Chapter 11: The Cleaner
On the Chantell's third floor, the crashes of thunder were cacophonically mixing with bursts of gunfire. Lara fired four times at the man's chest, but he merely turned around and aimed the SMG at her again. "Great, he must have some kind of bulletproof vest." Lara jumped over the guy before the burst tore through the living room. In mid-air, she spun around and landed facing the Cleaner again.
While the contract killer pivoted to find his target, Lara emptied the magazine into his limbs. The man reeled for a second, but was soon firing the SMG once more. Lara ducked and rolled sideways. Bullets plunged into the mirror, a broad waterfall of slivers flowing to the carpet. The sideboard's wooden legs snapped, and the photo of Lara and Werner returned to the floor from whence it came.
Lara scanned the room and quickly spotted two more magazines laying on the floor next to the dining table. The woman dashed for the ammo, but was abruptly yanked back as the Cleaner grabbed her braid and flung her into the wall. Lara let out a yelp of pain and fell onto the unforgiving floor. The SMG muzzle was soon pressed against her neck. The Cleaner gave a sadistic smile and squeezed the trigger.
Click.
Even though the Viper SMG was an extraordinarily powerful weapon, it had one thing in common with all other guns – it needed ammo. The Cleaner produced another magazine and reloaded the SMG in a few skilled, swift movements.
However, that two-second pause was all the time Lara needed. She gripped one of the mirror fragments from the floor and flung it at the Cleaner. The glass plunged into the man's cheek and sent blood squirting out of the pale face.
The Cleaner sprinted out of the apartment. Lara scrambled to her feet. "That floor was uncomfortable – damp and cold. I should complain to the concierge." She reloaded her Rigg 09 with the ammo next to the dining table and pocketed the other magazine. She then followed the hired killer through the hall and back to the narrow, carpeted corridor.
Numerous lasers were rigged up between explosives attached to the walls to her right. If anyone touched the bright red rays, they would of course set off the explosives. The laser tripwires were undoubtedly the work of the Cleaner as well. "He really is a professional. I'll have to take this real easy." Lara turned to her left, ran down the corridor and through the first open apartment door. It appeared Von Croy's neighbours had been painting their flat. Old Parisian newspapers and buckets of paint were scattered across the floor. The furniture was concealed under white blankets.
Suddenly, the familiar noise of a SMG burst plagued Lara's ears. Bullet marks dotted the thin far wall of the flat, and the Cleaner pushed the oblong portion of the wall down from the other side. It seemed he had already plastered the gash on his cheek. The Parisian contract killer aimed at his target through the newly created doorway and pulled the Viper's trigger again, but the weapon had once more run out of ammo. He tossed it to the floor and pulled out two pistols instead.
Lara dove for cover behind an old loveseat. A cloud of dust rose from the cushions as bullets plunged into them. Lara instinctively grabbed the closest paint pot and hurled it over the top of the sofa. The Cleaner easily ducked, but Lara used that moment to aim and fire, frantically squeezing the trigger again and again …
The Cleaner staggered away from the gap in the wall, while Lara jammed her last magazine into the Rigg 09. She whirled around, vaulted over the couch and rushed through the jagged doorway left by the Cleaner and his SMG. Said weapon lay in the cramped hall on the other side, along with a few clips dropped by the Cleaner when he ran off.
"Well, wouldn't want those to go to waste, now would we?" Lara snatched the SMG, reloaded it and stuffed the rest of the clips into her pockets. Now properly armed, she ran out to the corridor, intent on finishing that assassin creep off.
More lasers were rigged up horizontally to her right. Lara lowered herself onto the floor and commando-crawled under the rays, pressing her upper body into the warm carpet. She scrambled to her feet on the other side and ran on through the hallway.
As she turned a corner, two bombs were activated in the stairwell ahead. The entire building shook, and a resonant crash echoed through the halls and homes of the Chantell. By the time Lara reached the stairwell, flames had spread along the banisters, and the few portions of the stairs that hadn't collapsed were buried under rubble.
"Where are all the tenants?" Lara wondered, hopping down the ruins of the staircase. "Did that killer – or whoever hired him – actually have the whole building evacuated?"
The second floor hall was filled with the Cleaner's trademark laser tripwires connected to explosives. A splitsecond after Lara entered the hall, three lasers were switched on behind her, blocking one end of the corridor. The Cleaner stood in the doorway at the opposite end, taking aim with his automatic weapon.
Lara held her Rigg and SMG out and dashed down the corridor, both guns blazing. The Cleaner opened fire as well, but Lara ducked into an apartment doorway and hid in the shadow before any of the bullets reached their target. She continued this routine of sprinting down the hall, leaping over the tripwires and emptying her weapons into the contract killer until she could pause in another doorway.
Having finally reached the last doorway next to the Cleaner, Lara hugged the wall and reloaded the SMG with her last ammo. Meanwhile, the Cleaner's cell phone started ringing. He momentarily lowered his gun to pull the phone out. Lara poked the muzzle around the corner of the doorway and squeezed the trigger.
Caught off his guard, the Cleaner stumbled back from the force of the headshot. His sunglasses flew off, revealing a pair of shocked grey eyes. These were not visible for long, though, as the bullets plunged through his head. Blood sprayed over his lineaments, concealing them like a bright red shroud. The man staggered back, lost balance and tumbled down the staircase to the first floor entrance hall.
His cell phone was still ringing.
Lara slowly walked to the bottom of the staircase and crouched down at the Cleaner's corpse. A stench of blood and urine invaded her nostrils. For safety's sake, she checked his pulse, but not the slightest beat came from his wrist. She then took the phone from his limp fingers and answered the call. A horribly familiar voice grated from the other end.
"Is she taken care of yet?"
Lara frowned and tightened her grip on the cell phone, resisting the urge to throw it to the floor and blast it to pieces with her SMG.
"Is she dead yet?" the man repeated his question in a nervous, impatient tone. "We have to get back to Prague."
"No, Bouchard. She isn't," Lara replied. "But your little friend is. I'll take care of you later." She tossed the phone away.
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In the car parked outside the Chantell, Bouchard winced at the loud clatter of the Cleaner's phone skidding across the floor. The underground czar flicked his own Nokia closed and signalled for the driver to speed off. The car was soon blending in with the traffic of Champs-Elysées. A dismal moon hung over the Sacré-Coeur dome in the distance.
Bouchard leaned back in his seat and clenched his eyes shut, wishing he would wake up in a world where monsters like Eckhardt would never plague him again. Alas, no matter how nightmarish it may seem, you can never awake from reality. Bouchard sighed and opened his cell phone again, dialling a Czech number.
"The Gunderson Agency, how may I help you?" said a young secretary on the other end. Her voice sounded ridicolously sweet compared to the nature of the firm she worked for.
"I need to talk to one of your clients," Bouchard said. "Pieter Van Eckhardt."
"Not available," the secretary replied.
"Ex hostium vi mea vis maior," Bouchard said. The password had been chosen by Eckhardt himself. It translated as: 'The strength of my enemies empowers me.'
"Please wait," the secretary said, putting Bouchard through to his employer.
The old male voice greeted Bouchard with a question: "Is she dead?"
Bouchard hesitated, afraid. "She … I don't know what happened, Master Eckhardt. I hired the best killer in Paris, the Cleaner, but she just …"
Eckhardt could easily sense the anxiety and hopelessness in the Frenchman's voice. "You failed."
"Y-yes. Forgive me," Bouchard stuttered. "Please, accept my deepest apologies."
"I do not want apologies; I want results. You're the most powerful boss of the Parisian underworld, and a mere little worm like her slips through your filthy fingers." Eckhardt's voice conveyed anything but forgiveness. "What is the name of that grandchild of yours?"
Bouchard's breath caught in his throat. He did not like the way this conversation was developing. "H-her name's Audrey."
"Ah, yes. The adorable Audrey. She has such a pretty smile. You sent her seven pony-dolls last christmas, didn't you?"
"How the helldo you know that?!" Bouchard blurted out.
"Don't think we haven't been watching you, Bouchard." Eckhardt's voice grew sharp and cold. "The Agency has been monitoring every little second of your life, so don't even think about disobeying me. Which would you prefer? Shall we shoot Audrey in her pretty face while she's playing with her little ponies? Or would you rather have us burn down her house and mutilate her parents while she's at nursery school?"
"What do you want from me?" Bouchard breathed.
"Come to Prague. We have much to discuss." Eckhardt hung up.
Bouchard pocketed his phone and stared out at the dark horizon above the Seine. He once more found himself wishing he could awake from the nightmare that had invaded his reality.
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In the Chantell building, Lara produced a strange remote control from the Cleaner's pocket. Pressing the buttons, she disarmed the remaining bombs and lasers rigged up in the building. Two quick beeps from a car parked outside announced that she had also switched off the alarm system in the Cleaner's jeep.
Lara continued searching through the corpse's pockets and found a dark blue business card for 'Mathias Vasiley, Prague, Czech Republic / Ceská Republika'. The symbol next to Vasiley's name piqued Lara's interest – it was exactly the same as the Lux Veritatis symbol Werner had drawn in his notebook.
"It's time I visited Prague …"
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