Diary of an Assassin

by Methos, Victor

  “Oh man,” Dave said, “here it comes.”

  “Here what comes?”

  “Work. Can’t you just turn your phone off? I’m sure there’re other lawyers at your firm that can handle whatever it is.”

  “You know that’s not how it works. Just give me a second.” She stood up and walked toward the restaurant’s exit. “This is Vanessa,” she said as she stepped outside.

  “We’ve got a hit.”

  “Where?”

  “Upstate New York. I’ve got a team headed up there now.”

  “No, send it to our French magician.”

  “It’ll take him hours to get—”

  “Have a team keep an eye on them, but I want him handling this. If they move, you call him and tell him where. And then you call me right after.”

  “I’m on it.”

  She hung up the phone and walked back inside. “I have to go.”

  “What?” Dave said. “You haven’t even eaten yet.”

  “Call me this weekend.”

  CHAPTER 22

  After unpacking the groceries, Rhett checked the perimeter of the home one more time. Inside, he showered and changed into a sweat suit. Stephanie took a shower after him as he stood in the kitchen and cooked a meal of chicken skewers and lemon rice.

  Cooking had always been pleasant for him, something one could do to occupy their mind. Frequently, he would lose track of time while doing it.

  “That smells great,” Stephanie said, coming out of the bathroom in blue pajamas. “I found this in a closet. Hope it’s okay that I’m wearing it.”

  “It was my grandmother’s. It’s fine. Hungry?”

  “Starving,” she said, sitting down at the dining room table.

  He dished out some rice and two skewers alongside a warm pita from the oven and placed the dish in front of her. He did the same for himself and sat down. He reached for a piece of chicken. “Wait,” Stephanie said, “we have to say a blessing.”

  “What?”

  “A blessing. Grace.”

  “You’re kidding?” She looked at him without speaking. “Okay, go ahead.”

  She closed her eyes and interlaced her fingers. “Dear Father in Heaven, please bless us this day that this food will nourish and strengthen our bodies, that those that wish to do us harm will be stayed, and that those we care about will be blessed by thy hand. In the name Jesus Christ. Amen.”

  Rhett popped the chicken in his mouth. “I didn’t know you were religious.”

  “How would you?”

  “Good point.”

  “My mother was. She would force us to attend church until we were eight. She felt like by then we could make our own choices. I still went but my brother stopped going.”

  “My grandparents were Mormon. They forced me to go to church every Sunday until I was eighteen. Didn’t stick, though.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. Seems irrational, considering how much pain is in the world. Hard to believe someone is looking out for us.”

  “I think it’d be lonely to think we’re on our own.”

  “That’s life. Anyone telling you different wants something from you.”

  “So do you—oh my gosh, this is delicious.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Where’d you learn to cook?”

  “Spain. I spent about five years there for work.”

  They ate quietly a moment before she said, “Isaac, what’s happening to me? Who do you work for? Is it really the government?”

  “No. Well, kind of.”

  “Who then?”

  “It’s called Starlight. It’s an agency that takes care of problems.”

  “Starlight…why does that sound familiar?”

  “They do mercenary work. They got into trouble a few years ago for abuses their mercs were perpetrating in the Congo.”

  “That’s right, that’s how I know that name. They took over a lot of the contracts once Blackwater ran into all that trouble after Iraq.”

  “They’re one of many. But mercenary work isn’t their specialty.”

  “Murdering people is?”

  He took a large bite of meat and followed it with a bite of pita. “Imagine if an organization was part of a covert government agency. And that organization grew rich and had an established bureaucracy, and then one day the government agency decided to shut it down. At that point, the organization could either dissolve, or become privatized and keep everything in place. That’s what Starlight did.”

  She leaned forward. “Are you telling me a government contractor carries out hits on people?”

  “That’s what they were trained to do, what I was trained to do.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “Those men that picked you up from the police station posing as the FBI, did they show you identification and badges?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know how difficult it is to forge an FBI ID? It has several watermarks that can’t be replicated. Those were actual IDs. That car they drove had government plates. How do you think they could get ahold of all that in less than eight hours?”

  “That doesn’t make sense. Bill Clinton got a blow job in the White House and it was all over the news. General Petraeus sent a few emails on a CIA server and they got out. How could an entire agency do something like this without anyone knowing?”

  “Who do you think released those emails? These guys have dirt on everyone. Something doesn’t go their way or people start thinking independently, they’ll pay for it.”

  “How did this even begin?”

  “Don’t know all the details, but J. Edgar Hoover started it. It was kind of like the covert version of his FBI. Then it went to the Office of Strategic Services when that was founded in World War II, and then it went to the CIA.”

  “Who runs it now?”

  “I don’t have the clearance for that. I know there’s an executive. He calls himself the Messenger, but I don’t know anything about him.”

  She absently twisted her fork in the rice. “This is too much to take in. I’m a member of Congress and you’re telling me everything I know about how our government works is wrong.”

  He shrugged. “There have always been people doing things for God and Country that no one ever finds out about.”

  “Is that what this is about? God and Country? Have they determined I’m a threat somehow?”

  “No, you have a contract. That means a third party hired them. Maybe they think you’re a threat.”

  A buzzing came from the other room and Rhett looked to her. She glanced away. She clearly wanted to answer it. “Is your cell phone on?”

  “Yes.”

  “You didn’t answer it, did you?”

  “I…I have obligations. People are relying on me and if I don’t—”

  “Did you answer it or not?”

  “It was quick. It was my assistant and I just told her—”

  He jumped up. “We need to leave right now.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Gustav Fabrice sat in the backseat as the driver played a rock station through the CD player. He wasn’t allowed music in the psychiatric unit of La Santé and even though he normally didn’t like rock, he was thoroughly enjoying this particular band.

  “Who is this?” he said in his accented English.

  “Creedence Clearwater Revival. CCR.”

  “CCR. Please turn it up.”

  Outside, passing by the windows, was the America he had always pictured when he thought of the States. Farms and cows and tractors. He’d been to America only once before but that was in Los Angeles for a connecting flight to Hawaii before moving on to Japan. He had decided that when this was over, he’d like to spend some time here.

  He stretched his neck from side to side, cracking it both ways, and looked up to the moon.

  The driver answered a phone call and spoke for half a minute before saying, “Your men have arrived. We just need to identify the exact home they’re staying at.”


  “Stop here.”

  The car slowed and turned into a little grocery store. The logo on the glass doors was of a chubby little animated man smiling and giving two thumbs up.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Inside, Gustav stopped at the entrance and glanced around. He never entered a room without planning a quick exit route. He walked around slowly, observing the fresh fruit and the meats. He had learned in La Santé to disassociate himself from food. He had to, as the guards, as punishment, would deprive him of food for days at a time. He had to train his mind to believe that food was unnecessary.

  An elderly man came out of the back just as Gustav bit into an apple.

  “Nice, isn’t it?” the man said.

  “Pardon me?”

  “The apple. It’s called a Jazz apple. Good stuff.”

  “It is very pleasant, yes.”

  “Here, try this.” The man reached over to a small display behind the counter. It consisted of golden pears that appeared like small oranges. He took out a folding knife from his pocket. “Jordanian pears,” the man said, cutting off a piece and handing it to Gustav.

  He ate it and was surprised by how much juice was contained in such a small slice. “Le meilleur que j’ai jamais mange. It is the best I’ve ever had.”

  “Oh, French. Never learned myself. My wife, though, God rest her soul, taught English in Bordeaux for a year. She loved French.” He put out his hand. “Name’s Mark.”

  Gustav took a step forward. “You have been here a long time?”

  “Yeah,” he said, lowering his hand, “thirty-eight years.”

  “I am looking for a man that may be here. He is known by many names but you will probably know him as Frederick Compton, or Isaac Rhett.”

  Mark stared at him a long while. “And what would you want with him?”

  “I am an old friend,” Gustav said, taking the pear and knife out of the man’s hands. He cut off another piece of pear and slipped it into his mouth. “We have much catching up to do.”

  “Hm. Well, I can’t help you there.”

  “But you know the man, yes?”

  “Yeah, I know Isaac. But I ain’t seen him in, oh, a good fifteen years.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really. Now if you’ll excuse me I got to take inventory for the day.”

  The man took out a clipboard and went down one of the aisles, counting bags of potato chips. Gustav watched him as he took another slice of pear. Suddenly, he threw the knife into the air and caught the blade between his fingers. He flung the knife with a flick of his wrist. The tip of the blade entered into Mark’s facial nerve on the right side. He fell over, his face frozen in an expression of shock.

  Gustav walked over and pinned the man’s right arm down with his foot. His face was contorting from the pain as Mark attempted to shout for help or scream. Gustav reached down and pulled the blade out. Mark instantly sucked in breath as if he had been drowning and then screamed.

  “Hurts, no? I was once stabbed there several times. I have actually lost the ability to move the right side of my mouth. I am unable to smile, but as I like to remind people that ask, I am also unable to frown. But I can grin, slightly. And you, mon ami, are making me grin.”

  “What the hell do you want?” he said, panic in his voice as a trickle of blood slipped down his cheek.

  “Where is Isaac Rhett?”

  “I haven’t seen him for fifteen years. I swear to you. He used to come by here as a kid.”

  “You are lying. I can…smell it on you.” Gustav held up the knife and swung down, the tip entering just above the shoulder blade into the trapezius muscle.

  Mark screamed again as Gustav twisted the blade.

  “Please! Please stop, I don’t know where he is.”

  “You are lying!” He twisted the blade again, shouting, “Tell me where he is.”

  Mark writhed and screamed and kicked, but he wouldn’t talk. Gustav took out the blade and pressed the tip into his groin. “You are tough and do not wish to betray your friend. That is commendable. But every man has a point beyond wish he will break. That point is right here,” he said, pressing the tip in just far enough to break the skin.

  “He’s at a farm.”

  Gustav withdrew the blade. “Where?”

  “Up the road two miles. The Goodmanson’s old farm,” he said.

  Gustav stood and threw the knife on the ground. “Thank you.” As he was walking out, he turned at the door and faced Mark. “One more thing, mon ami.” He pulled a 9mm out of his waistband and fired three rounds into the old man’s forehead.

  The smell of gunpowder rose into his nostrils and he closed his eyes and inhaled the scent as if he were smelling flowers.

  “Bonne journée, mon ami.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Rhett turned all the lights off. In the basement, set aside in a little alcove, his grandfather’s rifle collection lay untouched. He grabbed the shotgun and headed upstairs. At the front door, he used wire and a thin wooden rod his grandmother would use to beat wet clothes on a clothesline. Fishing the wire and the rod through the trigger-guard, he tied the other end to the doorknob and leaned the shotgun back against a chair.

  He took Stephanie’s wrist and ran into the bedroom.

  “Grab only what you need.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Shh.” Rhett closed his eyes and listened. Up the road a little way, he could hear a car engine. Taking his pistol and one change of clothing, he ran out of the house, Stephanie trailing behind him.

  Gustav waited in the car as his men got out and began circling the farmhouse. It was a quaint little place and it brought back memories of summers spent in vineyards at Burgundy. He rolled down the window so he could listen and enjoy the night air. The sweet-scented air was what he missed most when he was locked away. The air at La Santé consisted of little more than rebreathed, putrid air from hundreds of inmates packed tightly together.

  Six men approached the farmhouse from all sides. Gustav couldn’t help but laugh at their attire: they were wearing all black with camouflage painted on their faces. He thought they looked like soldiers out of some old comedy movie. This was going to be a disaster, but he wasn’t trying to kill Rhett. He wanted to watch him, to see how he would react to the situation.

  Gustav pulled out his weapon and switched over to the driver’s seat.

  One man gave a hand signal and then crept to the front door. Two men prowled nearby, another stood watch, and two circled out back. The man at the front door counted down on his fingers from three. When he hit zero, he rammed his heel into the door just under the doorknob. The door swung open and a loud boom and a flash of light interrupted the darkness.

  The man flew off his feet and onto his back. The other men opened fire with their SMGs. Within seconds, the house was riddled with bullets as all the windows shattered and things flew off the walls inside.

  A car started a little ways from the barn. Gustav glanced over just in time to see it peel out and speed past the men, who were caught off guard. The car had nearly passed them before the men turned and started firing at it.

  Gustav calmly started his car, and began to follow.

  Rhett swung a hard right when he was on the road, rounds bouncing off the car or imbedding themselves into the body. One round hit the rear window and raced through the car and right out the windshield. Stephanie crouched on the floor in front of the passenger seat. When Rhett was far enough away that the firing had stopped, she climbed up.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Where’s your passport?” Rhett asked.

  “At home. Why?”

  “We can’t go there. We have to get you a new one. The man we’re going to see tomorrow can make one for you.”

  She was silent a while, staring out the window at the darkness. “What’s the end?”

  “The end? The end is you disappear. You start a new life in England or Spain or Africa, wherever you want.”
>
  For the first time, she began to cry. Rhett didn’t know how to react so he said nothing.

  “Sorry,” she said after a few minutes.

  “It’s okay.”

  “I just don’t understand why this is happening to me. I’ve never hurt anybody in my life.”

  As he got onto the freeway, Rhett glanced behind him but the road was clear except for a car far off in the distance. It was a three-hour drive to where they were going and he would need to stop for gas soon. He wanted to be out of the county within forty-eight hours.

  “Am I going to die?” she said, staring out the window.

  He glanced to her and then back to the road. “No, you’re not going to die.”

  CHAPTER 25

  It was nearly midnight by the time Rhett drove into an affluent neighborhood in Riverdale. The homes were large and had enough space between them that one occupant couldn’t look into the home of another through his windows. The streets were wide and there was little light pollution so the stars shimmered in the black sky.

  Rhett turned into a driveway and parked. “Wait here.”

  All the lights were off in the home. He knocked and then rang the doorbell. Lights went on upstairs and he could hear somebody coming to the door.

  An old woman in a bathrobe answered.

  “Isaac? Do you know what time it is?”

  “I do, Mrs. Giacconi, I’m sorry. But it’s really important I speak with Anthony.”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  “Someone has hacked into my bank accounts. I’m afraid all my savings are gone unless I can speak to Anthony right away.”

  “Oh dear. Well, yes, of course you can speak to him. He’s down in his room.”

  “Thank you.” He motioned for Stephanie to come as well. “This is my cousin Stephanie.”

  “Hello, Stephanie, pleasure to meet you.”

  The old woman held the door open for them as they stepped inside. At the foyer, one set of stairs led to the main floor up a level and another set led to the basement. They took the stairs to the basement.