I keep a relaxed pace as I navigate the market stalls lining the streets, absently pausing every now and then to look over the wares. No one looks twice at me. I’m invisible.
So, why Baghdad? It’s a fair question. Let’s face it, Iraq isn’t exactly renowned for its retirement community. But I’m not retired. Not yet. There are still a couple of things I feel I need to do, some loose ends that I need to tie up.
I tried not to push my luck with Schultz, in terms of asking for more favors. Not after everything he’s done for me. So, I asked for only one—access to the FBI’s ongoing investigation and their efforts to track down every last piece of shit who was affiliated with The Order of Sabbah.
He did, on the condition he never finds out why.
That’s fair enough.
Ruby wanted to come along, but I told her this was something I needed to do alone.
I have a rough idea where I’m going. I don’t have anyone telling me where to turn anymore, which will take some getting used to. Even when I was with The Order, separated from Josh, I still had them feeding me intel—albeit minimal, and mostly bullshit… don’t get me started. But I recognize the street I’m walking down from the GPS feeds I studied, so I must be close by now.
…
…
…
Yeah, here it is. There are two stalls selling fruit and vegetables near the curb, in front of a café. I slide between them, and head down a narrow alley that runs between the café and the building next to it. It’s dark and there’s a pungent smell of urine all around me.
I step out at the opposite end into a square formed by the buildings lining the circumference of the block. Stone steps lead to broken doors in all directions. There is a handful of people around, sitting on old chairs, or on the steps, smoking and drinking. A couple of them throw cautious glances in my direction, but most ignore me.
I look all around, studying the area, the buildings, the upstairs windows, the ways in and out of the square… familiarizing myself with every aspect of my surroundings.
Plan your exit long before you make your entrance.
Finally, my gaze settles on the doorway in the bottom corner, just to the right of the alley. I head over to it and try the handle for luck.
It’s locked.
Figures.
I risk another glance around, checking no one’s paying me any attention. They don’t appear to be. I turn my back to the square, shielding the view of the door as best I can. I discreetly move my hand beneath my shirt and slide the knife out of the sheath attached to my belt. It’s a ramshackle door, its weak wood scorched colorless from years of harsh sunlight. My blade is five inches long, and made from thick, serrated steel. I jam it between the edge of the door and the splintered frame, and press down on the latch. I grip the handle as best I can with my cast, and turn it, applying more pressure with the knife.
The door opens easily, leaving almost no visible damage.
I step inside, welcoming the shade. There’s a single door on the right wall, which I’m guessing leads into the back of the café. Straight ahead of me is a staircase, which I know leads to the apartment above.
I close the door behind me, and climb the stairs, taking two at a time, as quietly as I can. The pain in my hip is almost gone now. The wound is healing nicely and any ache tends to subside so long as I keep it moving.
There’s another door on the right at the top, and I repeat the process from before to open it. Inside is a dirty, barely-furnished living space consisting of three rooms. The bathroom is on the left, just inside the entrance. The door’s open, and I glance inside as I pass. The mirror above the sink is cracked, the john hasn’t been cleaned in years, and there’s a towel on the floor with a damp stain around it.
Someone’s used it recently, if it’s still wet.
I walk into the main living room, which is no more than a ten-by-ten cube of dirty tiles and cracked plaster. On the left, there’s an archway leading into a kitchen area. On the right, a single, unmade bed sits in the corner, facing the open window opposite. In the left corner, next to the archway, is a chair. It looks uncomfortable—I can see the springs protruding through the cushion. Still, I’m not standing around for God-knows how long, and there’s no way I’m sitting on that bed…
I lower myself carefully into the chair, sit back, and relax.
Now, we wait.
11:16 AST
I hear the door to the apartment open and close. I hear keys jangle, and grip the arms of the chair, ready to push myself up quickly, should I need to.
I hold my breath.
A man steps into the main room, facing right. He’s wearing a long, white robe with a thin, sleeveless black jacket over it. He unravels the scarf from his head, revealing his white, disheveled hair.
Slowly, quietly, I get to my feet, and lean casually against the wall, watching the man as he empties his pockets onto the bed.
I smile. “Considering how smart you’re supposed to be, you didn’t do a very good job of hiding, did you?”
Horizon spins around, his gaunt face frozen with shock. “Adrian? How did… how did you find me?”
I walk over to him. “Friends in high places.”
He backs away, stumbling against the edge of the bed, and sitting heavily. “What are you doing here?”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, you know, taking in the sights, enjoying the local beer… what do you think, you fucking idiot?”
“Now, wait a second, let’s… let’s talk about this, okay? I have nothing you want. Nothing you need. You won. You were right, I… I underestimated you. You beat me. You took down The Order. You have nothing to gain from—”
“Horizon? Number Seven? Colonel Sanders? Shush.” I step back, but make sure I put myself between him and the door, just in case he gets any ideas. “See, you’ve got it all wrong. Well, a bit of it wrong. You were right about most things, I’ll give you that. But you do have something I want. And you’re going to give it to me.”
He holds his hands up and nods hurriedly. “Of course. Anything. Whatever it is, you’ve got it.”
This is actually quite sad. He was the man who recruited me. The man who orchestrated my fake execution. From the moment I met him, like him or not, he’s always exuded confidence. He was always intelligent, tall, and calm. And now look at him. He’s a scared, frail old man. It’s almost hard to enjoy this without feeling cruel.
Almost.
“I want to know who did it.”
He frowns, appearing genuinely confused. “Did what?”
I stare at him and raise an eyebrow. I don’t say anything.
He gazes around the room, looking at anything except me. “I… ah… I don’t know.”
“Sure you do.”
“No, I… I can’t—”
“Sure you can.”
“But I haven’t got—”
“Yes, you have.” I move in front of him, and grab a handful of his beard, yanking down hard on it, pulling him with it. “Listen to me carefully, you sanctimonious prick. Even if you didn’t give the order yourself, you would’ve spoken to the version of you who did. Which means, at the very least, you know the name of the asset who put a bullet in my best friend. Tell me.”
I let go, and he sits upright, rubbing his face. “Even if I did know, what use is it to you? Assuming he’s not already been apprehended, you’ll never find him. The Order employed ghosts, remember?”
I smile. “He’s not, and I will. Just give me the name.”
“And if I don’t?”
I shrug. “Then your last minutes on this earth will be more painful than you can imagine.”
“But if I do…?”
“Then they won’t be.”
He thinks about it for a moment, and then slowly gets to his feet. He moves over to the small table beside the window and takes a pen and a piece of paper out of the drawer. He writes something down and hands it to me. I look at the name, memorize it, and then tear the paper into multiple pieces.
“Thanks, Horizon. That small gesture has helped you atone for almost all the shitty things you’ve done to me.”
I see a small spark in his eyes. Hope.
I lunge forward, and wrap my hand tightly around his throat, like a snake clamping down on its prey. He grabs my wrist with both of his weak, bony hands, but it’s futile. His eyes bulge with fear as they stare into mine.
“Unfortunately for you, you did a lot of shitty things to me, and some of them I just can’t forgive.” I reach inside one of my pockets using the finger and thumb of my injured hand, and take out a small, tubular pill. “Now, open wide, asshole.”
I squeeze tighter and shove the pill into his mouth. I release his throat, and grab his hair, yanking his head back, and pushing his jaw closed. “Swallow… swallow… There’s a good boy.”
He does, albeit grudgingly.
“Show me.”
The fear in his eyes has been replaced with anger, but I don’t care. He opens his mouth, and I look inside, making sure he’s not hiding it beneath his tongue or something. Happy he’s not, I let go of him, shoving him down on the bed before moving to the short hallway that leads to the front door.
Horizon coughs and splutters. “Is that it? You’re going to poison me? You goddamn coward!”
I laugh. “Please…” I take out a small device that looks like a tube of lipstick with a button on the top. “That wasn’t a poisoned pill. That was GlobaTech’s version of the tracking device you implanted in me.”
“Wh-what?”
“It has a lot of the same features. For example, I can now track your location to within a couple of feet, anywhere in the world.”
He looks around the room, as if plotting his escape. Despite the fact I just told him I can now find him anywhere.
Dick.
“It also has a small explosive charge in it, although GlobaTech’s versions offers a little more bang for your buck than yours did.”
He’s sweating and his hands are restless with nerves. “So, what, you’re going to keep tabs on me? Is that it? Torture me by forcing me to look over my shoulder for the rest of my life, constantly afraid that you might one day press that button? You sick bastard! I’d rather you just killed me.”
I stare at him silently, keeping my expression neutral.
It’s fun watching him squirm.
“Come on!” he yells. “Do it!”
I smile. “See you around, asshole.”
I turn and head for the door. Behind me, I hear him screaming through gritted teeth, and hitting the thin mattress with his fists out of frustration and fear. That’s his life now. I did that. And it’s no less than he deserves, right?
Right?
I head back along the hallway and poke my head around the corner. He looks up at me, confused. I smile at him. “I’m just fucking with you.”
I duck away and press the button.
The muted sound of a wet, sticky explosion fills the apartment, followed almost immediately by the squelch of thick blood spraying against the walls.
I wait for a moment and then turn around.
I laugh. “Holy shit!”
The room is painted a dark red. Sprawled across the bed is the remains of his torso. His head’s hanging off, and there’s a large cavity in his chest. His legs are resting in the middle of the room, separately.
I toss the detonator onto the bed. “Bet you didn’t see that coming, did you?”
I take one last look at the remains of the man who helped ruin my life, and then I walk out of the apartment, closing the door gently behind me.
EPILOGUE
June 23, 2017
18:34 HAST
The sound of the waves lapping on the white, sandy beach nearby is one of the most relaxing noises I can think of. It’s hotter than hell, but the shade from the palm trees lining the beach makes it tolerable.
I’m sitting on a high stool at a table, sipping an ice-cold bottle of beer. My shirt is open, allowing air to brush against my scarred body. Opposite me, sipping something through a straw from a coconut, is Ruby. She’s wearing a bikini top, and a short, white skirt, with large sunglasses covering her eyes.
“I’ve gotta hand it to you, Adrian,” she says, tipping her drink toward me. “You sure know how to celebrate freedom.”
I smile. “I promised Josh I would live my life. Drinking beer with a beautiful woman in a bar that’s a few feet from the beach in Hawaii… sounds like living to me.”
She takes her sunglasses off and smiles coyly. “Beautiful? Are you flirting with me?”
I roll my eyes. “Just calling it how I see it. Don’t get excited.”
We share a laugh.
She shrugs. “Well, it’s not like you’re Hugh Grant or anything…”
My smile fades and I take another sip of my beer.
She sighs. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
I wave away her apology. “I know, forget about it. Truth be told, I think you and him would’ve been happy together. God knows he needed someone like you to take that stick out of his ass.”
“Oooo, kinky!” She slurps her drink loudly. “I reckon he did alright with the ladies. He was a handsome man. And British. Women love a British accent.”
I nod. “Very true. Hell, I used to love it. When he got angry and started cussing, it sounded so funny and so aggressive at the same time. I think he just got so caught up in his job, he stopped having fun. I mean, all the shit he did for GlobaTech, the stuff with the Security Council… the belief that I was dead… I guess you can’t blame him. But you, you would’ve given him some much-needed perspective.”
Her cheeks flush a little and she holds her drink up. I touch it with the neck of my bottle.
“To hear you say you thought I was good enough for your friend, knowing what you two meant to each other, that means a lot to me, Adrian. Thank you.”
“No problem.”
“Y’know what I still don’t get? How you seem immune to me.”
I frown. “Immune? You’re not a disease…”
“I mean, I’ve spent a lot of years in this business, perfecting my persona, making the job easier. I look after myself. I know a lot of guys who would love to get their hands on the merchandise, y’know what I mean?” She pauses to gesture to her body. “But you don’t seem to be attracted to me. Why is that?”
I smile. Most people would find her arrogant, but I don’t. I know what she means.
“It’s not that I don’t find you attractive, Ruby, it’s just that I see through the act. Because that’s what it is—an act. All the flirting, the extroversion, the constant nudity… that’s not you. At least, not completely. It’s who you make yourself out to be to help you cope with the job. If you’re anything like me, your persona is simply a version of who you really are, but with the volume turned way up. I’m the same. Josh made me into Adrian Hell, and I made that person… that character work for me. I am who I am, but when I’m him, I’m just a little more violent.” I pause as we smile at each other. “When I look at you, honestly, I see beyond all that. I see the kind-hearted, loyal, passionate, sensitive woman who, as things stand, is the only friend I have left. Does that make sense?”
She doesn’t say anything. She looks at me for a moment, her lips slowly curling into a smile. She pushes herself off her stool, and walks around the table, stopping in front of me. She puts a hand on the back of my head, leans forward, and kisses me softly.
…
…
…
She pulls away, looking deep into my eyes. “I’ve got your back, Adrian. You have my word. We’re a team now, whether you like it or not. And I’m not looking to replace anybody—not Josh, not your girlfriend… nobody. I’m not here in any specific capacity. I’m simply like you. I have a second chance at life and very few people I can share it with. Now, what say we get another drink, and start enjoying ourselves?”
Holy crap.
I nod. “Sounds good to me.”
She
moves back to her seat, and I head over to the bar. The counter is made from thick bamboo wood and is lined with stools. The roof is thatched with grass, and the two barmaids serving are wearing coconuts and hula skirts, with white flowers in their hair. It’s pretty quiet in here. There are a few tables that are occupied with couples or small groups, and there’s one guy sitting at the bar, but that’s it.
The guy at the bar disappears to the bathroom as I’m ordering the drinks. I signal to the barmaid that I won’t be a minute, and head back there myself. I push the door open, noting the two empty cubicles as I walk along the row of urinals, stopping in front of the one that’s two along from the guy from the bar.
I glance over to him. He has a tanned complexion, which looks natural, not a product of the Hawaiian sun. His hair is thick and dark.
I nod. “Hey, man.”
He returns the gesture but says nothing.
“Beautiful, isn’t it? This bar, the beach…”
He shrugs. “I guess.”
He has an Italian accent.
“I’m on sabbatical from work. The wife and I are taking some time to see the world. You’re Italian, right?”
He finishes up and begins fastening his shorts. He nods.
I smile, excitedly. “No way! We’ve literally just come from Italy!”
“Small world,” he replies politely.
“Yeah, yeah… we were in Rome, about a week ago.”
He ignores me, turning his back to wash his hands.
I move beside him. “It was a bit crazy over there. Did you hear about it in the news?”
He shrugs, remaining silent.
“Yeah, all that shit with the pope. Man, that was messed up. I was with a friend over there, actually. It was the strangest thing—we were just hanging out at a café, when all of a sudden, this no-name piece of shit called Alfonso Moretti put a bullet through his fucking head…”
He stares ahead, looking at me in the mirror.
“Y’know what? Come to think of it, you look a lot like him. Say, did you used to work in The Order of Sabbah?”
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