Alexa - Legionnaire : Training an Assassin: Prequel to Alexa - The Series (5 page)

Callahan slammed the car into gear, and Perreira lurched back as they screeched away. Bryden leaned out of the window, glaring at them. They powered around the corner and Perreira flopped onto the backseat, spent. “Why didn’t you shoot him?” Perreira asked, breathing heavily.

“I was out of ammo. We have a room full of bombs but not one single nine millimetre clip!”

Perreira groaned, clutching his injured hand into his armpit. “I swear by my father’s grave, Bryden is going to suffer for what he has done to me.”

Callahan glanced at the rearview mirror. “Don’t forget about Cohen.
He
started this all.
He
cost us our livelihood.”

Perreira closed his eyes, nodded. “
Sí, sí
. They will all die. I will wipe them off the face of the earth!”

June 18, 1992

Jaffa, Israel

Bruce Bryden and David Cohen stood up as the doctor entered the waiting area. The man walked towards David and smiled encouragingly. Bruce put his hand on David's shoulder.

“David. Good news. Zachary had internal bleeding, but we managed to get it under under control. He's a tough nut.”

David Cohen looked relieved.

“And Sarah? How is she?” Bruce asked.

“Stable. I think she’ll be fine. She needs rest, but she has recovered well.” He nodded at Bruce. “You saved her life.”

“Thank god,” David said, squeezing Bruce’s shoulder. “Becky wouldn’t be able to cope without her.”

The doctor stuck out his hand and greeted the men. David sat with a relieved sigh and glanced up at Bruce. “That was close. Too close.”

Bruce kneeled in front of the older man and grabbed his knee. “David, we need to get out of here. You guys are sitting ducks. It's a question of time before they regroup and try again.”

David Cohen shook his head. “No Bruce, we're Cohens.” He punched his leg, a determined look on his face. “And Cohens do not run from anybody. We stay and we fight.”

September 7, 1992.

Jaffa, Israel.

Zachary Cohen wiped cold beads of perspiration from his brow. He pulled the needle from his vein, loosened the tourniquet, and sat back with a sigh. He put the lighter, a bag of meth crystals, and hypodermic needle in a tin and tossed them in the glove compartment. Zachary rolled down his shirtsleeve and grabbed his leather jacket from the passenger seat of the car.
 

He flipped the rearview mirror down towards him and studied the reflection. A pale, gaunt face stared back at him, dark circles beneath the eyes accentuating the ashen skin. He brushed his curly black hair with his fingers, rolled his shoulders, and prepared himself mentally.

Zachary pushed himself out of the car and strolled towards the entrance gate of a neat, whitewashed villa. A white-pebbled pathway led to the front door.
 

Some weeds had appeared between the white stones. Brambles sprouted in one of the flower beds. He bent down and tore them out halfheartedly, leaving the roots behind. This annoyed him intensely. He clawed at the embedded tubers, gouging the earth with his thumb. He stomped on the small hole he had made and cursed as a dizzy spell gripped him. He shook off a meth shiver and steadied himself against the gate, regaining his balance.

Symbolic of everything my life has become. Why would she want to stay here?
 

He opened the gate and crunched up the pathway towards the two-story home. His home. Rang the doorbell, two long buzzes and a short one as he always did when returning. He turned around and sauntered into the garden, inhaling the heady odor of the sweet alyssum blooming in the unkempt flowerbeds. Zach experienced another pang of guilt.
 

I should be here.

The front door flew open and Becky came bounding down the stairs, an expression of pure joy on her face. She swung a backpack in her hand. She buzzed towards him and launched herself into his arms with a child’s exuberance. He grabbed her and tossed her into the air, catching her gently. She giggled delightedly. Zach put her down, pouted his lips, and tapped them with his finger. “Give daddy a kiss.”

Becky planted a kiss onto his mouth and hugged his neck, her lips to his ear.

“I missed you, Daddy. Come on, let’s go,” she said bouncing up and down excitedly.

Sarah appeared in the doorway in a wheelchair, hugging her arms insecurely.

“I missed you too, my baby. I want to say hi to Mommy first, OK?”

She nodded, her dark hair bouncing on her shoulders.

Zach climbed the stairs to the porch. Sarah was watching him, a mixture of tenderness and uncertainty on her face. He kissed her forehead and kneeled next to her.
 

“You’ve been gone for a long time, Zachary,” she said and cupped his chin. “Is everything OK?”
 

He nodded.

“You’re a good man, Zachary.” She hesitated. “That man said things about you—“

He stood up. “I cannot get into that now, Sarah.”

“It still doesn’t change who you are,” she said and pursed her lips. “Who you are to me.”

He breathed deeply then squeezed her shoulder. “I miss you.”
 

“So why don’t you come back? Nothing has changed. You need to stop beating yourself up like this. This wasn’t your fault,” she said, slapping her thigh to enunciate her last sentence.

Zachary threw his hands in the air. “Back? Come back here?” he hissed through gritted teeth. Becky looked at them with wide eyes.
 

He sighed and glanced down at Sarah, his shoulders slumped. “I need to sort some things out first. You know that.” He stared at her, imploring Sarah to understand.
 

Rebecca was becoming restless. “Let’s go, Daddy. You promised, remember?”

He smiled at her. She had her mom’s long, dark hair.

“I remember, baby,” Zachary said, picking her up. He walked back to the car, threw Becky’s backpack onto the backseat, and fastened her into her car seat.
 

Sarah called to him. “Revenge won’t solve anything. Bruce is on this. He’ll get those bastards.” She absentmindedly brushed at the scar on her neck.

“I know, Sarah,” he said wearily and waved her away. “I’ll see you later.”
 

Zach climbed into the car and relaxed. He took a deep breath and looked back at his daughter. “Let’s go to the zoo, baby.”

“Yay,” she shouted bouncing up and down in her chair, beaming her marvelously exaggerated “Becky smile.”

He put the car into gear and sped off without looking back.
 

This can't go on forever.
He yearned to sleep in his own bed again. To hold his wife in his arms. But he wasn’t ready. Not yet.

Sarah rolled the wheelchair back into the house, shut the door behind her, and sat still for a moment. She straightened her dress and sobbed, rocking back and forth in the wheelchair.

Yaya shuffled down the stairs. “He still doesn't want to come back?” she asked her daughter-in-law.

Sarah nodded, wiping tears from her eyes.

Yaya knelt next to her Sarah and embraced her. “He is like his father in that way. Once he puts his mind to something, he won't stop until he finishes.” She gave Sarah a hug. “It will all be OK, you'll see. Cohens are survivors; we always get through dreadful situations like these.”

Sarah sobbed and nodded with pursed lips, trying to fight back the tears. “I know, Mom,” she whimpered and looked up, seeking solace from the gods she hoped were there. “I know.”

November 13, 1992

Jaffa, Israel

Rebecca's eyes flew open as a powerful hand clamped over her mouth. A large man was looking down, sneering at her. He had a golden tooth and a toothpick in his mouth.
 

He had a blade strapped to his arm, but he didn’t have a hand.
 
He dragged the blade across her neck. “I’m going to slit you like I slit your momma, little girl.”

Rebecca bit his hand and shrieked.

Sarah ground the cigarette into the ashtray then closed a photo album she had been paging through and put it on the side table. She glanced at the flashing LCD clock on the VCR.
 

3:15 a.m.
 

She stood wearily, scooped up the overflowing ashtray, and emptied it into the dustbin. She felt numb, emotionally drained.

The past month had been pure hell. She had to cope with almost losing her husband. Then the distance he had kept from her and her own physical pain. She knew she needed to get her energy back, to be strong for the family. At least he had come back. She didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse.
 

She sighed then switched on the kettle and lit another cigarette. He was using drugs. He was impossible to live with. Yaya said it was the guilt; it was eating him up from the inside.
 

The staircase creaked and Zachary shuffled down, holding on to the handrail for balance. He cast her a furtive glance but said nothing.

“How are you?” she asked.

“You know,” he said and shrugged. “The sleeping pills helped for a couple of hours, but it’s tough.”
 

“We should take Bruce up on his offer. Get Becky out of here, somewhere safer.”

He shook his head. “I’m not giving up on my daughter, Sarah.” He glared at her. He looked like shit, unshaven, and he refused to sleep in their bed, preferring the one in the guest bedroom.

“He’s a good man, Zachary. He loves Rebecca like his own. And she is fond of him as well.”

The ceiling squeaked as padded footsteps sounded above them.

“Is she awake?” Sarah asked, surprised.

Zachary shook head. “She was asleep when I left her.” He turned around. “I’m going to bed.”

Sarah followed him as he ambled up the stairs. She peeked into Rebecca's room. A hooded figure was hunched over her body, and then Rebecca screamed.
 

Zach swung around, slipped, then ran into Rebecca’s room and leaped towards Rebecca's assailant. The gun flashed before the shot echoed in her ears. Zachary groaned and fell to the floor, clutching his stomach. Another shot rang out and Sarah dove down the stairwell, stumbling her way to the kitchen.
 

She rummaged in a drawer and found what she was looking for, then she spun around and fired haphazardly up the stairs. The footsteps ran away from her and then a crash as glass broke. A dull thump as the assailant landed in the garden outside, urgent footsteps as he ran down the blacktop, making a hasty escape.

Sarah bounded up the stairs. Rebecca was kneeling next to her father, her black hair forming a curtain in front of her face.
 

Sarah put her ear to Zachary's chest. He wasn’t breathing.

She rushed into Zachary’s study, her hand shaking as she dialed 102. The operator tried to calm her down and promised an ambulance would be there within five minutes.

She slammed the phone onto the receiver and dialed another number. After three rings, Bruce answered groggily. “Hello?”

“Oh God, Bruce. Help us! Please help us!” she screamed hysterically.

The doctor strode towards Sarah and looked at her helplessly, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Cohen. We did all we could do. He had massive blood loss. He had barely recovered from the previous attack.” He pursed his lips. “He was weak.”

Rebecca Cohen put her hands to her face. She sat down shakily and sobbed.
 

Bruce nodded solemnly and thanked the man.

The doctor left and ambled down the passage, out of sight. He entered his office and closed the door behind him, picked up a phone, and punched in a number.

“Hello?”

“Hello. This is Dr. Frankel.”

“How did they take the news?”

“His wife is distraught. Bawling her eyes out.”

“And they believed you?”

The doctor smiled. “Absolutely. I’ve had lots of practice.”

“And where is he now?”

“In an ambulance, on his way to you.”
 

“Condition?”

The doctor thought for a moment. “Not good. All that’s keeping him alive is the life support equipment.”

“Brain damage?”
 

“No, none. But he’s had massive renal failure. He’s not going to live through this.”

The voice chuckled. “We shall see about that Doctor, we shall see.”

Sarah called Bruce to the kitchen. “Are you sure she’ll be safe with you?” she asked nervously, pulling the belt around her gown.

Bruce nodded. “Both of you will.”

“So we’ll have to move to South Africa?” Sarah asked. “Leave everything behind?”

“Unfortunately, yes, Sarah. And I would like to adopt Rebecca as my own daughter, as another level of protection.” He shrugged. “Maybe change her name. Get as far away from this place as we can.”