vantage point, Madison raised the binoculars to her face again and scanned the far off streets for any sign of her target. A target who was the type of person that this environment, with all its poverty, decay and despair, was a natural habitat in which to thrive.

These streets were a place where violence was common place, where crimes routinely went unreported, where the police rarely ventured unless it was in large numbers. And it was the place where the criminal was king.

In other words, it was enemy territory. And Madison was about to royally piss off one of the 'kings' that held sway here.

It was then that she saw them, right on schedule. A three-car convoy kicking up clouds of dust as they speedily wove their way through the confines of the streets, occasionally honking when a pedestrian or street vendor wasn't quick enough to get out of the way in time.

Through the binoculars Madison saw all three vehicles distinctly, in front was a battered off-white Volvo with two men in the front seat, looking both irritated and bored by their trip so far. At the back was a large grey van, one of the Volkswagen types that were so popular in the south, from Mexico right on down to the tip of Argentina. Madison knew from her contact that the product, which was possibly guns but more likely drugs, would be in the first car. And the majority of the enforcers would be stationed in the rear van. She focused her gaze on the middle car.

It was a sleek, stylish black Land Rover Jeep, better quality than the other two, and more comfortable, with padded seats and air conditioning that came as standard. Along with thick, tinted, bullet- proof windows which did not come as standard. That was where the cartel boss was, being safely escorted by his men. That is where her target lay.

Madison lowered her binoculars and stuffed them into the duffel bag that lay on the rooftop beside her. From her position she knew that the convoy was still five minutes away, which was plenty of time to get to street level. Almost unconsciously she touched her hands to her waist, feeling the comforting weight of the Berettas holstered at her hips, and then checked the contents of her duffel one last time.

That done, she strode across the roof and down the rickety back staircase into the courtyard below. Bypassing the Ford prepped for a quick exit, Madison ducked down the tight passageway that led out to the road that the cars would pass through.

She had chosen the ambush site specifically because of the lack of nearby housing. On either side of the street lay empty buildings. The one across from her was an abandoned auto parts factory and this, which was a crumbling storehouse.

Both buildings were usually occupied by squatters at night but Madison had convinced Jorge to clear out the residents for the rest of the day.

Madison plucked out her phone and dialled Jorge. He answered right away, his voice breathy and nervous. "Yes?"

Madison kept in brief. "It's almost time. As soon as you hear a car coming your way simply start your engine and reverse out into the street. Then stop, get out the other side and walk away. I'll do the rest."

She heard the nervous tremor in his voice. "Are you sure about this? Carasquillo is not-"

Madison cut him off. "Listen, you're going to hear lots of explosions and gunfire coming from here. Don't stop; don't come to see if I'm okay. In fact don't even look back. Just go back home to Maria, I left payment for your services with her. Understood?"

The man hesitated. Madison knew that she was asking a lot of him with just this much. Carasquillo and men like him were vicious scum who thought of themselves as untouchable. Madison was all too familiar with his type.

"I understand." His voice was firmer, trying to be brave.

She murmured her thanks and then hung up. She waited at the mouth of the alley, little more than a doorway sized hole in the side of the building, and concentrated, counting the seconds as they ticked away.

She thought of the men in the cars, driving through familiar territory like they did every week at this time, on their way to some exchange or meeting, knowing that the prospect of danger would come then, but not now. Now they were on the move, hot and tired and frustrated and bored, eager to get where they were going and not paying attention to their surroundings.

They wouldn't really notice the sudden absence of crowds of people, except as an opportunity to drive faster. They would dismiss the abandoned cart parked on the corner as simply as sign that a bystander had quickly moved from their path. They would think of the reversing van in front as an incompetent driver to be honked at, at least for those first few precious moments.

Madison saw the off-white Volvo flash past her position, even as she heard it slow to a halt as the driver saw the van. These men thought themselves as untouchable.

Prepare to be touched.

From her duffel Madison had pulled a handheld wireless detonator. She held it close and craned her neck slowly. She peeked out enough to see that the Jeep had stopped fifteen feet from the back of the Volvo and six feet from her position. The van had stopped ten feet further back, engine idling.

The left rear side of the van was only two feet from the abandoned cart.

Good enough.

Madison let out one soft, steadying breath, centred herself, and then mashed the button on the detonator.

The very next thing was deafening noise. A flash of flame as the cart exploded in a huge fireball. The C-4 planted there by Madison turning it instantly to ash and scrap and flying debris. The C-4 had been shaped to explode outwards at an angle, and the force of the blast effortlessly lifted and flipped the nearby van like a toy. The van spun up, twisted once about twelve feet off the ground, and then smashed down on its side a few metres from where it had launched. The sound of shattering glass, crunching metal and flying fragments reverberated in the narrow road, the noise deafening and disorientating.

Madison tugged at the scarf covering the lower half of her face, adjusted her flak jacket and stepped out of cover, raising her left hand in which she held an Uzi with an extended magazine. The Volvo in front was still hesitating, shocked and confused by the events behind, but the driver of the van was quicker, so that's where Madison aimed first.

She didn't use the Uzi for precision shooting, submachine guns were inaccurate at the best of times and firing it one handed wasn't going to improve the aiming. But it held a lot of bullets and Madison wanted to create the sense of overwhelming force from all directions. Eighty nine-millimetre rounds should help sell it.

She opened fire.

Starting low, she saw as the bullets ripped through the left front tire of the jeep, pinged and sparked across the windshield and then gouged holes in the bonnet. The Jeep rocked to a halt and stalled.

She sprayed fire across the entire left-hand length of the vehicle in a few precision bursts, twenty three rounds in all, before turning and targeting the Volvo.

She didn't want the two men there to even think about getting out of their car to come to their bosses aid. Their instinct anyway would be to safeguard the product first and let others handle the heavier stuff.

Madison's first salvo took out the rear tire and disintegrated the back window, sending chunks of glass and bullets whipping at their backs. At the same time from her belt she pulled off a smoke grenade, deftly flicked off the pin with her thumb, and threw the canister under the car. Grey-black smoke quickly rolled out and engulfed the vehicle, adding to their confusion.

Madison emptied the rest of the automatic weapon into the billowing cloud before casting it to one side and throwing a second grenade so it bounced up and into the back of the car. Day became night for them as the two men were swallowed up by grey fog.

Madison quickly turned as she heard the far door of the Jeep opened, a brave if not overly bright move, and a large man stepped out. He held an automatic rifle tight against one shoulder as he levered himself out of the car. In an instant Madison had one of her Berettas up in her hand, and snapped off two shots across the roof of the Jeep. Both bullets found their mark, striking the man in the jaw and temple before he could even right himself properly. He dropped out of sight like a puppet whose strings had been cut. The car door quickly slammed shut again.

It had barely been thirty seconds since the convoy had entered the side road, and now they were under siege. One transport flipped and blocking the retreat, another stalled and cowed into doing nothing. Then from the site of the initial explosion came more sharp cracks that cut through the air, seemingly more gunfire to add to the chaos.

Madison discarded the now empty Uzi as she ducked to the curb and grabbed a small packet from her duffel, she saw that the Jeep had been about to reverse, it's wheels turned on their axels, but the sound of more gunshots from behind made it hesitate. They didn't know whether to go forward into smoke or backward into a hail of gunfire.

Or firecrackers, which is what they actually were, but when panic sets in, especially with men who call themselves soldiers but were actually just thugs with guns, one bang sounds a lot like another. Any noise from any direction sounds like an assault and one woman can suddenly sound like a heavily armed mob of enforcers.

Madison used the distraction to run low to the Jeep and mash the small package of plastic explosive against the hinges of the driver's side door, flicking a switch as she did so. Then she moving round the front of the car and firing her Beretta directly at the driver's side windshield. She squeezed off four shots to get his attention, bullets creating spider web cracks across the front of the car, before she ducked down out of sight. Again she pressed hard the top of the detonator.

The second charge of C-4, like the first, was shaped to blast a specific way. The small explosion punched through the hinges of the car door and tore it clean off. The Jeep rocked and the side buckled and bent, but the interior would be nothing but jolted.

She needed the driver mostly unharmed.

Madison raced to the open door and saw the driver through a thin veil of smoke. His pants leg was smouldering from the blast even as he took one hand off the steering wheel and pulled a large handgun from his jacket.

Madison reached in, seized the wrist of his gun arm and pounded it forcefully against the steering wheel. The gun fell from his grip and dropped into his lap. She swung her other hand in, still holding the Beretta, and punched it into the centre of his face. There was a crunch as the pistol smashed against his nose. He grunted and jerked back in his seat, stunned. Madison grabbed the lapel of his jacket and hauled him sideways and out onto the ground, his gun clattered next to him.

Madison briefly turned back and fired into the interior of the Jeep, at a partition that separated the front seats from the passenger area. She emptied her clip as she pumped round after round into the internal barrier. She doubted that any of her bullets would penetrate enough to hit anything, but she had to try to make this ambush look good.

Madison holstered her now empty weapon and pushed away from the car. She reached down to grab hold of the back of the man's jacket and pull him up.

The driver struggled to his feet and tried to turn on her but Madison quickly stooped, swiped up his weapon and slammed it across the back of his head. The fight went out of him as he staggered forward and slumped against the alley wall.

Sweeping up her duffel up over her shoulder she pushed the more cooperative target into the shadowy path that led back to the courtyard where her car was. She left firecrackers, smoke, spent shells and shredded rubber in her wake. And she knew that the priority would be for the Cartel men to find a speedy exit out of an apparent death trap.

Madison led her responsive mark out into the back to the waiting car before hammering the butt of the gun against the side of his head. He fell heavily, pole-axed, crumpling into the trunk. She closed the lid on him.

Madison glanced at her watch, barely three minutes had passed since the first explosion, and there wasn't any danger of police just yet. Even in the slums, explosions were noteworthy enough to interest the police.

Still, it wasn't best to linger. Madison got into the car, gunned the engine, and with only one quick glance back to see that nobody had discovered her, drove out of the courtyard and into the city.

The man spluttered into consciousness as Madison finished pouring the water over his head. He coughed and shuddered as he shook his head, which must've made his nose flare up in pain. He groaned weakly as he rolled his head towards Madison.

She took a couple of steps back and tossed the empty bottle to one side. "Good that you're finally awake Miguel. I was getting worried that I'd hit you too hard."

The man blinked at her uncomprehendingly for a moment, and then slowly scanned the area around her; an empty, rusting hulk of a warehouse, nothing to be seen but mouldering machinery and dust.

Just a place she'd chosen for the interrogation, it was miles away from the ambush site and entirely anonymous.

They were alone and she saw him take that fact in and relax slightly. That was a mistake but he wasn't to know any better. He had probably been expecting a gang of menacing crooks, not an attractive woman in cargo pants and a flak jacket.

He looked away from her and down at his restraints, saw that he tightly bound to a chair by loops of thin rope- Madison had used clothesline- and began to struggle to free himself.

Madison stepped over to a nearby table- the only other piece of furniture apart from the chair- and picked up Miguel's gun, a heavy automatic.

"This is a nice looking piece, Miguel. What is this, a Desert Eagle .50 Cal right? And all in shiny chrome too? Nice. What, you saw Arnie shooting bad guys with one of these, and just had to have it?"

She picked up the heavy chunk of metal and walked back over to her prisoner, who had stopped struggling with his bonds and was now glaring at her, beady dark eyes either side of a broken nose.

Madison made a show of examining the gun. "You wanna know a secret Miguel? In real life, nobody uses a gun like this. You know why? Too much gun and too much recoil, which means it's mostly inaccurate as shit in any given situation. Plus the bullets are expensive, meaning you're wasting a lot of money when you're trying to shoot at your enemies and missing them. But it looks impressive, right? Big gun makes a big bang."

She smirked as she looked over the handgun at him, "You wouldn't be...compensating for anything, would you Miguel?"

The man managed to sneer around his broken face. "Fuck you!" He spat.

Madison looked doubtful. "I honestly don't think our first meeting is going to go that well Miguel. Plus, you're looking a little worse for wear, especially around the eyes."

Miguel straightened in his chair defiantly. "You're one dead bitch, you know that? You know who you crossed today?"

"I think you have this backwards. The one tied to the chair doesn't get to make the threats. He gets to listen to them." She reversed her grip on the gun and swung it by the barrel, bringing it down hard on Miguel's right kneecap with a loud crack.

The man cried out and bucked wildly in his chair, tossing his head back as his leg flailed out in agony.

Madison waited patiently for him to recover before continuing. "Hmn, I guess a pistol like this has some uses." She paused and crossed her arms, "Now that I have your attention you're going to answer some questions."

Miguel grimaced and shook his head. "You think I'm stupid?"

"I know you're not a Rhodes Scholar, put it that way."

"I talk about any of the bosses operations, I'm a dead man. You know what they do to soldiers who sell out their boss, huh? They-"

"Put a tire around your neck and set it on fire? Yeah, I know all about Cesar Carasquillo and what he does to informers and traitors. He's no different from the other Cartel scum."

Madison smiled as she walked around Miguel's bound form, "I know lots of things about your boss, his business practices, the smuggling of all those guns, drugs and people across the border, his territory and holdings, all his allies and his enemies. I knew where he was going to be this morning and I used all that knowledge," She leaned down behind him as she finished, "To get to you."

Miguel craned his neck. "Then you're stupid as well as crazy."

Madison walked back in front of him. "Don't sell yourself short Miguel; you have tons of information that is of use to both Cesar and me. And by that I mean the location of your former employer, Diego Garza."

Miguel shook his head in wonder. "You really are crazy, chicha. Nobody messes with Diego, okay? You know how many people get to walk away from working for that guy?"

Madison nodded. "Just you, Miguel. You got to leave the paranoid sociopath's employ. All so you could come and liaise with, and spy on, Carasquillo. You're my in with Garza, Miguel."

"No way." Miguel swallowed nervously. "If he ever found out that I-".

"He won't." Madison cut him off coldly, "Because I'm going to kill him."

Miguel chuckled darkly at that. "You think so? You don' know who you're dealing with, puta. Three years ago this guy crossed Diego, some stone-cold gringo by the name of Dirksen. He was ex-military and so I guess he thought he'd try and stiff Diego on a coke deal. As payback Diego went to the guy's house with fuckin' Stingers alright? Blew him all t'hell, and laughing his head off the whole time. I saw the whole thing. The guy's fuckin' loco, man."

"Let me worry about him. All you need to do is tell me where's holed up at, all about his security set-up, how many men he has. If you don't..." Madison turned and moved into the shadows and came back, rolling a car tire into Miguel's view so it clunked to the ground in front of him. "Just in case you need a visual aid."

With that Madison turned and walked off a fair distance and pulled out her phone, flipped it and hit speed-dial three.

She heard a cheery female voice answer at the other end. "Good to hear from you Maddie. Have you set the sod on fire yet?"

Madison rolled her eyes and kept her voice low. "No, and I'm not going to. You have Plan B set up yet?"

A slightly hurt tone. "Do you doubt my abilities?"

"No Zoe, only your attention span."

Madison caught the sound of muted electronic gunfire in the background. "I didn't catch that last part, I was too busy killing Nazi's, but I'm sure you're entirely wrong."

"Zoe..."Madison warned impatiently.

The girl at the end of the line sighed heavily. "Yes it's done. And it's true what they say you know; it really is better to give than to receive. And thanks to me Miguel now has a hundred thousand dollar bank account in the Caimans with enough electronic breadcrumbs to lead back to his employer. Carasquillo will think it was Miguel who sold him out today, since I take it he was conspicuously absent after the ambush?"

"He was." Madison smiled. "Sometimes I think you enjoy all this a little too much."

The other voice was dryly amused. "Coming from you I'll take that as a compliment."

"Anyway, when he talks I'll record it all, and then send the file to you so you can get straight to work verifying the data."

"I do live to verify."Zoe put in absently.

"When that's done I'll set him free and head on back home. Miguel will have no choice but to make himself scarce after I tell him how badly he let down his boss."

"Dirty scoundrel that he is."Zoe's clipped English accent was witheringly sarcastic, "It's funny how much people who set other people on fire value loyalty so highly."

"Carasquillo will be looking for somebody to blame for today anyway. All this will throw him off our scent at least until Garza is taken care of."

"Sounds like you have it all figured out." Zoe chirped, "Well, have fun. And pick me up a souvenir, would you. I wouldn't say no to a piñata."

"Goodbye Zoe."Madison clicked off her phone and walked back, picking up a can of gasoline as she did so. Another visual aid.

She walked over to Miguel's chair and put the can down with a dull clang. "So, what's it gonna be?"

Miguel glared at her sullenly; his face was sheened with nervous sweat. "Don't look like I have much choice."

Madison reached into her pocket and clicked a button on the recorder there. He hadn't called her bluff. "I'm listening."

Past and Present

Ten years ago:

"I must tell you Father, how much of a pleasure it is to receive you again," The older woman trilled as she kept pace with the tall priest, "You're so very generous with your time."

The man, tall, rugged and clad in priestly garb, nodded modestly. "I merely go where I'm needed Madam. I always find it rewarding to work with children; they seem to need help most of all these days."

As he talked he took in the sorry state of the corridor he walked through. Peeling paint, threadbare carpets, dim lighting and cold, draughty spaces gave the building such a grim institutional feeling.

The whole place felt abandoned, in spite of it being crammed with teeming children. Perhaps it was from them that the air of abandonment came from.

The man stopped to look through one of the open doors at the hive of noise and activity in the room beyond.

Miss Whitehurst, the short, round woman who kept close to the mans side stopped with him and gestured. "As you can see, we've expanded our recreational facilities to occupy the children's minds. That's on top of all the care and education we manage to provide for these unfortunates."

The priest took everything in without comment. Old, ratty furniture surrounded a bulky old television. Gathered around were a crowd of children ranging from as young as eight years old to older teenagers. A battered looking pool table sat in one corner.

In an attempt to provide some workspace, fold-out tables had been set up near the door, occupied by three young girls working diligently on a jigsaw. One of the girls looked up at him, he smiled at her but she didn't smile back.

The priest turned his head to note with intense suspicion, the four solidly built men in the room that leaned against the walls, watching the children closely. Crisp starched-white uniforms and gleaming black belts marked them as staff orderlies. The heavy looking batons on their belts marked them as something else. "They all seem...well cared for." He stated evenly.

The rotund woman saw where he was looking. "They're simply here for the children's safety. I'm sorry to say that we've had a few rather unfortunate incidents since your last visit. Some of the older children have been fighting with each other and running off the grounds. One even assaulted a member of staff. One of our wardens had to have surgery." Her voice, which had been soft and conspiratorial, hissed with disapproval.

The priest raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry to hear that. There are a lot of troubled youths who need the proper love and attention that only a family can bring. Have you had success in managing to find a suitable home for any of them?"

The other woman was uncharacteristically hesitant. "Some. We placed a few in a foster family just last month, and before that a twin boy and girl found somebody willing to take them in." She sighed in regret, "But a lot of them are reluctant to accept any authority whatsoever, even if it's done out of love."

The priest nodded in understanding. "I see."

It was the same everywhere he went, overstretched and underfunded institutions that were unable and unwilling to provide the care and guidance that children like this desperately needed. Still, he had to try; if he could help just one of these children it would make a difference. A small difference considering everything that had gone before...

As he began to withdraw his gaze caught sight of a girl, perhaps no older than fourteen of fifteen, braced against the far wall and staring at him with measured curiosity. Arms folded tightly around her slim body she stood apart from all the other children, not interacting, her body language a warning for everybody to keep their distance. Although her expression was guarded and sullen the priest could see that she was pretty, a tangle of auburn hair framing striking features. He also saw that the wardens seemed to glace at her more frequently than at any of the other children. Interesting.

The priest nodded in the girl's direction as he glanced down at Mrs. Lewis. "I don't think I've seen her before, what's her story?"

Miss Whitehurst's smiling countenance soured. "Oh, that one. One of the bad eggs I mentioned. She's been here for six months now and has been nothing but trouble the whole time. She was sent to us by the state, courtesy of the police. She's been in and out of juvenile facilities for almost a decade now but nothing seems to work. She's just being getting worse and worse. Being here is a last ditch attempt at rehabilitation before the inevitability of jail when she stops being a minor. She's been on a bad path for a while now."Miss Whitehurst scowled in the girl's direction, the girl responded by smiling sweetly and giving a little wave.

The older woman shook her head in response as she continued. "Wilful, disobedient and violent she is. Always fighting and getting in trouble. She's run off twice already and had to be fetched back by the police. And, well, their too busy to reprimand her so it's left up to us."

The priest scratched the side of his face thoughtfully, feeling the rasp of his beard beneath his fingernails. "Any explanation as to why she behaves that way. I've worked with unfortunates enough to know that there's always a reason."

"You're very charitable, Father." Miss Whitehurst replied, mellowing her tone somewhat, "And yes, she has had a tough time of it. It's terrible, her Mother and Father...her entire family really, died in a house fire. The girl managed to get away by jumping out of an upstairs window and ended up in hospital. Awful tragedy. She was only five years old at the time."

"A fire?" The Priest said absently. "Then there's no mystery as to where her pain comes from then." The priest commented, "It sounds as if her life has been turned upside down. But all that time and the trauma still hasn't diminished?"

"It's only gotten worse really. The girl doesn't even remember much about her parents, she suffered a head injury and she has some psychological issues that the best therapists haven't been able to repair. But it really couldn't have been a happy home life. Apparently the Father had debts that were too large to be repaid, so he gave into despair and started the blaze." The older woman's disapproving tone had returned, "The sad thing is that the girl is so angry and traumatized by it all that she made up some nonsense fantasy. She said that her parents were murdered in a home invasion or some other outlandish tale. But the police have stated time and again that there's not a shred of evidence to any of it. The sad truth is that the girl's father destroyed her life and she just won't accept it."

With a final considerate look the priest stepped back out into the corridor, Miss Whitehurst close to his side. "Well, perhaps while I'm here I can counsel her about her past behaviour, along with some of your other children of course."

The short woman nodded her jowly face. "They say you can work miracles on young minds Father, so I pray that you might be successful."

"If I were to speak with her it might be helpful to know her name." The priest remarked dryly.

Chins wobbled emphatically. "Oh, of course, I can get you her file. I believe her name is Madison."

In her dreams she always remembered the smell, waking up to the acrid stench of smoke. Choking and clogging her throat with bitter dust. Then she became aware of the screams.

Unlike the smoke, which was always the same, the screams were always different, sometimes incoherent and desperate, but sometimes she could make out actual words- pleading, begging, and crying out for Madison to run, to get out. Or sometimes they were telling her to come and please help, to rescue them, her parents. That memory was always different, and always terrifying.

She had memories of opening her bedroom door to be greeted by a black haze of smouldering heat, bright red sparks drifting across the corridor as the air shimmered in front of her. But sometimes the memories were different; the door opened on its own as she sat up in bed, paralysed by the sudden shift in her world, the chaos. The surreal horrible nature of what was happening not quite sinking in.

And then through the doorway a shape would emerge, a black shadow against the burning background. She remembered moving then, backing away from the open door, even as the screams of her parents urged her to come closer, and pressing herself against the window above her bed, small feet scrambling for purchase on the covers.

Then the shadowy form would raise an arm, eyes blazing, or empty, or hidden in shadow, it was never the same, and the loud noise would cut through all the other sounds of a house set ablaze, and she would feel an intense pain above her ear and the window would vanish behind her and she would fall backwards into the night.

She always remembered the last part. In her dreams it was always the same, the rush of cold air against her back, the numbing pain in her skull, and the floating feeling as her consciousness drifted. There was no colour in the night except the orange-red light of her home against the inky black sky. Then she would hit the ground, crashing through the bushes at the side of the house and landing on the damp earth, glass raining down around her...

Madison woke up gasping, one hand automatically going to her throat in reflex, ready to cough out the choking air from her lungs. But there was nothing, pressing her hand against the hollow of her throat all she felt was the hammering of her heart and the slickness of her skin.

She was sweating and trembling, she felt flushed and clammy all over. The damp tangled sheet against her bare skin was evidence of her night of restlessness.

It had been a long time since she'd had the dream; she'd forgotten how bad it could get. They were so intense, those feelings of utter helplessness that accompanied the images playing in her head. And they never went away - no matter how hard she wished it.

Madison shook those thoughts from her head, now unencumbered by sleep. The first rays of sunshine spilled through the blinds of her bedroom. Her first morning back from Mexico and already she was feeling restless. She always felt better with a goal to focus on. A mission. A target.

She had to do something to take the edge off. Shake off her funk.

Madison slipped out from under her sheets and padded out into the hallway. She peered between the blinds in the hall window and looked out onto the driveway below. She saw Zoe's cherry red motorbike parked there. That meant that she'd returned sometime yesterday when Madison had been fast asleep. Like herself, the other girl kept odd hours.

Moving to the top of the stairs Madison pricked her ears and listened. Nothing. No clattering of pans from the kitchen, or sounds of digitized violence from the lounge. Or even loud, colourful English swearing, which meant Zoe wasn't around.

Not bothering to dress she moved gracefully down the stairs, savouring the still quiet of early morning, and the feel of polished wood under her bare feet. She descended into the hallway as she stretched her arms above her head, feeling the tight pull of muscles in her arms and across her back she decided that a workout would be the best thing to clear her mind and refresh her body.

She dismissed the thought of weights or aerobics, she felt strong and flexible enough to forgo those for today, but a little training would make her feel better, keep her skills honed sharp.

Madison strode through the hallway and into the living room. The open, minimalist space was dimly lit by the arrival of morning sun, the blinds covering the large back window glowing with trapped luminescence. The flooring was all dark polished wood offset by a few large, cream-coloured rugs. A large, white, comfy L-shaped couch, a leather-backed arm chair, glass coffee table and a flat-screen television on one wall were the only features of note. A couple of potted plants dotted around the large, open-plan room managed to soften the place up, but not by much.

On first seeing it Zoe had stated how much like a magazine spread it looked. It was comfortable looking, but not really 'lived in' or enjoyed.

Madison turned and swept through on her way to the left of the house, to a door set into a wide partition between the kitchen and the utility room. She opened it and descended into the cool dark of the basement. After buying the house she'd brought in a contractor to fully re-fit the large open-plan underground room, explaining that she was going to turn it into an indoor gun range. This being California the man hadn't raised an eyebrow at her request, and just went about putting in sound-proof cladding on every surface, followed by layers of Kevlar-coated rubber to handle any stray bullets.

Then she'd brought in another contractor to finish the job she had in mind.

Madison slid off the last step, flipped a few switches on the wall to her left that turned on the lights and the programmed room adjusters, and then walked over to the mirrored wall on the right. She deftly pushed a panel below the bottom edge of the mirror and watched as a section gently slid away, revealing a collection of firearms. This set and the larger set hidden the garage were the majority of the weapons she kept in her home. Handguns, knives, a complete set of martial arts weapons, a couple of shotguns and a submachine gun were all stocked somewhere about her home. It helped her feel safe.

Selecting two Berettas from the display rack, she closed up the display case and turned to the room proper.

The large, vaulted space looked very much like the interior of a high class strip club, a half dozen stage-like platforms raised up off the floor dotted the room, and all complete with smooth stainless steel poles. The floor between them was black, smooth and glossily featureless.

Above the stage, attached to the ceiling were a dozen white spheres the size of mirror balls, all on a rotating track system. Zoe had helped install them when she had been updating Madison's lighting structure for the room, and then connected them up to the training programs.

Madison typed some commands into the computer module set in the wall next to the door, and then moved over to one of the central platforms. She stepped up onto it and turned so her back was against the pole. She braced herself there, post resting against her butt, and waited for the programme to begin, weapons ready. She let out a slow breath as the lights dimmed slightly and the spheres in the ceiling began to spin and move around on their tracks.

From the inside of the sphere's lights emanated, flashes of red and white and blue as LED lasers traced patterns across the floor and ceiling, creating a slightly disorienting disco effect. Some of the lasers traced across Madison's nude form. She tensed, waiting for any sign of a yellowish-gold light and then saw one, a two second flicker to indicate its arrival as the tracking system targeted her.

Madison reacted quickly, sliding down the pole into a squat even as the light danced about over her head, missing her. She pivoted on her haunches even as the laser readjusted itself; she grabbed at the pole behind her and swung round its base, shifting her weight forward. She flipped herself up and spun into a balletic hands-free cartwheel off of the platform and on to the ground. She landed solidly and pivoted to shoot at the targeting sphere, one gunshot and it shut itself down even as another one spun to life.

Madison was slow to react and turned just as the yellow light flicked its two second warning across her shoulder. On instinct she let herself drop into a crouching split, knees hitting the floor and ass bumping against her heels, leaning back into her seat as she brought both her guns up and steadied them. The sphere was still readjusting as she put two bullets in it, shutting it down.

Not stopping, she rolled to the side and boosted herself up to her feet. She ran, jumped up to kick off the lip of one of the platforms and seized onto its central pole using the crook of her elbow. She braced with the arch of her foot and used the momentum to spin a one eighty and aimed at the active sphere aiming at her back. Another target down.

Jumping off the pole she stretched into an elegant dive than turned into a roll across the floor. The program now activated two laser spheres, flickering yellow light spilling from two directions. Madison rose up from her roll, spun on one foot, the other out to the side as if pirouetting for balance. She fired twice, once at each sphere, and they both went stopped and went dark.

She snapped a glance around the room and saw another two moving towards and away from her, flashing pale lights. She kept moving, pushing off one platform to move into a one-handed back flip and then changed direction again, always moving. She jumped again, up off the ground to wrap her legs around one of the poles, steadying herself with one thigh even as she slid round at an angle to nail one of the spheres with a telling shot.

She then arched her back and stretched down and backwards as she saw a split-second flash from the corner of her eye. Keeping her thighs taut around the pole to steady herself, she aimed and shot at the sphere upside-down.

Tensing her thighs, she pushed off and away from the pole and rolled off of the platform, chest heaving, and skin glistening in the glittering lights.

She didn't stop, even as she started to feel the tightness of fatigue in her body. She spun and danced, crouched and ducked, her continuous undulating movement punctuated by the occasional blast of precise gunfire. Two moving spheres became three and she had to move more swiftly, tuck and whirl and twist as she evaded the beams and waiting until it was the perfect time to shoot back. Only when all twelve spheres had darkened, did the movement stop and the lights brightened the room again.

Madison lay on one of the stages, arms spread and palms up. Her muscles feeling tired and spent. Sweat beaded her forehead and upper lip, trickled in small rivulets across her skin and then pooled in her navel and cleavage. She felt the phantom-like flutter of weariness all over; in her calves and thighs, stomach, ass and shoulders, warm tremors of spent energy. She concentrated and steadied her breathing, feeling her heartbeat gradually slow until it became its usual regular soothing rhythm. After a short while she uncoiled herself from the ground, picked up her spent handguns and made her way over to the wall computer.

She keyed in a couple of codes and the display presented the programme data. All twelve targets down and zero hits against her. She'd have to get Zoe to tighten up the targeting parameters, maybe make them a little bit faster next time.

Still, she felt a lot better, clear-headed and body humming with adrenaline. A better way to wake up than coffee.

She quickly moved upstairs and headed for the shower. She let the powerful jets of water wash over her skin, gently relaxing the dull ache from her muscles. She slid soap and body scrub over her skin, lingering only for a moment over her more intimate areas before moving her hands up into her hair.

After the long, cleansing shower Madison slipped into her short, black silk dressing gown and went down to the kitchen. She busied herself in making an omelette and pouring herself some fruit juice before taking them both outside onto the patio.

There she sat and ate contentedly, watching sunlight gently dapple the water of the swimming pool and listening to the distant hiss and roar of the ocean.

She felt better, more centred in herself. And she felt no trace of the fear that had lingered from her waking moments. Her thoughts turned to Diego Garza, a name she'd been chasing for a while now. All through southern California, through New Mexico and into West Texas and she'd got nothing but muttered rumours and anecdotes that sounded like something out of a nightmare. The man was dangerous, elusive and seemingly untouchable.

There was that phrase again. Above the law.

Madison finished her breakfast and pushed herself up from the table. She skirted the edge of the swimming pool and traversed the patio that was already warming from the sun, following the path past a few sun loungers to what had originally been the pool house.

The building had been ignored by Madison when she first moved in and had lain empty up until a year ago. After that it had been occupied by a house guest.

She didn't bother to knock; Zoe almost certainly wouldn't hear it. She opened the French windows at the front of the building and stepped into shadow.

Zoe's living room certainly had that 'relaxed, lived in' look. The couch was battered and well-used; the coffee table in front of it piled high with magazines and pizza boxes. Everything else there was covered in sheets of paper or strewn with clothes, surfaces heaped with various wires and gadgets that Madison couldn't guess the use of.

No sign of Zoe here, but then she was usually in her 'work space'. Madison could hear muttered curses and sounds of electronic death coming from a door on the left. 'Work' was a loose term with Zoe. Madison deftly avoided various obstacles as she approached and then opened the door to the see Zoe sat in a crouch on the floor, keyboard on her lap, headset clamped around her ears, facing a large computer screen. She was leaning forward intently and deep in conversation with somebody and didn't register Madison's presence.

The floor around her was scattered with the detritus of long hours of computer time, empty cans of energy drinks, discarded snack wrappers and a leftover bag of chips. Madison wrinkled her nose at the mess. And the unhealthily high calorie content.

Zoe's voice grew frustrated with whoever was on the other end of the line. "No, I said for you to go left...because we need interlocking fields of fire...of course we do you ninny, we're outnumbered. Oh, I understand alright, you're just clearly an idiot...And now I'm dead! Thanks a bunch...Tell you what, come back to me when your balls have dropped, you little snot."

With a grunt of disgust she tapped at the side of her head and pushed the keyboard off her lap before falling back on her hands. Only then did she notice Madison standing there, she craned her neck around and upwards as she removed the earplugs of her headset and draped it around her neck. "Oh, hello there Maddie, you caught me in the middle of some delicate tactical negotiations."

Madison nodded at the now red-tinted screen. "Didn't seem to be going too well."

Zoe sighed as she rolled to her knees and stood up. "Honestly it's like playing with a bunch of twelve-year olds...probably because a lot of them are actually twelve."

Madison smirked at that. "And still you lost."

Zoe shrugged and plucked at her t-shirt. "Well, I was multitasking."

"Glad to hear it." Madison watched Zoe turn away and pull off her headset. She was dressed in her usual indoor, 'I've been up half the night' outfit, a baggy black t-shirt- this one had some cartoon character on it that Madison didn't recognise, brief panties and socks, both bright yellow in this case.

Madison vaguely wondered if she'd slept like that and just decided not to change.

Zoe ran a hand through her dark, silky bob and turned back to Madison. "If that's your way of asking whether I've managed to find anything out about your mysterious outlaw the answer is...ah, let me check."

Zoe quickly hopped over to her work station, a desk stacked high with monitors, speakers and system units. Madison saw fingers fly over the keyboard and the three monitors on the desk sprang to life, showing scrolling text, boxes of symbols and other things that Madison found indecipherable.

Zoe spun around on the stool and her Oriental features sporting a cocky grin. "We have a winner."She spun back and began tapping again

Madison stepped up next to the younger woman and watched her work. When it came to computers she had never seen anybody like Zoe. She had innate talent with computers, and an enthusiasm with anything electronic that edged towards obsession.

But Madison couldn't exactly blame her for that. Up until a year ago Zoe, full name Zoe Matsuo, had been a prisoner in her own home, a recluse kept locked away by her father for fear of any violent reprisal against his remaining family.

Zoe's only real way to explore the world outside had been through her computer, and over the years necessity had become natural and mere skill had become expertise.

Zoe's father was a man who also had skill and obsession, but whose focus had been on criminal enterprise. Hitoshi Matsuo had been one of the most powerful men in Tokyo, and the Tokyo underworld in particular. He had been the leader of one of the prevailing Yakuza clans.

Madison had executed him in his highly secure, tower block apartment, along with almost a dozen of his men. Which is also where she'd met Zoe for the first time. To Madison's surprise initially Zoe had greeted her very warmly considering that Madison had just killed her father. She'd also warned Madison of contingent security measures and had helped Madison escape with information that had proved vital for her continued mission.

And now she was a house guest, a useful ally and sometimes, in Madison's fonder moments, a friend. Not that Madison had many to compare the girl to, but they did share a similar outlook about criminals and the law and how one didn't really deserve the benefit of the other.

"Here." Zoe stated, gesturing at one of the screens. "Ran a search on Diego Garza and all the associates that good old Miguel gave us, and we hit the mother lode." Zoe stopped and wrinkled her pert nose, "Have you been flashdancing again?"

Madison put her hands on her hips. "Have I been what?"

"Y'know," Zoe made gun-hands and gestured, "Bang, bang."

"I didn't know you-" Madison frowned. "How can you tell?"

Zoe smirked and then looked dreamily up at her. "It's the heady scent of passion fruit and gunpowder that you're giving off."

"Oh. Well, yeah I have. And its mango body scrub anyway, so there."

Zoe's green eye's softened in concern. "Bad night?"

Madison shook her head glumly. "More like a return to normal. It was three or four times a week last year. Before you and your Father..." Madison trailed off.

"Madison darling, that's some pretty expensive therapy you have there."Zoe's voice was uncharacteristically sombre.

"You don't have to tell me." Madison frowned at the screen, "But it is what it is, so we should just get on this."

"By 'we' you of course mean me." Zoe commented pointedly, her voice brightening, "I'll go through all this, PowerPoint the hell out of it. Shouldn't take me more than an hour." She turned slightly and ran her eyes up and down Madison's form, "And you should go and put more clothes on. The only person allowed to be scantily clad in here is me...and whatever dumb hunk I've lured back here. So go."

Madison turned to leave but then stopped at the doorway and eyed Zoe speculatively. "Dumb hunk, huh?"

Zoe gave a long-suffering sigh. "In theory, yes."

Madison shook her head and left Zoe to her work. Soon enough Diego Garza the nightmare was about to have a rude awakening.

Ten Years Ago

The tall priest approached Madison, smiling warmly. The teenager eyed him suspiciously from her perch on the window sill.

"Good afternoon, Madison."

Her eyes flicked over him dismissively. "How's it hanging there padre."

He clasped his hands in front of him as he stopped a few feet from her. "I notice that you don't seem interested in joining in with the other young people."

Madison shrugged. "What, with all the yoga and self-defence and 'therapy' sessions and shit? No thanks, just be wasting your time and mine."

"Well, actually it's Tai Chi and it's very good for managing and channelled any excess energy or aggression."

"Guess you read my file, huh? Well I like my excess energy just fine. And I don't need anybody 'managing my channels' while you're at it."

The priest chuckled at her sullen tone. "What about engaging with anyone, perhaps talking about what happened to you-"

The girl cut him off and leaned forward. "What was done to me. And no, it's not gonna do any good to talk about it, because no-one listens. They just want you to shut up and behave."

The priest just smiled placidly back at her. "I read your file and I'd be interested to know more about what happened to you. I found lots of the things written about you were interesting. For example it says in your file that the last offenses you were sent away for involved illegally obtain a firearm and threatening a known drug dealer." He furrowed his brow at her, "Do you have an interest in guns, Madison? Or just in vigilantism?"

Madison scowled suspiciously at him. "Just looking for some protection, that's all. Girl like me has to look after herself. Plus I saw the guy selling to some kids. He's lucky I didn't shoot his dick off."She muttered.

"Perhaps you should've reported him to the police, and let them handle it."

She sneered at that. "The cops never do anything, even if something's staring them in the face they'll just turn the other way." Madison glowered at him, "You don't get that I had to do something."

The priest shook his head sadly. "Actually you shouldn't have to, not ideally. But the reason you're here because the world isn't an ideal place. It's a tragic one."He stepped to the side and leaned against the wall by the window. "I know what its like; to lose everything you have but somehow, by some miracle, survive it."

She just stared at him warily.

He pressed on, his voice reflecting his thinking as he thought back to another time and place. "It isn't the fear that stays with you, the idea that that it could happen again, the helplessness of it. It's there, but it's not the strongest emotion. And it's not anger either, anger at the injustice of it all."

"That can fester of course, but it can also die out, or be harnessed if you're willing enough." His eyes met hers "its guilt. Guilt that you're still here but they're gone and you can't ever get them back. Guilt that you should've done more, somehow been smarter or braver or faster."

The girl shifted in her window seat, she looked down at her lap, her face sad.

The priest straightened up slightly and his tone became firmer. "And that's what I teach here, how to deal with all of those crazy, unfair thoughts. Because you couldn't have done anything Madison, you were much too young. You were a child and you were lucky to survive."

The young girl's head snapped up, her eyes teary. "Lucky, huh? So what, you think you know me all of a sudden. Screw you, you don't know shit!"

With that she hopped off the sill and ran down the corridor, pushing aside a couple of jostling kids to disappear around the corner.

The priest simply watched her go, he wouldn't press after her. He knew he'd manage to reach something in her.

And two days later, she was in his class.

"It's not good." Zoe said. She produced a few sheets of paper from a folder under her arm and tossed onto the breakfast bar where Madison sat. Madison pulled the documents towards her and glanced at them, the one on top showed a grainy aerial surveillance photo of a group of buildings. Garza's compound.

Madison shook her head. "This is what Miguel said was there. Some place in Arizona, right?"

Zoe nodded and smiled. "Yes. Miguel said 'a compound in Arizona'. Which, y'know, leads you thinking about security measures. High walls, remote location, fortified gate."

"This," Zoe gestured at the plans in Madison's hands, "Is a fortress. You have all that and then some. There are precisely two roads leading in and out of the place, one along a winding mountain road that hits a checkpoint half a mile before the estate. The second road is a clear stretch for miles before you hit the back of the compound. You'd be visible about twenty or thirty minutes before getting anywhere near the place."

Madison shuffled the sheets. "Visible?"

"I've got the schematics, Mad. The guy makes most survivalists look like wide-eyed optimists. The back road in is covered with cameras, and is only used by delivery services which are checked before entering through the back gate."

"What about the front?"

"Worse. Only Garza's men and business associates are allowed past the checkpoint. The heavily armed checkpoint."

Madison frowned. "How does Garza get away with any of this?"

"He's careful, not to mention rich. And I'm guessing he has some key figures of the State police in his pocket."

Madison blew out a breath. "Okay. How about the number of guys in the place itself? Miguel said twelve."

Zoe looked doubtful. "Judging by the steady intake of supplies I'd go with closer to twenty." Zoe leaned forward and pointed at one of the buildings in the overhead shot. "See there, where those little grainy men are coming out of, that's the barracks, like Miguel said, and as of six months ago it's almost double the size it was. Garza brought in contractors for a three day rush-job."

"So he hired more men." Madison said thoughtfully, "And they always live on site?"

"Nah, they go out most evenings to unwind, always in groups though. There's a town nearby, about three miles away. It's called Judgement."

Madison raised an eyebrow. "You're kidding?"

Zoe shook her head. "It's quite a place; consists of pretty much three bars, a pool hall, a junkyard, a truck dealership, and it's got its own bowling alley. Didn't the dustbowl of the Thirties wipe out places like this?"

Madison wasn't really listening; instead she was staring at the surveillance footage showing the way the road curved around a corner between the checkpoint and the front gate. "Miguel said there was a about a minute and a half delay between passing the checkpoint and the gate opening, right?"

"Sure. Garza's paranoid that DEA or Federal will come sniffing around all his operations, he moves lots of stuff across states lines after all. Miguel said that the checkpoint takes a snapshot of the people inside the car and runs it through some database or other."

Madison frowned. "Does any of that sound plausible? I mean, Garza's basically a smuggler."

Zoe took out another sheet of paper out of the folder she was holding. "Garza purchased most of the stuff for his mountain hideaway through a trucking company under in his uncle's name. Some serious security hardware and a lot of state-of-the-art programming stuff. I've gotta assume that he has some guy on staff who knows how to work it all. My gut says it's conceivable, given the size of his operation, that he can spot an undercover cop or Fed before they get inside."

Madison pictured the mountain road leading up to the front. Seemingly stronger because of the checkpoint, but it got more traffic, almost daily people crossing back and forth. Routine.

And routine could be exploited.

Zoe wasn't finished. "And even if you get inside, the barracks are directly opposite the front gate. Means there's always somebody watching the entrance. This Garza guy's got pretty much everything inside; self-contained water, power, sewerage. He's even got his own garage for the fleet of cars that he owns. And the only time he leaves is once a month to conduct business, otherwise everybody comes to him."

Madison thought it over. "Because they all fear him."

"Imagine that." Zoe commented dryly, "Maybe you should wait until he's outside the compound-"

Madison shook her head. "Garza will be much more paranoid on the outside; he'll be on guard and expecting anything, as will his men. Besides, I can't wait that long."

Zoe raised her eyebrows. "Are you in a terrible hurry to get shot? Because that's what rushing into this will get you."

Madison got up and paced. She'd looked at the overhead shot of Garza's estate, his massive house, garage for his dozen or so cars and the buildings that housed his men and she'd seen something else too. Something that could give her an in, give her the edge she needed to overcome the odds. "I have a plan."

Zoe looked sceptical. "Well that's certainly a comfort. Is it a good plan?"

Madison told her.

Zoe sighed. "So that would be a no, but at least it plays to your strengths."The Asian woman scrunched her face at the photo as she thought about it. "If you're wrong..."

Madison was certain. "I'm not. I know what I'm looking at. And it makes sense."

Obviously Zoe had heard the determination in Madison's voice and simply said. "Well then, what could possibly go wrong? Apart from absolutely anything at all, obviously."

Interlude

Jenny Marie Fatale loved New Orleans and loved the French Quarter in particular. It was like Paris only with better weather. Or hotter weather in any case, and Jenny was in the mood to enjoy the lazy heat of the city. The fact that somebody had contacted her on business was only mildly bothersome. She had an exclusive list of clients who all knew better than to call her when she was trying to relax, but she also got plenty of referrals. Atypical clients who needed her for a one-off job and that could happen at any time.

Some of the people who needed Jenny's talents were pressed for time, which made them opportunities often too lucrative to pass up.

Besides, Jenny reflected as she sat waiting in one of the back booths of the club, these jobs were often the most fun. And the most challenging.

She sipped her drink as she scanned the scattered, boozy occupants of the club, the type of people who hit the bar at mid-day and were well-entrenched in their positions at this time. Quiet and maudlin, absorbing the languid atmosphere created by cigarette smoke, heat and jazz music.

This wasn't her kinds of place at all. VIP areas of exclusive clubs or classy restaurants were better places to meet clients' cold, which was why she sat facing the entrance and the way in through the back was visible in the periphery to her left.

She reached one hand under the table and slid it into her purse where the silenced Makarov 9mm rested, checked the safety and then returned the hand to her drink. Always careful, and always armed. Words to live by.

Someone entered the club, silhouetting himself against the day as he stopped just inside the doorway. Slowly the man peered around the hazy gloom before staring in her direction. The man who looked her way wasn't dressed for the weather outside; a heavy wool suit sagged on his lean frame as he took off his hat to fan his face. In one hand he carried a briefcase.

After pausing to cool himself, the man made his way slowly towards her. Lawyer, Jenny thought instantly, or possibly an accountant. That usually meant that somebody, somebody rich obviously, wanted out of a sticky domestic situation. Costly divorce or abusive husband, Jenny wouldn't partake of the first one but she had no problem icing wife beaters. The money would be the cake.

The man, his sweaty red face gradually returning to normal, stopped at her table and blinked at her, unsure. Jenny wasn't what most people expected when they used the term 'assassin,' although she preferred the term 'facilitator', it was a far broader descriptor for the type of work she did.

Distractingly beautiful, with long blonde hair and a curvy, yet petite frame, she didn't present as dangerous, at least not in the physical sense. Or even discreet. But dressed in a thin, floral, peasant top and tight yellow Capri pants, Jenny fit right in as a city tourist dressed for the heat.

Jenny smiled her dazzling smile and gestured to the seat opposite. "Would you like a seat, councillor?"

The man swallowed nervously and glanced at where she gestured. After a moment he nodded and slid into the booth. Putting the brief case on the seat next to him he paused for a moment. "How did you know I was a lawyer?"

"You have the look. And I wouldn't last long in this business if I weren't good at sizing people up quickly now. Would I?" She tilted her head towards the bar, "A drink?"

The man nodded as he loosened his tie. "Soda water. Please."

Jenny snapped her fingers at the barman so he casually looked up, as if he hadn't been stealing glances at her for the last forty-five minutes, and she said. "This man needs a large soda water."

Her eyes returned to the lawyer across from her. "So, before we get into any details, how did you find out about me? Please be specific."

The man nodded nervously, he'd obviously been aware of her policy of personal references. "Ludyanov. Gregory Ludyanov. And please understand this isn't for me and it's actually rather a delicate-".

Jenny held up a hand to stop him as she pulled out her phone and scrolled through the contacts.

Ludyanov was ex-KGB back in the day, who nowadays had links with the Organizatsiya, a bunch of Russian oligarchs and a few groups of Chechen fighters. He provided plenty of business for her. She dialled his number and waited.

The other end was picked up. "Hello there Gregory," Jenny smiled down the phone, her voice pleasant. Her other hand slid across the seat to her purse and the gun there.

The voice on the other end was gruff but friendly and spoke with a thick Russian accent. "Ah, greetings to you Jenny, and to what do I owe pleasure, you little minx?"

Jenny cocked her head and winked slyly at the lawyer, her hand tightened around the 9mm. "You don't know why I'm calling?"

Suddenly Gregory exclaimed. "Uh...Ah, I am idiot! The referral. A man, the svjaccennik, he wanted to know about you, to hire you for, ah, trickish job, he said. He's solid, not police, he help me with business so I told him how to reach you. He's good and very trustful."

Jenny pulled her hand out of her purse. "Thanks Greg." She clicked her phone shut, still smiling at the lawyer, "Who's the preacher that Ludyanov is referring to?"

"As I was trying to explain this job, the one I'm...proposing, is on somebody else's behalf. He's a man to whom I own a great debt, somebody who wishes to remain anonymous."

Jenny nodded and took a sip of her drink before asking. "How did he hear about me?"

The lawyer frowned. "He heard of the Jakarta... helicopter incident. I was to reference that. "

Jenny smiled at the memory. "That was très spectacular."

"And inventive." The lawyer added, "Or so he thought. Plus there was the, ahem, Saudi prince and his wife, the sabotaging of the oil contract and break-up of their marriage..."

Her smile broke into a lascivious grin. "She was lonely and he was a horny dog. Those two really should've communicated better, it was almost too easy."

"The point is that you have certain...flexibility about how you handle situations. Adaptability, that's what my employer seeks."

Jenny pursed her lips thoughtfully. This guy didn't seem like a slick fixer or go-between. Definitely a civilian who was nervous around 'specialised' professions. She raised an eyebrow. "So why would some holy roller want anybody dead?"

The lawyer nodded. "It's not exactly...let me explain." He turned in his seat and clicked open the briefcase and withdrew two envelopes before closing it again. He was muttering something under his breath, like he was trying to remember what came next in the conversation.

The barman placed a glass of water on the table. Jenny mouthed a thank you and slid a twenty his way before making a shooing motion.

When the barman left the lawyer placed one of the folders on the table. Jenny pulled it towards her and flicked it open.

Inside were several glossy photos, professionally shot, of a woman. She was a brunette, with captivating grey eyes, a nice smile... nice everything actually. Overall she was a spectacularly gorgeous specimen. Built like a dancer- the exotic kind, but also toned and athletic. The close-ups of her face showed that these were glossy model shots from some sort portfolio. The photographer had done a good job at capturing her allure, she looked simply delicious.

Jenny smiled slightly and put a finger to her lips. "Please tell me that your employer wants me to seduce her for some convoluted reason. I may not even decide to charge..."

The man coughed uncomfortably. "Ah, her name...well, her name isn't important. But my employer wants you to shadow her, to run interference."

Jenny raised an eyebrow. "As in bodyguard? That's...not what I usually do. Besides, what would she need protecting from during her, I'm guessing, bikini contest? Or is it volley ball tournament? I hear those games can get really vicious."

The lawyer continued, his voice gaining a little more confidence. "My employer is concerned that she will gain access to some very sensitive information that he does not wish for her to have. He wants you to make sure that she is unable to acquire it...but without hurting her. That's an important stipulation."

He put the second folder on the table in front of her, "This woman is much more than she appears to be, in here you'll find information on the her recent activities down in Mexico City, and also details on her next target, one Diego Garza."

Jenny frowned as she followed his thinking. "So you want me to shadow her, while she goes after this guy, but to intervene before she gets anything important out of him."

"My employer is more concerned with all the detailed records this man keeps of his business dealings. He himself is not considered a reliable source of data. The location of the records is in the file."

Then Jenny understood. Whoever this 'employer' was, he had something to hide in those files, something Garza had on him. Something he didn't want this little cutie finding out about. Curious.

She flicked through the second file, past a newspaper clipping detailing some cartel turf war in Mexico to a meticulous file on Garza. Photocopies of hand written notes, all legible, and very detailed.

Jenny smiled as she looked over paperwork, this could work. It could even be fun, shadowing a girl like that.

She would have to visit her weapons supplier before she left town, this Garza person was heavily guarded, but on the plus side he lived in the middle of nowhere. No need to be subtle.

The lawyer swung the briefcase over and around and put it on the ground between them. "The money in here covers your usual initial fee for taking the job. More will follow after the completion of the first assignment."

Jenny looked up and smiled teasingly. "First?"

"My employer may require further use of your services after this, if you agree and depending on the outcome. He's willing to pay generously."

Jenny closed the folder and drained the last of her drink before answering. "Sounds like fun. I'm in."

Ten Years Ago

The priest brought the car to an abrupt halt and nodded at Madison. "We're here." He stated, stepping out of the car.

Madison hesitated and looked warily out of the window at her remote surroundings. "Here? Where is 'here' exactly?"

The priest smiled to himself as he walked to the trunk of the car and opened it. "Somewhere with plenty of privacy."He called.

Madison opened her car door and hopped out. "Great. Nice and private, young girl alone with a priest. Because that isn't creepy at all."

The priest did little more than scoff. He pulled a large satchel out of the trunk and started walking out across the scrub ground, kicking through dry grass. "There are some things that I rarely teach, except to those who may be able to benefit from them. And these lessons are best done in private."

Madison stuffed her hands in her jeans pockets and followed him for want of nothing better to do. "Not making me feel any less skeeved out here Preacher-man."

The priest stopped on a bare patch of earth and squatted down beside the satchel. "Do stop being tiresome Madison. And please, call me Father. I'm a priest not a preacher."

Madison was still scowling at the deserted countryside like it owed her money. "There's a difference?"

The priest smiled over his shoulder. "Denominationally, yes."He straightened up and faced her, "What is it; you don't like the countryside all of a sudden?"

Madison stared at her feet and shrugged. "It's... been a really long time."

The priest nodded in understanding. "You haven't been out of the city since the loss of your parents."

Over the last few weeks the teenagers flare-ups at the mention of her parents had gotten softer. She merely frowned in answer.

"Madison, the reason I brought you here is because, well, I'm not sure my usual techniques are working. What happened to you is too fresh, too raw to be fixed with counselling alone." He paused, his eyes searching her. "You have nightmares don't you?"

Madison nodded. "Ever since I was little. And almost every night. In juvie they put me on a bunch of meds but-"

The priest shook his head. "That's not going to help, not long term. But I do have something a little more... cathartic."

Madison smirked a little and raised an eyebrow hopefully. "Pot?"

Instead the priest held up his hand and showed her the gun.

Madison blinked at the incongruous image. A tall, slightly scruffy-looking priest, holding a piece. A large chrome handgun.

The priest turned the gun over in his hands. "I have a few of them in my bag. A Glock, a Korth, a Berretta, this one's a Colt 45. We'll start with this one."

"Oh, right." Madison shook her head as she tried to thing of something to say, "So, why the hell do you have an arsenal in a hold-all? Lippy congregation? You don't like somebody's confession do you like, ice them or whatever."

The man looked at her gravely. "I wasn't always a priest, Madison, which is why I do what I do, to... make amends for things. And that's how I know what your problem is. Ever since your parents were taken from you you've been afraid."

Madison looked at him sharply and was about to snap back.

He put up one hand to stop her. "Oh, you hide it well; you had to get tough right out of the gate. Learn to hit back even before you got hit. Learn how to be an adult all on your own. But that feeling of being utterly powerless, of being afraid, that's why you'll always have the nightmares. And that's why they won't stop, not with talking about it, or with self-defence classes, or anger management or breathing. But with this."

Madison looked at the gun. "With shooting?"

The priest held the gun in his outstretched hand. "By realising that it's just a gun. A tool, a weapon. Used by lots of people. Some, mainly cowards, use them to kill and destroy. But others use them to protect, to empower themselves, so they don't have to live in fear."

Madison was sceptical. "And... This will work?"

The priest looked into her eyes. "I've seen enough from you to know that it's the only thing that will truly work. It's your path, Madison, and it starts right here. To stop living in fear."

Madison took a step closer. "So, what are we going to do?"

The priest nodded at the gun. "Well, you're going to take the gun from my hand and we're going to do some practice shooting." The priest turned and squinted in the afternoon sun, "Way over there there's a cactus, and by the end of the day, I promise, you'll have put at least one bullet hole in it."

Madison looked at where the priest stared and saw a lone cactus, situated between two sandy boulders, about 25 yards away. She looked at the gun and then looked back at the cactus and tilted her head. "You think?"

The priest smiled encouragingly. "I believe so, yes."

Hesitantly Madison plucked the gun from the man's hand, feeling the solid weight of it as she did so, more than she would've thought, and pointed it at the ground.

The priest calmly talked Madison through aiming the gun, checking the safety, keeping a firm grip. He stepped closer to adjust her shoulder or elbow a few times but always stepped back to give her some space while she practiced handling it.

Finally she perfected her stance enough and raised her hands; gun clasped in them, and squinted down the sight. She concentrated on the target, the cactus some distance away.

She heard the priest's voice, full of soft amusement. "Just so you know; most people don't poke their tongue out when they fire a gun."

"Shut up." Madison mumbled and made an effort to put her tongue back in her mouth. She'd show him.

The priest continued. "Okay. Now you want to steady your breathing and then slowly squeeze the trigger. Don't pull it. And remember to keep your arm locked-"

Madison squeezed the trigger and braced herself against the gun's kickback. There was an ear splitting crack and the cactus shuddered as something hit it. Madison raised the gun back to its previous position and fired again and again. Four times in all and each time the cactus trembling under the impact.

Was this supposed to be hard? It felt as natural as breathing.

Madison smiled and brought the gun down. She turned and grinned smugly at the priest, who didn't say anything for a few moments.

He just stared at the cactus and then shook his head in wonderment. "Good Lord."

Warpath

Arizona was created for the car. Its flat, wide expanses that stretched into the beyond, gave the impression of isolation. Of endless road to cruise down, and of a vastness where the speed of your car seemed to have no meaning.

Or so Bobby Day liked to think, as he cruised on by. He thought of himself as a poet, as a deep-thinking but misunderstood outlaw, doomed to be judged and feared by a society that never got to listen to him in these quieter moments. Moments where he was always alone.

With one hand on the wheel of his prized Chevy truck, Bobby was cruising, savouring the trip back from town. He thought of Dwayne and Artie stuck on checkpoint duty on a blister of a day like this and smiled that at least it wasn't him.

No, he was the one whose turn it was to go out on a smokes and beers run, every Friday like clockwork in preparation for the weekend blowout. Though not this weekend, this weekend the boss had said that they all had to stay inside. He'd been getting nervous for a whole bunch of months now. He hired half a dozen new guys and took more meetings close to home. If the money wasn't so good Bobby, would be thinking about maybe cutting out and to hell with the risk.

He smiled to himself, but then what would he do? His Pop always said that there was an honest living and there was a decent living, and he'd been a farmer so he should know. So Bobby would stick with it. The fat pay check, the twitchy boss and the weekly run-ins to town, at least until he had a few more zeros in his bank account.

Bobby took the turn that took him off of the path to town, up onto the winding trail towards the compound, as the flat plains on the right rose to become rock-strewn hills. The feel of the truck shifted as the road became rockier. The long track gently shifted and curved up around a large boulder outcropping so he lost sight of the road. He adjusted his seat and put both hands on the wheel to control his truck as the path levelled out.

The road from here on out was smoother, curving almost constantly up and around to the left as the rock formations grew around him on all sides. The flat plains were quickly becoming like bandit country out of a western.

On his left now was a sheer cliff face as the hills rolled up out of nowhere and gave him some much needed shade. On his right the lane widened out to a comfortable width before the drop off into a deep rocky arroyo.

Tex said that there used to be a mine down there back in the day, though he didn't know what for, on account of him changing what the mine was for every time he got leathered. But there was a turn-off not far up ahead, a boarded up road that led down to somewhere, so maybe it was true. Maybe in times past, some cowboy-prospector types had set up in the middle of nowhere, looking for God knows what and had themselves a time.

Then Bobby rounded the gentle curve of the road and saw an Indian.

Bobby mashed his foot on the break almost on instinct and his truck jerked to a stop in the middle of the road. Up ahead a bright pink Cadillac was parked at an angle so it stuck out into the road. Its roof was down and its hood was up. Half under the hood of the car, bent over like she was trying to fix it, was woman in an Indian get-up. Calf-high Suede boots, tight buckskin shorts and a sleeveless fringed vest that left most of her midriff bare, her outfit made her look quite a sight. Pocahontas trying to fix her car.

Bobby's skidding tyres had drawn her attention as the woman stood back and straightened up to face him, shading her eyes against the dust with one hand and waving with the other.

Bobby just gawped, sweet lord but the woman was built.

What little her clothes did cover it helped accentuate, her sleeveless vest was partly open and visible underneath were two tan pieces of cloth that clung to her large breasts, barely held together by taut stitching across the front.

Bobby took in the toned legs, a flat, tight stomach, and glistening cleavage. The woman's hair was drawn away from her beautiful face into two twin braids on either side of her head and then draped down across her shoulders. All she needed was a feathered headdress and some war paint to complete her outfit.

Hot damn.

After a moment the woman stopped waving and gestured for Bobby to come over. Bobby wasn't stupid; he knew that this road led to only one place, and that nobody but Garza's boys had any reason to be on it. He frowned in suspicion.

Still, couldn't hurt to find out her story, and take a closer gander while his was at it. He just had to remember to keep one hand near his gun and not to take his eyes off of her for a second. No danger with that second part.

Bobby casually stepped out of his truck and made a show of adjusting his baseball cap so he had more time to take her in. The woman had gone back to the side of her Caddy and was now leaning over the side. The back view was even more spectacular, but then Bobby had always been an ass man at heart. Her shorts clung to the contours of her tight butt like a second skin.

He strolled over right hand on his belt near his Colt, left hand rubbing his chin thoughtfully like he was thinking about how she could've gotten in such a mess.

"Well howdy there, Miss."

The woman straightened up and turned to face him again, her face bright. "Oh thank god! I thought you were going to up and turn around on me, since I'm being a nuisance and blocking up the road."

She was even better looking up close, real pretty, kind of exotic but that smile was pure girl-next-door. Quite the package. "Don't see how I could do that, place I'm goin' can only get to on this road."

The woman frowned and scratched the back of her head. "Really? This doesn't go to... I'm looking for the through road to Cedar Breaks National Park?"

"Naw, you're a ways too south for that." He made a show of looking her over, "And you don't look like no park ranger. I figured you was headed for a reservation."

The woman frowned even harder, and then looked down at herself. "Oh! Oh this. No, no, this is my outfit. One of my outfits. For the show."She giggled, "You actually thought I was an Indian or something? Geez." She smiled and shook her head, "I'm pretty sure this is not how real Indian girls dress."

Bobby's eyes flicked over her again. "Shame."

"I'm Mandy. I'm a dancer at Temptation. That's a club right off the strip in Vegas. Real classy joint." The woman's bright smile faltered somewhat. "Uh, the thing is, not only am I apparently really lost, but I'm also... this isn't actually my car."She gestured to the Caddy.

He raised an eyebrow. "You don't say. Well, my name's Bobby and I was about to compliment you on what a nice lookin' ride you had."He smiled at his secret double entendre.

She just shook her head again. "Nope, I'm doing a favour for my friend Crystal, she and I, she's my girlfriend... not my actual girlfriend though, but we work together so whatever, right? Anyway I'm trying to help her out." She sighed and then continued, "I said that I'd drive this car to from El Paso, which is where my folks live, to Vegas, which is where we both work right? How hard can that be? I think to myself. Except Crystal is phoning me every five minutes to remind me to take every little back road so I avoid idiot drivers and that I don't get a stupid scratch on the stupid car or her stupid boyfriend will go totally berserk."

Bobby tried to follow her babbling explanation. "So this is her boyfriend's car?"

Mandy's eyes widened. "Nu-uh, that's the thing you see. It's not for him, but for his boss. He's trying to impress the guy by getting him this in mint condition. The guy's into classic American motors and, well you might've guessed from the colour that he's a fruit so...But I guess Crystal's tool of a boyfriend doesn't trust freight or something, because here I am, stranded."

She folded her arms under her chest, pushed her cleavage up, and sighed heavily. Bobby tried not to stare at the sight, and failed.

He tore his eyes away and coughed. "So, ah, what's the problem then?"

Mandy looked embarrassed. "Well, all along Crystal's being at me, 'watch the radiator', 'watch the radiator', so I don't, like, run out of water in this heat. And instead I run out of gas." She shook her head again and shrugged.

Bobby smiled and chuckled. Mandy seemed genuinely embarrassed and her tale sure was something, too convoluted to be a lie. "I can help you out, I've got some spare gas in the back of my truck and a better map in my cab. You can put 'em to some good use."

Mandy smiled her dazzling smile again. "That's so great of you. The map I've got only shows the highways and..." She trailed off, "Uh, is the gas premium?"

Bobby frowned. "It's for my truck, so no, it's standard." He saw he face fall. "What's wrong?" If he could help her out of this jam who knows what he might get out of it. Maybe the next time he hit Vegas...

Mandy sighed. "Crystal said that it's got to be premium gas or it'll, I don't know, foul up the engine or something? I'm not really a car expert here." She gave him a pleading look, "If you could just, maybe give me a ride back towards town or to a gas station or something. I've got an Amex card so I can totally pay."

Bobby smiled. In fact Bobby grinned a big-ass grin, 'cause he was gonna save the day.

"Don't need to drive all the way back there. Happen to know there's a garage not far from here with the most premium gas you've ever seen. I'll hook you up."He was positive that the boss wouldn't miss a couple of cans that were meant for the Porsche or the Jag, not the way he'd been driving these days. Plus he wouldn't have to wait for Vegas to get to know Mandy better.

"That's great." Mandy cried and then jumped forward excitedly and hugged him, kissing his cheek. "You're a lifesaver. I thought I was going to have to walk miles back to town. So, where's the garage?"

"Just up this road. It's exclusive as all hell, but I'll get ya in."

Mandy looked unsure. "Is it like a member's thing? Do they take Amex?"

Bobby smiled and gestured towards his truck. "Relax, I've got this. You can think of how to pay back me on the way."

Mandy smiled slyly as she toyed with one of her braids. "Well I dunno. Helping a girl out like this usually deserves a big reward."

Bobby grinned. "You read my mind darlin'. Now hop on in and we can get under way. I'm suddenly in an awful damn hurry."

Mandy giggled and started forward, then stopped suddenly. "Just a sec, I need to grab my jacket and my bag. I've gotta call Crystal and tell her I'm... gonna be delayed a while." She winked and smiled as she ran back to the Cadillac.

Bobby swung up and into the driver's seat and checked himself in the mirror. Little bit of stubble wasn't so bad. He blew into his palm and held it to his nose. It would do. He hurriedly took off his ballcap and run a hand through his hair. Not bad.

He saw Mandy turn away from her car and come jiggling on over, a buckskin jacket and bulky shoulder bag under her arm. A moment later she hopped up into the seat next to him. "Thanks again, you've really made my day."

Bobby was thinking exactly the same thing as he headed for the checkpoint.

Bobby had told Madison to hide in the back as they got within half a mile of the checkpoint, as Madison thought he would. Bobby had explained that he didn't want his buddies delaying him anymore than was necessary. The way he'd been staring at her instead of keeping his eyes on the road, she could tell how eager he was.

She'd been taught a long time ago that any security system, no matter how impenetrable it may seem, was always vulnerable because it relied on the same variable as any other, people. People who got tired or sloppy or corrupt or lazy... or horny, and Garza's place was a prime example.

Madison had looked through the list of his employees, all thugs and criminals of one sort or another, and had picked the one that best suited her approach and timeframe. Bobby Day was a grade 'A' horn-dog, who went through half a dozen 'girlfriends' per month, wherever he could find them. He had also done six years in his younger days for aggravated sexual assault on a waitress who didn't care for his charms. But he was much more careful nowadays, now the women just disappeared.

It made playing him feel all the sweeter.

And she'd known that he would hide her presence from the guys at the checkpoint, focusing on getting her in the compound and then taking what he wanted from her as many times as he wanted.

All security is flawed because it relied on humans. Read as: men.

So Madison hid in the back foot-well behind Bobby's seat, covered in a blanket, and heard his truck pull op to a stop and then joke casually with the men on point. Two of them by the sound of it.

Those two plus Bobby meant that she didn't have to worry about three of the possible twenty bodies holed up in the complex, and she was going to thin that number down a lot more, before taking Garza out. The truck started up again as Bobby called adios to his pals and pulled away from them. Madison straightened up and made her voice sound breathy and excited. "Did it work?"

"Yep. You're free and clear, hon. Now get on up here and I'll drive you right on in."

"Wow. That was so exciting. I've never done anything like this before. Being all sneaky and stuff." Madison waited for them to turn out of sight of the small outer office and then pulled herself up onto the back seat. She leaned forward, putting her mouth close to Bobby's ear and purred. "Stop the truck."

It had been a while since she had tried any sexy talk but it seemed to have the desired effect. Bobby slowed to a crawl and looked at her. "Huh?"

"That was so hot." Madison trilled as she climbed into the front and sat next to him. "You're like some kind of... outlaw."She widened her eyes to indicate that she was impressed, and put a hand on the back of his head. Running a hand through the greasy blonde locks she found there.

Bobby grinned broadly. "You know, gals like you are always turned on by that stu-"

Madison casually pushed her arm forward and slammed Bobby's forehead against the top of the steering wheel to shut him up. He grunted in pain and then hissed out a surprised breath as she hauled him back upright by his hair. She then swung her right shoulder forward and smashed her elbow into his throat. Bobby wheezed out a cry of pain. Madison followed that up by bashing his head against the side of the car. Bobby went limp.

Bobby slumped forward and Madison deftly caught him before reaching over and opening the door on his side. One sharp shove later and Bobby tumbled out of the truck and flopped into the ditch on the side of the road, his limp form coming to rest in the shade of a boulder.

Madison stepped out after him and pulled her shoulder bag onto the front seat. She quickly pulled out her twin Berettas and the adjustable holster for them. She strapped them around her waist before pulling out another item of note, the last of her C-4. She would put it where it would count the most.

She turned and looked at Bobby lying on the ground, he was snoring softly. "Sorry Bobby, but there are no girls like me."

Nine Years Ago

At first the priest thought that the thunder outside had just gotten louder, loud enough to hammer on his door and rattle the back window. He frowned in his chair and cocked his head, listening to the dull hiss and burble of the rain outside, and for the inevitable dripping and leaking from the roof that would result. The church was very much still a fixer upper, but he'd never been one to complain about humble surroundings.

Then he heard it again, a dull banging too rhythmic to be the wind, coming from the side door of the church. The priest got up and swiftly moved through the side chapel towards the bare rooms that had been priest quarters. The back door was made of old, swollen wood it was black and dense and with no way to see who was on the other side. The priest tensed up and then forced himself to relax; this had once been a house of God. He decided he should try and remember its purpose, and how it informed who he was these days.

He reached and opened the door, peering out onto the exposed back porch. He saw Madison, sodden, trembling and rain-lashed. She shivered and tightened her arms around herself. "Hi, Father. Crappy place you got here."

"Madison? Good God child, come in." He opened the door more fully and ushered her inside. She had a backpack on one shoulder but otherwise seemed to have no other possessions.

He quickly fetched a towel from the chest in the vestry and returned to hand it to Madison. "What are you doing here? I thought... well a long while ago they managed to find a home for you. I thought you were doing better."

Madison draped the towel over herself as she sat down on a nearby bench. "Yeah, it was going great. Then I caught good ol' Dad Mike slapping Gina around. So I broke his nose."

The priest frowned. "Ah."

Madison rubbed her arms through the towel. "Anyway, he called the cops and she didn't say shit about what he's obviously been doing for a while now." Madison scowled, "No way was I going back to juvie, so I ran off. Screw 'em all, y'know."

"And how did you find me."

The teenager shrugged as she dried her hair. "You mentioned this neighbourhood sometimes, about your, uh, flock or whatever. So I asked around. You stick out, wasn't hard."

"I see."

"Look. I know what you're gonna say okay. But there's no way I'm going back. I can look after myself and I don't need all those folks just interfering with me and telling me what to do." She stared defiantly at him, "I wanna stay with you."

The priest got up and paced around the bare room. He ended up staring at the blank wall for a long moment, deep in thought. He didn't do this, didn't linger or get attached to people. Not after last time. He promised himself that he would always keep a distance, and now there was this girl.

But she had found him. And she had no one else.

And she was...different. There was no denying that he saw something in her, something unique. Whether it came from what had happened to her, or if it had been there before, the girl was gifted. Damaged but genuine.

How could he turn somebody away who needed guidance so badly?

He turned to her; he could see that she was braced for disappointment. All of this, coming here to him, had been a last desperate roll of the dice.

"Very well." He saw he face light up, and suddenly he saw how young she was. He continued, "But I have some conditions. No drugs, no thieving, no going off and getting yourself into trouble. You'll do what I say, when I say it. You'll help me here in the church and maybe on some projects out in the world. And we'll continue with your normal education as best we can. You don't like any of that, then you can leave now." He kept his voice firm.

Madison frowned in annoyance. "What about all the self-defence and guns and other stuff? Y'know, all the fun."

The priest nodded. "As long as you show me due respect and follow the rules I lay out. And if you don't screw up, then we will do all that other, 'fun', stuff. He added the last part dryly.

Madison smirked. "So I'm basically like your slave."

The priest smiled. "I prefer the term 'apprentice'. Now, come with me and I'll show you the lovely accommodations we have here."

He turned and left the room, after a moment Madison got up and followed. "Why don't we split the difference and say that you're like my trainer. Like in 'Rocky'.

The priest chuckled. "You'll find that a lot of pop culture references are lost on me, Madison."

"Well that's great. So this teaching thing can be sort of a two-way street."

Madison gently rolled the truck through the opening gate of the compound and into the courtyard, tires grinding against the white stone gravel that covered the ground. Ahead and to her left she saw the house framed by blue Arizona sky. A tall modern two-storey eyesore of pale yellow stone and frosted glass edged with black marble. Garza shared the habits of a lot of crime lords, lots of money and no taste.

On the left was an impressively large garage, two of its four central doors were concertinaed open to show a small fleet of a dozen polished cars. One of which was up on a mechanical lift, so a couple of men could work on the underneath. Another two men, who had been casually commenting and watching, turned to eye the truck as it rolled into view.

Up ahead there was the new place, a long low building all in dull red brick, which marked the barracks where the men stayed when not on duty. A strange set-up, but Garza obviously paid well enough for it to be worth it.

Between the barracks and the main house there was a walled off section of courtyard that Madison pointed the truck towards, nosing it forward so the truck's front bumper kissed the pale stonework. Madison turned off the engine, pulled on her brown suede jacket and got out of the cab door facing the garage. The two men who weren't acting as mechanics were both staring openly at her as she walked casually over. Their expressions were split between puzzlement, amusement and arousal, but they still both had their hands on their weapons. Menacing black submachine guns on shoulder straps, gripped in relaxed hands, the two men didn't know quite what to make of her.

One of them called out to her as she closed on them. "Hey. That's Bobby's truck. Who're you supposed to be?"

The other one grinned slyly. "Maybe he picked up some entertainment. Let me guess, 'Dances-with-poles."

He laughed at that and his friend joined in. The two mechanics had now stopped what they were doing and were staring uncomprehendingly at her from beneath the car.

The second guy nudged his friend. "Or maybe 'laps'."

The first guy frowned in thought. "Nah, that don't work."

Madison shook her head and sighed. "That's funny boys, really. Hey, I've got one for you."

It was only then that the second guy spotted that Madison had holstered pistols under her long-fringed jacket. His eyes widened and he belatedly tried to bring his machinegun around.

Madison smiled. "Runs-with-guns." And then she drew her Berettas.

She was so fast that the first guy still had a ghost of a smile on his face as she opened fire with both guns. One bullet turned his eye socket to a gory mess, even as another two bullets drove deep into his friends gut. He staggered back and slid down against a gleaming midnight blue Porsche, clutching feebly at his stomach and the spreading blood there. The first man dropped forward flat on his face, hitting the concrete floor with a loud slap.

Madison turned her pistols on the two mechanics. She didn't like the idea of shooting unarmed men, and there was an off-chance that they were just here to fix the cars. She flicked a gesture towards the gate with one pistol. "Get gone."

Without hesitating they both took off running through the main gate as it slowly trundled shut. There was a good chance that the two men would warn the checkpoint if they went that way, but plans by their very nature had to be fluid. She still had surprise on her side.

She walked into the shade of the garage, a monument to automotive indulgence. Porsche, Ferrari, Lamborghini, a Rolls Royce, a Jaguar XL and an Audi R8. Well, maybe Garza had some taste, even if it was done in silver.

Madison stepped over to a built-in workbench against one wall and noted the large number of gas cans nearby. She grabbed one of them and went through the drawers of the bench, quickly finding a roll of black tape and a hand-held acetylene torch. She quickly duct-tapped the torch to the gas can as she heard movement outside. Time to make herself known.

She walked over to the entrance of the garage to see five men scrambling out of the barracks, drawn by gunfire. They took in the truck to one side and the dead bodies on the other. From the right hand of the interior, using one of the closed doors as cover, Madison opened fire, blazing five shots at the ground near the men to drive them back scrambling for cover. They cried out in panic and alarm but only belatedly opened fire in return. Madison heard the flat bangs of handguns, nothing heavier, and they were hardly being accurate enough to worry her.

She saw a couple of them scramble for Bobby's truck, while the rest crossed the courtyard to take cover by a huge black Humvee that had been parked to the left, close enough to the house that Madison had missed it on her drive in.

"What the fuck is going on?" Bellowed a new voice as a man dressed in a casual black lounge suit came storming out of his house. He was flanked by six men, better armed, better dressed and more alert. Two of them quickly spotted the downed men and took point in front of the man Madison now recognised as Garza.

He was swarthy and stubbly, with long unruly hair and a lean frame. He would've been considered handsome at some point in the past but now his skin was sallow and drawn tight over his gaunt features, his nose looked thin and wasted, his skinny neck was swollen with visible pulsating veins and his eyes were bloodshot and dangerously close to bulging out of his head. Madison spotted a large gold-coloured handgun jutting from his waistband. His hands were opening and closing, fists clenching as he took in the scene. "Who fucking dares?"

Madison strolled out into the centre of the garage, carrying her improvised explosive in one hand, a pistol in the other. She kept Garza's Ferrari between her and the outside, shadow and light played across its red skin and black flame etching.

"Diego Garza." She spoke loudly and clearly, she saw his eyes snap to her as he squinted into the gloom. "This is your reckoning. Come quietly, now, and we can do this cleanly, without any unnecessary killing. If you don't then you and your men will die, and all this." She gestured with the gas can to all the cars in the garage. "Will be destroyed."

The man in black cocked his head and then shook it like a dog. "Reckoning? Bitch, are you high? I asked you a question, who the fuck are you?

"And I ignored it and moved on. Try and keep up Diego. So what's it going to be?"

Garza stepped forward challengingly. "Let me tell you what's gonna happen here. You go and firebomb my fucking cars, then I watch as my men kill you slowly and inventively and then I go and buy some new fucking cars. That clear enough for ya?"

Madison nodded and set down the improvised gas can device. "Perfectly. But I'm not going to be using that. That was just to illustrate my point, like a visual aid." She pulled the wireless detonator from her jacket pocket.

"Visual aid?" Garza sneered as he drew the gun from his pants, "I'm gonna fuckin' skull-fuck your eye-sockets, bitch! How's that for visual?"

Madison smiled. "Four words Diego. Four words you're going to be regretting in the last fleeting moments of your time here on this earth." She raised the detonator for him to see. "500 gallon Propane Tank." And then pressed the button.

The gas tank of Bobby's truck had only been two-thirds of the way full outside the compound, so Madison had placed two extra cans of fuel into the passenger side foot well, after placing her C-4 under the gas-tank of the truck. She had checking carefully to make sure that it would explode outwards, which it now did.

The truck became an instant fireball, exploding a wall of red-hot metal, straight through the interior wall of the compound. To the propane tank that was on the other side.

Garza liked to be as self-sufficient as possible, food, water, transport and power. And the propane, delivered every few months, provided enough gas and heating for him and all his men.

In hindsight he maybe should've gone with solar panels.

The truck exploding was impressive, and was large enough to instantly engulf three of Garza's men in a firestorm, but when the propane was punctured the surrounding world went briefly white. From the shade of the garage Madison saw one third of the barracks and a good chunk of Garza's house simply vanish, disintegrate under the sheer power of the fiery conflagration. The intense blast cast a wide rain of blackened debris across the courtyard, along with the concussive force that threw several of Garza's men into the air. Those that weren't hurled about were floored by the power of the blast, dashed hard against the gravel-covered ground. Only Garza, who had been furthest away from the explosion, remained standing, staggering and stumbling back from the churning air.

Madison rounded the side of the Ferrari and levelled her Beretta at Garza's stumbling form; kill him, finish of what men remained and then find his office before the inferno reached too far into his house. The outsides of it were already smouldering, one entire wing had simply blackened and crumbled. Smoke and fumes spilled from the interior.

But from the front door three more men spilled out. They saw Madison and Garza, the only two left standing, and drew their weapons on Madison. They were fast or maybe just spurred by desperate energy, but even so they had guns drawn before Madison could draw a clear bead on Garza's weaving figure. Madison switched targets to the three men running her way, ducking back and to the side to use the Ferrari as cover, drawing her second pistol as she did so.

The men fired as they ran, more enthused than accurate. Their bullets hit the back of the garage and pinged off the silver Rolls to Madison's far left.

So she took her time and steadied her aim and fired when it counted, even as the bullets flew. The first target, a barrel-chested yeti of a man, took three shots from Madison's right gun before he folded to the ground, skidding forward on his face. Another man she dropped with one bullet that drilled him neatly in the forehead.

From the corner of her eye Madison saw Garza, and three of his men, hobbling towards the side of the house, towards the Humvee. Even as four more of his men, those who weren't incinerated, broken or unconscious, staggered to their feet, bleeding and bleary.

Madison shot the knee out from her third target and he fell screaming onto a shard of still-burning metal. Another shot mercifully silenced him.

It was then that Madison heard another explosion, distant and to the west of her. She shot a look to see a rising column of smoke billowing from somewhere down the road from the compound, perhaps the men at the checkpoint were going to make their presence felt.

Madison ducked and quickly reloaded her guns, snapping a look up to see that Garza was hurriedly crawling into the back seat of his Humvee, his men covering him with the occasional half-hearted shot in her direction.

Then she heard the ground tremble, softly at first but then building in strength. Loud mechanical roars cut through the air, a guttural diesel snarl that emanated from behind the high front gate. Then the gate buckled and caved, crashing to the ground as it was squashed flat by a gigantic machine.

Madison had seen Monster trucks parked, but had never been to any of the novelty shows that dotted the mid-west, promising nitro-this and stunt-wheeling that. Maybe if she had she would've been more prepared.

A truck appeared, gigantic wheels crushing the front gate to ruin as it rampaged into the courtyard, with a bright yellow cab and enormous spinning tires. It bounced for a moment then landed in front of the garage and spun on its axis, sending a hail of stone spinning in all directions. Madison ducked as fragments and shrapnel rattled against the surrounding cars.

The truck had turned with its back wheels to her, and she saw, from a narrow upward angle, a short squat tube sticking out of the driver's side window. She then saw it swivel and fire at the ground in front of the house, there was a dull thunk sound before a fizzing projectile hurtled towards the front door of the building.

There was a detonation, a rolling black blast as the door was torn apart and then another projectile went quickly hurtling after the first, into the open mouth of the house. Madison saw a couple of Garza's men, those who weren't either guarding him or running for cover, fire their pistols at the occupant of the truck. The tube of the grenade launcher spun downwards and chucked an incendiary at the ground. The grenade bounced high before exploding in an inferno of red-hot smoke.

Madison warily stepped closer and managed to see the driver. She saw a slender arm covered in blue overalls, long strands of blonde hair, and then a delicate hand adjusting the barrel of the grenade launcher.

The barrel lurched and belched another flaming grenade into the interior of the house, which was now almost totally consumed by fire. Madison saw the building shudder as a large section of the second floor tumbled and crashed into the heart of the house. Gouts of flame billowed from the interior. Everything would be consumed now.

The last of Garza's men were scrambling, running out of the gate, content to ignore Madison and the mystery blonde for the surety of surviving the day. Even Garza was cutting his losses, now realising the extent of them.

She saw the Humvee roar to life and then lurch out towards the broken front entrance. Madison saw the driver of the monster truck clearly for a moment, as she turned to see Garza leave, and then she looked down and saw Madison.

The blonde smiled widely and winked at her. Then she blew a big, exaggerated kiss before the truck's great wheels spun to life again, sending the metal behemoth hurtling away and through the last, dying flames where the propane tank used to be. Whoever the driver was she was heading out of the complex and down the back round that led towards the highway.

Madison spun and hurried back into the garage. Whoever the hell that blonde was and what she was doing were questions for another time. What she needed now were answers, and only Garza would be able to provide those. Madison hit the button to raise the remaining doors, grabbed her make-shift petrol bomb and threw it in the passenger seat of the Audi.

And the keys were in the ignition.

Finally something was going her way.

The Audi R8 roared out of the blazing complex, and streaked down the road in a glimmer of silver. Madison could see the Humvee far up ahead, charging and bouncing down the twisting mountain road, sometimes coming perilously close to ploughing into the wall to the right, or spinning off the drop to the left.

Madison adjusted the gear shift as she swept over a rise in the road and sailed smoothly above jagged rips in the road, rips caused by the passing of the monster truck. The Audi spun and danced in response to her touch and she started to close the distance on the Humvee.

She was busily manoeuvring around the occasional sharp turn or dip, when she saw the back window of the car in front kicked out, and a man half climbed out of the back. He held a submachine gun tightly in both hands and pointed it at Madison's windshield. Madison quickly slalomed left even as the man squeezed the trigger. Automatic fire tore into the mountain road inches from the side of Madison's car.

The man, struggling to right himself in the back of the bouncing Humvee, pulled the gun to his left and the steam of bullets shredded hood. Madison jerked the car back and to the left, avoiding the last of the scattered bullets. Spent cartridges spun and pinged on the road and under her car as she pulled the steering wheel further to the left. Both vehicles whipped past the remains of the checkpoint, now an indistinct column of burning remains and smouldering fire. Madison saw the Humvee whisk through the remnants, saw the man in the back seat shy away from the sudden heat to his left and dip his gun as he turned.

The Audi surged forward strongly, Madison drawing a pistol as she pressed her foot to the floor. She closed within feet of the back of the Humvee in seconds. The man in the back of the vehicle immediately snapped his head up and Madison squeezed off a round. He cried out and clutched the side of his bleeding head. He fell back, his gun falling from his grasp and vanishing under Madison's wheels.

Smiling in grim satisfaction she closed the last few remaining feet and slewed to the side, her right side flashing dangerously close to the mountain stone. She stuck her left hand out of the car, found the angle and then squeezed off a shot that shattered the driver's side window of the Humvee. In response the truck veered alarmingly, its back wheel brushing against and tearing at Madison's front tire. Madison pulled her hand inside and braced both arms against the wheel, struggling for control as the Audi lurched left. A wing mirror was sheered off by a passing boulder as she slowly edged the car to the left.

Madison backed off for a moment, she saw the Humvee jump and shudder as the driver wrestled for control. If he lost it and she was too close then Madison knew that she and her car would be crushed between merciless rock and a ton of speeding metal.

As the Humvee became steadier she spotted the top sunroof being slid open and Garza appeared, one hand gripping the roof of the car and the other reached down as something was passed to him. He looked at her through the windshield, gave her a sneering smile before pulled up a long green tube with a mushroom shaped cap at the end of it.

A rocket launcher.

Madison stared as Garza laid the weapon flat on the roof of his truck and slid it so it was pointed at the Audi. He let out a whoop of triumph that was almost snatched away by the wind as his hands settled on the firing mechanism.

Madison gripped the wheel tightly and jerked it to the left, the Audi skittered sideways, tires barking in protest as they leapt across crooked stone. Simultaneously the missile took to the air and hissing through the space to her left, missing her by a mere foot. The rocket slammed into the road close behind, shattering it and flinging up gouts of stone and dirt. The road shuddered; the car trembled in response to the impact. Madison managed to slide the car back in tight behind the Humvee and reached for her Berretta again.

Garza snarled and beat his fist on the top of the Humvee, before quickly reaching down and pulling up another one.

Madison's eyes widened in disbelief. "Does the guy buy them wholesale at fucking Wal-Mart?" She muttered.

Garza handled it properly this time, adjusting himself so he was braced inside the truck; he raised the launcher to his shoulder and pointed it at a downward angle at Madison. He obviously was ignoring the small print about 'minimum safe distance'. She saw that Garza was using the targeting system, and was expecting her to slide right or left at any moment. Only then would he fire.

So instead Madison made the Audi lurch forward, a controlled burst of speed and swung her arm up and out of the driver's window. She snapped off a shot even as both vehicles bounced over a rocky divot in the road.

Madison's arm swayed left even as she fired. Garza bounced and rocked sideways. Instead of a clean shot she caught him high in the centre of the shoulder. Garza cried out and on reflex pulled the trigger. The missile flew high sideways instead of down and straight, and slammed into the side of the hillside, blowing out a tumbling downpour of fist-sized rocks and billowing dust.

Madison saw Garza half drop back inside his vehicle, even as stone and earth rained down on both of them. The Audi's windshield spider-webbed as a small boulder hit it. Pebbles and rocks rattled across the trail and Madison saw the studier Humvee pull further ahead of her. She let it. Reaching across she grabbed her improvised petrol bomb and pulled it onto her lap, unscrewed the cap and, one-handed, balanced it on the lip of the open window.

Then she mashed the gas again, felling the beauty of the Audi's quick, responsive engine as it flashed forward. The silver streak bore down on the rolling tank-like vehicle up ahead. Acting quickly Madison brought up a knee and braced it against the steering wheel. She quietly prayed for a smooth section of road as she pushed the top half of herself, holding the gas can, out of the car.

One breath and she pressed down on the button of the torch, watched as its blue flame sprung to life. She pulled back her arm as far as it would go, holding the heavy load down and away from the car so she could get maximum swing. She saw somebody moving in the back of the Humvee, saw a head tilt towards the blown out back window.

Madison heaved and threw the gas can up and forward, willing it to arch and fly true even as her knee slipped and the Audi suddenly listed to the right. She flailed and tried to pull herself back in. The window painfully mashed her midriff. She scrambled and pulled with her legs, stretching back with her shoulders to stop herself tumbling out onto the speeding road below.

Madison caught the upper edge of the window with her fingers and dragged herself back inside, even as the Audi dropped even further back. Madison grabbed the steering wheel and steadied the car's rapid slalom to the right.

The next time she looked up at the Humvee, it was on fire. Orange flame licked and consumed the back of the car. Smoke filled the rear of the vehicle and Madison saw the truck weave to the right and then unsteadily wobble to the left. She pulled back even further as there was gout of heat from inside, somebody screamed in pain and alarm, and then the truck tipped.

Thundering, speeding steel scrapped across rough rock. The Humvee shrieked and bucked as it struck large bumps and jutting rocks. Every impact slowed its slide and the dead vehicle finally came to a rest where the road turned at an angle, its nose stopping a few feet from the edge of the arroyo. Then it lay there, smoking and dead.

Madison brought her car to a stop several yards away and got out. Hands on her weapons, eyes watching for signs of movement she moved closer. She hoped that Garza was in a condition to tell her something; otherwise she'd have to return to the ruined house and dig through the wreckage left there. The trail couldn't end with Garza.

It mustn't.

The top door of the Humvee was pushed open; smoke swelled up and out of the hatch as a man scrambled to get on top. He was soot stained and bloodied and he reached down to pull another man out of the burning innards of the Humvee. They both came to rest briefly on the vehicles side. Lazy flames and burning embers coiled within the belly of the truck's skeleton and Garza, acting with some urgency, scrambled off of the side and dropped to the ground, clutching tightly at his wounded shoulder. His remaining follower jumped after him.

It was then that Garza spotted Madison approaching and gestured to his man. "Jesus fuckin' Christ! Shoot her!"

The other man turned even as he went for his gun. Madison already had her guns in hand and put two bullets in his chest. The man groaned heavily and then collapsed on the road.

She didn't stop moving, walking steadily to Garza even as he backed up towards the edge of the road. He put his hand up. "I'm unarmed! You see, okay? I ain't got no weapon, so don't shoot. You want money? I can get you money."

Madison stopped and glanced back up the road. "You mean in your house? I wouldn't hold out much hope on that front. It's taken a serious drop in value."She shook her head, "No deals Garza, you've got nothing left."

"Who the fuck are you?"He screamed. His voice hoarse enough that he started a coughing fit.

"I doubt you'd remember me, or my family. But you did help destroy them." Madison stared coldly at him, "I don't know why you did it, you and your group of friends, but I'm going to find out. So, you give me a name of one of your associates, the important ones that you rarely deal with, and I won't shoot you."

Garza looked warily at her. "You won't shoot me? You'll let me go?"

Madison shrugged. "I won't." She would simply push him off the edge of the road instead, but he wasn't to know that.

Garza's eyes flicked about, searching his memory. "One of my important friends?" He muttered.

Madison helped him out. "Like Hitoshi Matsuo. That sort of friend."

Garza's eyes widened. "Uh...I don't. I don't know any of them. Not by name, not anymore. It was a while ago, y'know..." He trailed off.

Madison raised her arm and pointed a pistol at him. "Try harder."

Garza grimaced and punched the side of his drug-addled head, until suddenly. "Amador!"

"Who?"

"That's a name. His name... I never met him, but he's known... To my associates. He's one of the leaders, I swear."

Madison shook her head sadly. "I'm gonna need a little more than that Diego."She took another step forward.

He waved his arm as he forced himself to remember. "He was a diplomat... Turkish I think. Big in Europe, had lots of important friends.

Madison lowered her gun. She frowned in puzzlement. "Diplomat? As in, not a criminal?"

Garza wearily shook his head. He seemed relieved. "I remember now. Amador had lots of important contacts. I used to be able to trade with the Libyans thanks to him."

Madison holstered her gun. She was pretty good at detecting bullshit and Garza wasn't giving off that signal. Whatever he was saying, he believed it. "Okay, Diego... a deals a deal-"

Madison saw Garza move swiftly, bringing his left arm up and with a flick of his wrist a gun appeared in it. It was small, silver and gleaming; a revolver. He spat a curse and fired at her.

Madison reacted on instinct. She let her knees fold and leaned back as she dropped, arching her back and pushing her pelvis forward. She fanned her ankles as she fell and as her butt smacked the road she leaned back further, unholstering guns by reflex.

She felt the shot go clean above her head as Garza's bullet missed. The six that she fired in return didn't. Garza jumped and twitched backwards as Madison's shots tore his chest apart, leaping red mist as he staggered back, off the edge of the road.

Madison let out a soft breath of relief and tilted her head forward. That had been close.

Too close because she had tried to be clever and had ended up being sloppy. Still, she didn't have any more holes in her than she needed, that was something.

She pushed herself up, brushed the dirt off of her knees and holstered her weapons. She walked over to the edge of the road and peered over. She saw Garza's twisted body lying on the sand-covered floor far below.

He might've been able to survive it if he hadn't decided to be clever.

Madison sighed and stepped around the battered hulk of the Humvee to look up and down the road. All those explosions would get somebody's attention sooner or later, and she shouldn't be here when they showed up.

In the middle distance she saw her rented Cadillac, fully gassed and ready to go. That would do fine for getting her home. She cast a glance at the damaged and dented Audi, sighed wistfully.

Definitely getting one of those, she thought happily, probably in something darker, like black.

Then she turned and walked to her bright pink ride. Grateful that her only injury seemed to be road rash on her knees she pondering what lay in the future.

Blondes driving monster trucks? Turkish Diplomats?

It didn't matter. Whatever was in her path, between her and the truth, she had to be ready. Her whole life, since she was fifteen, had been building towards this. She'd strived too long and too hard, done too many questionable things, and sacrificed too much to let anything get in her way.