“Yes, sir.”
“The fact that we went to war, that thousands of brave soldiers died and thousands more are missing limbs or have brain damage, the fact that hundreds of thousands of civilians including women and children are dead, and that we did it all for money, is a hard damn fact to accept. If you try to sugarcoat those facts, to justify them or treat them like it was the only possible way, then you have no place here. We deal with truth so that those people out there eating their TV dinners, and numbing their minds in front of cable news, don’t need to deal with it. If you can accept that we are going to do not just horrible things, but evil things, in the name of this country, then you have a place here. If not, go back to the agency and tell them it didn’t work out. I’ll make sure you don’t lose your job.”
Dave swallowed. “No, sir. I’m ready. Whatever you need.”
Santos smiled. “Good. You should also know we occasionally take private contracts. We are not funded by any government agencies. We would have to make financial disclosures if we were. Our private contracts vary, but they must be considered a national security risk in some fashion. We don’t just kill civilians. Recently, we had a congresswoman who proposed a bill that would regulate investment banks out of business. This we couldn’t allow to happen, and she was dealt with. I would have passed on that particular contract but I was not in charge then. But I followed orders and helped get it done. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Suzan is outside. She will get your permanent passcodes and IDs. You’re going to be directly under me. I am the king, emperor, president, and CEO of Starlight. But you can never call me by name again unless it’s just me and you. I’m referred to only as the Messenger in all outside communications and conversations. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’ll talk again after your training in eight weeks. Go see Suzan now.”
He rose. “Thank you for this opportunity, sir. I won’t let you down.”
“That’s yet to be seen.”
Dave felt his heart fluttering as he walked out of the room. He glanced back once and saw Santos turned, facing the window, staring out into nothing.
EPILOGUE
As the plane began to descend, Henri felt his ears pop from the change in pressure. He reached across with his left hand to the box of juice on the tray in front of him. His right hand was next to the box but it was painful to move, even six months after his physical therapy had ended. The orthopedic surgeons had told him that he would likely feel pain in his shoulder joint for the rest of his life. After taking three bullets directly to the acromion, he was just glad to still have his arm attached.
After landing, he took a taxi deep into the heart of Algiers. The city was a bustling mass of humanity, but it was beautiful. It sat on a crescent beach and the buildings were an eclectic mix of Arabian, French, and Spanish with a little native African thrown in from the local architects. The driver spoke fluent French and speaking his native tongue made Henri relax a little. His stomach was nothing but knots and butterflies. But as one instructor in the military had told him, it’s all right to have butterflies as long as they’re in formation, traveling in the same direction.
Henri enjoyed the architecture and the people and the smells of the city as they drove, eventually leaving the city and ending up in a little town close by. He wasn’t sure how long they had driven for when the taxi suddenly came to a stop, but his anxiety had decreased very little. The last time he was here…was something he never thought about. And now, being back, he wished he didn’t have to come.
Once he’d paid and stood outside, he looked at the little slip of paper in his pocket and confirmed the address against the numbers on the side of the building. He was in the right place. The building was square with rounded pillars on top, almost giving it the appearance of a mosque. He went inside. The lobby smelled like cooking rice and lamb and he remembered that he hadn’t eaten since this morning.
Ornate rugs decorated the floors, and the walls had ceramics on display. It was an upscale building, at least upscale for this town, and Henri guessed it was filled with professionals. He took the stairs rather than the old elevator and went to the third floor. He walked down the hallway to the flat he was looking for. He put his ear to it…silence. He tried the doorknob. It was unlocked.
Once he was inside, a putrid stench hit his nostrils. He checked his pockets but didn’t have a handkerchief or napkin to cover his nose with, so he simply breathed through his mouth as he took the pistol out of his waistband.
He walked cautiously so as to prevent the floors from creaking. A door was to his right and he glanced inside. It was the bedroom. Seated on the bed, nude, was Gustav.
His hair was much longer and Henri saw several bottles filled with urine around the bed. Fecal matter stained the carpets and walls.
Henri scanned the room for weapons. A handgun was on the nightstand.
“I was wondering what took you so long,” Gustav said.
“Vous êtes un homme difficile à trouver.”
“No French. I do not like it.”
“It’s your mother tongue.”
“I prefer English. It is more direct. More closer to truth.”
Henri took a deep breath and looked over the room. “This has to end, Gustav. You’ve run for a year and I missed you everywhere you went, but I knew you had to come back here. I knew that you couldn’t stay away for too long.”
“Do you remember the bodies, Henri?”
“Yes, I remember. My unit was in charge of disseminating misinformation about the incident.”
“The incident? Is that what they called it? We slaughtered them, Henri. We killed women and children because they wanted to be free and they fought us.”
“We had orders and we carried out those orders. We were just kids.”
“Would you do it now?”
“No, I would quit.”
“I remember the bodies were stacked so high I didn’t think we could fit them all on the trucks. It was nearly an entire village. The village fought us. They chose to die rather than surrender to their invaders.”
“Some called us invaders and others called us liberators.”
“Liberate from what? Replacing one tyranny with another is not liberation.”
“What do you want me to say, Gustav? I cannot change the past.”
“Do you know that that is not my name?”
“I did not. What is your name?”
“I don’t remember.”
Henri was silent a moment. “Come back with me peacefully.” Gustav began to laugh. “With your condition, you can maybe stay at a government hospital instead of the prison. You’ll be taken care of there.”
“That girl I had with me. What happened to her?”
“She is doing fine. She left school and moved to another state. Alaska I think. I asked her a lot about you.”
“What did she say?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“No.”
“Why did you take her, Gustav? You could have gotten away if she hadn’t been with you.”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he took a deep breath and sat up straight. “Do you have snipers on the roof across the street?”
“No, I came alone.”
He turned and looked at him. A dark beard covered his jaw. “You came alone?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to die?”
“No. But I don’t think I will.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t think you will kill me.”
Gustav nodded. “Bad decision.” He threw himself at the pistol.
Henri raised his weapon and fired four rounds as quickly as possible as Gustav got off two. They both hit their targets: the heart. Henri was flung back into the front room. He lay on the carpet as he sucked in air and tried to get back his breath.
After a few moments, he rose, and ripped off the Kevlar vest underneath his shirt. Two indentations
were over the heart: one on the left ventricle and one on the right.
Gustav lay on his back on the bed. Henri walked to him. He took out his phone to call an ambulance, and Gustav grabbed his hand, pulling it down. Henri didn’t let go. Instead, he sat on the bed and they held hands as life left him. He went limp a moment later, and Henri reached down to him and closed his eyes.
He stood up and was about to leave when he saw a little red book on the nightstand. The initials “IR” were stamped into the front in gold lettering. He picked it up. It was a journal. He turned to one of the entries and read:
December 13th
I still hear her at night. I wake up and I think she’s still here so I go to the kitchen or to the bathroom to find her but there’s nothing but empty space. I’m responsible for her death. I had a chance for us to get out, to get away from Starlight and the killing, but I didn’t take it. I thought we were doing God’s work. But killing is never God’s work. I can see that now. I wish I’d seen it before.
She died quickly, two shots to the heart. She was on assignment in Cuba and I got word through the Messenger of what had happened. They wouldn’t tell me why she died or what assignment she had there or who killed her. They couldn’t even get the body back for me, only telling me that it would be buried in some cemetery near Havana.
Then I called the Messenger, crying, and begged him to return the body so I could see her one more time. He said he would do that for me. That it was dangerous but he would do that for me. It would be a favor and he would ask me for a favor one day and I couldn’t refuse. I promised him that if he got the body back for me I would do anything he asked.
She’s buried next to my grandparents in Palmyra. One day I’ll visit her. It’s my fault she’s dead, and I can never get her back. My wife. My love. How can you ever fill a hole like this? Every day is the worst day of my life and I don’t think I can make it through. I would give anything just to see her one more time. To hear her laugh. To have her argue with me.
I like to think she died defending somebody. It would be just like her to do so. She defended the helpless and felt they needed someone to stand up for them. I believe in fate, and I believe someone needed to die that day. I just wish it hadn’t been her.
The journal entry went on like this. Henri flipped through a few more pages and then closed the book and put it down. He looked once more to Gustav before leaving, and shutting the door behind him. When he got outside he saw a trash bin on the street near some palm trees. He took out his badge and his gun, emptied the clip, and threw them in the trash.
A breeze was blowing and children were playing soccer on a tennis court across the street. He watched them a long time, listened to them laughing and teasing each other. One of the boys looked to him and smiled and he smiled back.
Then, he walked away.
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BY VICTOR METHOS
Medical Thrillers
Plague (A Medical Thriller)
Pestilence
Scourge (Coming February 2014)
Thrillers
Diary of an Assassin
Black Sky (A Mystery-Thriller)
Murder Corporation (A Crime Thriller)
Superhero Thrillers
Superhero (An Action Thriller)
Black Onyx
Black Onyx Reloaded
Jon Stanton Thrillers
The White Angel Murder
Walk in Darkness
Sin City Homicide
Arsonist
The Porn Star Murders
Sociopath
Creature-Feature Novels
The Extinct
Sea Creature
Paranormal Thrillers
Dracula (A Modern Telling)
Savage: A Novel
Science Fiction
Clone Hunter
Star Dreamer: The Early Science Fiction of Victor Methos
Humor
Welcome to Hell, Earl
Philosophical Fiction
Existentialism and Death on a Paris Afternoon
To contact the author, learn about his latest adventures, get tips on starting your own adventures, or learn about upcoming releases, please visit the author’s blog at http://methosreview.blogspot.com/
Copyright 2013 Victor Methos
Kindle Edition
License Statement
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Please note that this is a work of fiction. Any similarity to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All events in this work are purely from the imagination of the author and are not intended to signify, represent, or reenact any event in actual fact.
Diary of an Assassin Page 20