Jaxon wasted no time and sprinted toward the surface access point. As he reached the corner of the next street, he heard several shots being fired behind him. He turned and saw Gillette convulse with each bullet. His body dropped to the ground, face down and lifeless.

Until that point, the death toll had consisted of only the killers after him. Now, it was Gillette's blood that had fallen, and all he could think about was avenging his death. But he knew it would be suicide. He still had no weapons and he was still in an unfamiliar area. All he could do was run.

He turned up the street and saw the entrance to the surface stairway less than a block away. He dug deep and increased his speed toward the door.

As he reached for the door handle, he hoped that there would be no unforeseen obstacles on the other side. He gripped the handle and wrenched it open, blindly springing himself into the stairway. It was dark, but it was thankfully vacant.

Maintaining his momentum, he shot up the first flight of stairs. As he turned at the first landing and began to ascend the second flight, the door behind him opened and closed.

They're right on my heels.

Not wanting to slow his pace to see if his suspicions were correct, he barreled up the second flight of stairs at twice the speed. As he climbed, he glanced up the center of the stairwell and could see that he had at least a dozen flights of stairs before he got to the top.

That's when he realized he had yet another problem: how to don his environmental suit while running up the stairs. He carried it in the backpack slung over his shoulder and had figured all along that he'd have time to put it on long before actually arriving at the moon's surface. His only hope was that he had more stamina than those following him and that he could somehow have time when he reached the top to adequately protect himself from the moon's lack of atmosphere.

As he turned the next landing, he unslung his pack, pulling the suit out in the same swift motion. He gripped it and slung it over his shoulder before dropping the duffel on the stairway. He decided that after banking the next landing, he'd pause long enough to slip his feet into the legs and continue climbing as he finished slipping his arms into the sleeves.

When he reached the fifth landing, he stopped and quickly dropped his right foot into the first pant leg. As he raised his left foot, something dropped from above, catching his attention.

It struck the landing and bounced down the stairwell before it detonated. The explosion of the grenade nearly knocked him to the floor.

The closeness of the explosion stopped Jaxon in his tracks. He knew that there were killers coming up from below, but who dropped the grenade from above? Hopefully, the grenade took out at least a few of his followers down below.

Suddenly a second grenade dropped and landed right next to his feet. Before he could grab it and toss it away, it detonated, the flash causing near blindness. The blast launched Jaxon several meters into the air, and he fell hard against the steel stair treads. Jaxon was still conscious and was surprised that he was still alive after such a close detonation.

It must have been a flash grenade, he thought, as he had few injuries. He tried to stand but quickly fell back from the dizziness.

He tried again but had the same result, falling down the stairway even further.

As he lay there, only marginally aware of his condition, the edges of his vision continued to blur. Within seconds, he was almost to the darkness in front of him when he saw several pairs of combat boots approach. Then he blacked out completely.

19.

Eighteen years ago - Live training, mission number one, Ixtapa, Mexico.

Objective: assassinate Ignacio Guzman (El Tonto).

Timeframe: Immediate.

Threat level: Severe.

Operatives: Saber.

Method: Sniper Rifle.

The gentle roar of the ocean crashing against the sandy beach rolled in from my right. The salty air thick with humidity caused beads of sweat to constantly roll off my skin. Any perspiration that remained quickly evaporated, leaving a sticky residue in its place.

Concerned about a potential malfunction, I cycled through my rifle's chamber. Or was it out of nervous habit? I lifted the bolt up and back, ejecting the .50 caliber bullet from its chamber. I caught it in midair and examined the condition of the casing before reinserting it. I drove the bolt forward and slapped it back down, confident that for the fiftieth time, everything would go as planned.

I readied the rifle to my shoulder and peered through the scope. At the center of the crosshairs, the world moved at an exaggerated rate as I swung the rifle, slowly, from left to right.

There wasn't a soul in sight in the luxurious courtyard, but it was early. Having gone through nearly four years as a cadet, and an additional year and a half of specialized training, I was ready. Eager, but ready. I just hoped that I wouldn't fuck it up.

I continued to study the patio and the surrounding veranda, alternating between my scope and a pair of binoculars that had inferior optics, but gave me a bigger picture of the situation. In between endlessly scanning the area, I continued ejecting the cartridge from my rifle. I was nervous.

Then, just as I'd taken a moment away from my obsessing, I leaned back in my chair and noticed the door burst open into the courtyard across the way. A quick glance through binoculars and I knew it was time. One by one, people started coming through the open doorway. The first half dozen men through were armed guards, most likely there to protect El Tonto. Then, a handful of women and children scampered out into the courtyard. Finally, El Tonto walked out and into the brutal sunlight.

After many weeks of intense training, I was finally at the precipice of death. I had visualized the man's face in my crosshairs thousands of times, and here I was, at the moment of his departure. Strangely, I froze. I suddenly saw a real person in place of what I'd only envisioned as his likeness, an image of himself. The person in front of me was now a living, breathing individual. I began to panic.

A crackle in my ear brought my wandering attention back to the present.

"Eagle's Roost, to Saber, do you read?"

I touched the skin beneath my ear and pressed down, activating the implanted hypo-comm device. "I hear you, Eagle's Roost. Loud and clear, over."

"Roger that. Are we ready to dance? Over."

"That's affirmative, Eagle's Roost," I said. "The ballerina is on the dance floor."

"Understood. Do you anticipate any difficulties? Over," Eagle's Roost asked.

Ignoring my concern of the humidity or my own psyche, I said, "There's a slight breeze, but it's nothing that the digital sight compensator can't handle. Over."

"Copy that. You now have full authorization to proceed. The time is finally here, Saber. You've had a great training run, and you'll be a prized asset. I'm going radio silent now, but I will be monitoring the comm line."

I took a deep breath and raised my rifle to my shoulder. He was right. I did have a great training run, and I knew it. I felt like a natural and nobody was going to take that away. I had anticipated this moment for so long, I only feared the sadness that would come after it was done.

Forcing the thoughts out of my mind, I sighted through the scope. It was a nice one, far nicer than my personal rifle back home. This model had digital readouts, showing distance and wind speed, and it was even equipped with optional low-light compensators. It truly was the Cadillac of sniper rifles.

"Distance to target: 200 meters. Windage: 2 kilometers from the south."

I lowered the rifle and verified the auto-adjustments on the scope before shouldering it once again. I panned through the crowd until I found my target. El Tonto. He was standing in the middle of several men, full of arrogance and gusto, speaking excitedly to the crowd. Those that surrounded him cheered and joined in the celebration. It was his birthday, and if you were present, you were part of his personal entourage, or you were family. Both of which were very important in their culture.

I thumbed the safety latch to off and slid my finger around the trigger. It was time. I monitored my breathing, taking in a slow, deep breath before exhaling fully. When my breath was completely exhausted, I refocused my scope on the target and firmly squeezed the trigger.

A teen boy ran across the patio from just outside of my scope's view. At the precise moment I squeezed the trigger, the child crossed through and into the crosshairs. It was too late. The report of the rifle echoed throughout the city, startling birds into the air. Instinctively, the multitude of people in the courtyard cowered at the sound. I knew timing was everything, and I needed to be on my way before the echo of the gunfire subsided, but I had to see. Did I hit the kid or did I take my target out?

I shouldered my rifle once again and peered through the scope at the calamity across the city square. It was chaos. People were running franticly, screaming in fear. The armed guards took defensive points around the wide open courtyard. They were scanning the surrounding buildings, looking for the killer. The assassin. They were looking for me. I focused my rifle on the last position that El Tonto stood and found no one there. I lowered my scope slightly and found two bodies lying on the floor, both of them covered in blood. I scrutinized the scene, and it was horrific. El Tonto was down, and the left side of his chest was obliterated. The wound was deep, wide, and covered in blood. Mission accomplished. I panned my rifle to the second body and cringed. It was a boy, probably around sixteen, and the side of his face was covered in blood. His condition: unknown.

"My God, what have I done?" I mumbled.

"You have to move, now, Saber," crackled into my ear.

So much for radio silence, I thought.

Stunned, I cursed at myself for being so careless. How could I have overlooked the potential of injuring another person, let alone a child? I tried to keep my hands from shaking, but it was difficult. Then the crackle came once again.

"Saber, do you read? You have to move now. El Tonto's guards are already on the move. You've got sixty seconds to get out of there."

Forcing away my remorse, I lurched into action. With a practiced hand, I dismantled my sniper rifle and slipped each of the parts into a compact briefcase, just like I'd done hundreds of times through training. I closed the window and shuttered the drapes in the small hotel room. I rushed to the far side of the room and slipped the briefcase into an exposed cavity in the wall. Once in place, I slid the bureau in front of it before doing one last pass through the room, being sure not to leave anything out of place.

Calm and collected, I stepped out into the corridor and made for the exit stairwell. I knew that as soon as I reached street level, El Tonto's goons would be all over the place, most likely being assisted by the local police.

As I descended the stairway, I pulled out a wig of slick brown hair and donned it over my tightly cropped sandy blond hair. Then, from my inside pocket, I slipped out a dark brown mustache adhered to a piece of cellophane. I paused momentarily, long enough to apply the critical piece of my disguise.

Finally, on the move again, I slipped off my jacket and discarded it in the stairwell. My undershirt was of white linen, with sweat stains in the armpits. I now looked like a Mexican worker that had been slaving away in the sun for many hours. When I reached the first-floor landing, I picked up a broom and dust pan that I'd previously placed in the inside corner, completing my disguise. I stepped out onto the street.

20.

A stinging pain overcame Jaxon as he rolled to his side. He was waking up. He tried to reach up and soothe the back of his head, but his hands didn't cooperate. They were bound at his sides.

He opened his eyes and blinked several times, trying to remove the blurriness from his vision. After several moments of uneasiness, his surroundings started to come into focus. It was clear to him that he was in some sort of cargo facility by the multiple lashing points around the perimeter. At the far end of the bay, the wall was slanted up and away and had signs of substantial use. A retractable loading ramp. He was on a military supply ship.

To his right, there was a ship's ladder leading up to a platform with a single man-sized door. Leading into the rest of the ship, he assumed.

Jaxon tried to stand, but the restraints at his side were lashed to the bindings at his seat. He looked down and found that he was not only bound at the wrists and waist, but his ankles were shackled as well.

"What the hell?" Jaxon murmured, trying to get a grasp of his situation.

As if on cue, the door on the landing above grinded open, and a man in black military fatigues stepped out. He gripped the sides of the ship's ladder and slid down to his level then headed right for Jaxon.

"What's going on here?" Jaxon asked, attempting to raise his hands.

The man in black walked by Jaxon, ignoring his question. He continued past and sat a few seats away.

"Hey, are you deaf? Why am I in handcuffs? Who are you?" Jaxon asked again.

A faint smile crept across the stranger's face. He fastened his seatbelt and pulled a magazine from beneath his seat and began reading.

Jaxon rolled his neck to the side, attempting to release the pressure building up on his spine. The pain was excruciating, and it felt like he'd been run over by a truck. He thought back to his last moments of consciousness, but most of it was a blur.

He was with Gillette on the moon base, and they were attempting to ... to do what? What were they trying to do? Jaxon wondered, running through multiple scenarios in his mind.

Wait a second, he thought. Why was I even on the moon?

Slowly, Jaxon worked backward through what had happened, and few seconds later, everything came flooding back. The ambush at his apartment, the assassination attempts in the service tunnels as well as at his tea shop. Everything rushed into his mind like a freight train.

"Okay, if you don't want to tell me who you are, can you tell me why you want me dead?" Jaxon asked, trying a different approach.

The man shrugged as he flipped through the pages of his magazine.

"Come on, man. You've got to give me something," Jaxon pleaded.

"Ain't got to do shit," said the man in black without looking up.

"Okay, fine. Can you at least unhook me from this chair? I'd like to stand and stretch my legs," Jaxon asked, already calculating potential escape routes. But escape to where? he wondered.

Surprisingly, the man in black stood and unlocked the steel cable that had been run through the shackles at his feet and waist. "Don't do anything stupid," he said.

Jaxon stood and promptly sat right back down due to dizziness.

"How long have I been out?" Jaxon asked.

"Not long," the man said.

Jaxon stood again, and waited for him to expound, but it became clear that he was a man of few words. He'd already sat back down and resumed flipping through his magazine.

As soon as Jaxon's equilibrium was balanced, he began to shuffle his shackled feet up and down the cargo bay, trying to formulate his plan further. Experience told him that the difference in the artificial gravity and the momentum he felt in the ship's superstructure meant that he was, in fact, flying through space. Besides living on earth for most of his life, Jaxon had spent a significant amount of time on the moon, or on various space stations. Each environment had its own distinct level of gravity that he'd learned to recognize. The gravity beneath his feet right now was unmistakable and doom quickly set in as he realized that he was out of luck for any attempt to escape. Unless he could get out of his shackles, he was at the mercy of his captors.

But who were his captors? Where were they taking him? His only guess was to the outer ring, which oddly enough was his initial destination.

After a bit of time pacing back and forth, the man in black called.

"You better sit back down, boss. We'll be landing soon, and we'd hate to see you get ... knocked around," he said with a wry smile.

Reluctantly, Jaxon agreed. Depending on where they would be stopping, the landing could be rough. He retook his seat and the man in black leaned over and refastened his seatbelt.

"Got to stay buckled up, you know? It could be bumpy," he said.

Shortly after, Jaxon felt the momentum of the ship change and the pit in his stomach rose. They were dropping. Oddly enough, the gravity beneath him changed as well. It was much stronger, and he knew instantly where they were heading. They were returning to earth.

21.

The floor plates beneath Jaxon's feet began to vibrate. Jaxon gathered that the landing thrusters had just been engaged and the moment of his reintroduction to the Earth's surface was imminent. The reunion after eight peaceful years living in hiding.