[Anthology] Abby & Sei Thriller Starter

by Ty Hutchinson

  I followed him into the living room. His strides were long and light as usual. I switched off the lamp he had just flicked on.

  “You having trouble paying your power bill or something?” He sat in one of two armchairs.

  I let out soft chuckle and sat in the other, opposite him. “I like it this way.” Enough moonlight shone through the windows.

  “So this thinking you needed to do, what’s come of it? You’re not planning on retiring, are you?”

  I took tiny sips of my tea as I thought about how to answer Long’s question. I was eager to know the answer myself. But I wasn’t sure all the thinking I had done provided me with one. “Maybe.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Long’s expression flattened. “What will you do if not this?” He tilted his head slightly and crinkled his brow. “You plan on living like a hermit for the rest of your life, gardening and stuff?” He shook his head. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Why is that so hard to believe? I can do other things.”

  “I’m not saying you can’t, but this life, what we do, it’s who we are. It’s not like you can join the local book club and start blending in.” Long placed his mug on the coffee table and leaned forward. His stare intensified, and his eyes disappeared against his beige complexion. “Sei, there are people who want answers from you.”

  “I won’t deny that. By the way, what gave me up?” I didn’t think there was a weak link in my planned disappearance. Plus, I wanted to change the subject.

  Long drew a deep breath and let it out. “It wasn’t easy, I’ll say that. So don’t think you’ve gotten rusty. It took months and some luck, but I eventually cracked your real IP address and traced it back here.”

  “How? I mask my online identity using multiple VPNs and accessed the Internet with a TOR browser.”

  “Like I said, it wasn’t easy. At some point you used a public WiFi system. Had I not been looking for you around that time, I probably never would have discovered it. That’s the lucky part.”

  “Hmm, interesting.”

  “You didn’t answer any of my messages. I was worried and had no choice but to track you.”

  I said nothing and only stared at my friend. I had purposely ignored his messages, along with many others. I had shut a large steel door onto the world and thrown away the key. Why? Well, that was a hard subject for me to talk about, but I figured I owed my friend an explanation. I stood and walked over to a wooden hutch in the corner of the room and removed a small item from a shelf inside of it.

  “What is that?” Long asked, squinting from his chair. He took the item from me and unfolded it, revealing a tiny pink blouse. “You’re pregnant?” His eyes shifted between the blouse and my tummy. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  I took a seat and chewed my bottom lip before answering. “I lost the baby while giving birth two years ago.”

  “Sei. I…I had no idea.”

  “It’s okay. I should have told you.”

  “I could have been here for you. I could have helped.”

  “I needed to be alone.”

  “This is why you stopped working?”

  I nodded. “Shortly after the doctor confirmed the pregnancy, I decided I didn’t want to bring my child into the life I live. I couldn’t. I wanted her to have a chance at a proper, normal one.”

  “A baby girl.” A smiled formed on Long’s face. “I would have been her uncle, sort of.

  I smiled. “I had planned on naming her Mui.”

  “Mui? That’s a pretty name. She would have been beautiful just like her mother. But who’s the—”

  “Someone I met in America. He didn’t know about the pregnancy, or my profession.”

  Long nodded. “It’s better that way. Having him involved would have complicated things. So now what?”

  “That’s what I’m struggling to answer. Losing the baby was akin to losing a part of myself. For a long time I didn’t feel like doing much of anything. I contemplated continuing with my self-imposed retirement, as well as resuming work, but hadn’t any strong feelings toward either direction. My instincts lacked strength. Essentially I had a horse but no carrot to dangle.”

  “And then two years goes by.”

  I nodded.

  Long slapped his hands against both of his thighs, and a broad smile lit up his face, showing off his cosmetically enhanced whites. “Well, it’s a good thing I came along. It’s time you got back in the saddle, and I’m here to help.”

  3

  I sat behind the aged oak desk in front of my laptop. Long brought his chair around the desk so he could see the screen.

  “Please,” he said as he switched on a tiny lamp, “a little light.”

  I launched a TOR browser—software that allows anonymous communication. It’s what’s needed to surf the Deep Web, the part of the Internet most people don’t go to or even know exists. But for people like Long and me, that was where we thrived, where we received contracts or could ply our services.

  “How often do you log on?” Long asked.

  “For a while I monitored chatter regularly, but I haven’t been in here much for the last six months or so.”

  “Go ahead and navigate to the Board.”

  The Board was an open forum where assassins, not only ones in our clan but from everywhere, could gather to share information. I wouldn’t say it was a cozy family, but if you needed information or wanted to know the state of things, the Board was a good place to start.

  I browsed the most recent postings; most were strikes. As usual there were a lot, mostly from a growing number of ISIS cells. Strikes were successful kills. Assassins or mercenaries or whoever, would post the information about their targets and how they executed the kills. Some were pretty inventive, but most were rather mundane. Strikes never overly excited me. It was like bragging that you did your job. The worst were the postings from terrorist groups.

  The entire point of posting a strike was to show skill and cleverness in eliminating a mark. Their postings were of mass graves or piles of bodies mowed down with a 50-caliber gun—absolutely no craft in the kill. Assassins worth their salt could target a mark and make the hit without anyone knowing, not even the mark. Collateral damage wasn’t a plus, but a sign of inability. The jihadist didn’t see the difference, and they lacked the appropriate skill set anyhow—intelligence being the cornerstone.

  As I scrolled through the posts relating to open jobs, none of them interested me. They were mostly this-person-pissed-me-off-and-I-want-them-dead type of contracts. Nothing challenging or high profile. “You see? This is why I don’t bother.”

  “Aw, come on now,” Long said. “I wasn’t suggesting you peruse the classified section. You need to post that you’re available. Your handle is well known. The good jobs will find you. Give it time.”

  I went ahead and posted that I was available and then shut my laptop.

  “Aren’t you going to wait and see if someone responds?”

  “We can check in a few hours,” I said as I stood. “Let’s have some fun. Follow me.”

  I led Long to the garage that I had converted to a mini-gym. “What do you think?”

  Long nodded his head as he took a moment to take it all in. “Nice setup you have here. The Wing Chun dummy is a nice touch.”

  I walked barefoot to the middle of the padded floor and faced Long with a smile on my face.

  “It’s been a long time,” he said, kicking off his shoes.

  I pulled my left leg up behind me to stretch my thigh. “It has, and I’m curious to see if your grappling skills have improved.” I switched legs.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m not the one that’s been on hiatus.”

  I let out a laugh. “Enough talking.”

  Long wasted no time and shot forward for a double-leg takedown, but I was quicker and jumped backward. He quickly recovered to his feet, and we moved in a circle, eyeing each other.

  “Double-leg—basic and predictable. I thought you were practicin
g,” I teased.

  “I didn’t want to come on too strong, being that you took time off and all.” Long then coughed the word “rusty.”

  He had a point. I had a grappling dummy I could practice on, but nothing beat sparing with someone. Not to mention he had about six inches on me and enough weight where if he took me down, passed my guard, and moved into a mount position, his strength would overpower me. I had to strike first.

  I shot forward, moving my head to the inside of his torso, and grasped his left leg, bringing it up. As I pushed forward, I pivoted to the outside, forcing Long off balance and onto his back. I slipped onto him, and he immediately clasped both legs around my torso to hold me flush against his body. With my tiny frame, I was able to slip through them and mount him. I sat high on his chest, both legs pressed firmly against either side of his body.

  If this were a real fight, I would commence with a ground and pound, but since we were sparring, it was understood that we would only execute submissions. First person to tap out lost.

  Long did exactly what I thought he would. He reached up, pressing both hands against my chest and forming a semi-circle with his arms. I reached through the opening and grasped his right arm and pulled it tight against my chest. At the same time, I pivoted my body clockwise ninety degrees and swung my left leg onto his face and kept the right one on his chest. With his right arm still firmly in my grasp, I fell backward to the mat, keeping his arm tucked between my legs. I pulled back, bracing his elbow against my inner thigh, and bent the joint backward. The move was called an arm bar and was incredibly painful. Long tapped out immediately.

  I rolled off of him, and he pulled his arm back and rubbed his elbow. “You always were a better grappler than me,” he said, catching his breath. “I think it’s your size. You’re slippery.”

  “You should have known better.”

  “I thought you would go for the side mount and try for a Kimura. I didn’t think you would be that ballsy and fully mount me. It’s dangerous for someone your size.”

  I extend my hand and helped Long up. “It’s also unexpected.”

  We spent the next two hours talking and eating a pasta dish I whipped up. I hadn’t realized how much I missed my friend.

  “Seems like you’re the world traveler,” I said as I sipped my tea after dinner.

  “I like it. I got bored just working in Hong Kong and the surrounding areas. I think taking jobs in different countries has made me better. I’ve furthered my skills. I now get offered contracts that were once out of reach. Speaking of, let’s check and see if your posting had any bites.”

  We headed back to my office. I logged back on to the Board and found three messages waiting for me. The first message was regarding a contract in Nigeria. A warlord needed to be eliminated. “Pass,” I said. The second was for a job that was equally as boring as the first.

  The last message was an invitation into a private chat.

  “Who’s Tark?” Long asked, staring at the message.

  I shrugged. “I haven’t a clue.”

  “Go. It could be an awesome job.”

  I clicked accept and entered the room that listed two members: Tark and Sei.

  Sei: Yes?

  Tark: I have a job for you.

  Sei: I’m not accepting contracts.

  “Why did you write that?” Long asked.

  “I said I would visit the Board. I didn’t say anything about accepting a contract.”

  Tark: I can assure you that you will be compensated handsomely.

  Sei: I have enough money.

  “You do?” Long turned to me.

  Tark: What I have to offer is much more valuable than currency.

  A few seconds later a picture of a little girl appeared in the chat room.

  “Who’s that?” Long wondered out loud.

  “I have no idea, but she certainly isn’t a selling point for me.”

  Sei: I don’t accept contracts for children.

  Tark: She’s not the contract. She’s the payment.

  “Who is this jerk-off?” Long remarked.

  Long and I shared similar ideologies regarding our work, and even though my requirements were a bit more stringent, accepting a human as payment was absolutely insane, especially a little girl.

  Sei: I don’t deal in human trafficking.

  A moment or so passed without a response. I was beginning to think this Tark character was a troll, an utter waste of my time. As I moved the cursor over the message box to close it, a soft chime rang out, and my eyes darted to his reply.

  In that single instant, a surge of prickles erupted in the pit of my stomach and rushed throughout my body. While I completely understood the meaning of what he had typed, I remained dumbfounded. Paralyzed at his suggestion. Could it be?

  Tark: What if the child in question were your daughter?

  4

  A rolling nausea ripped through my body as I re-read what Tark had typed. Could it be? Was there any truth to the idea that my daughter could actually be alive?

  For a few seconds, he had me believing. But I realized the absurdity in his suggestion. She had died during the birth. I know so. But another question, one just as significant as the idea that my child was alive, had presented itself. How could he possibly know that I gave birth to a baby girl?

  “Sei, you all right?” Long nudged me. “This guy has no idea what he’s talking about. He’s messing with you.”

  I turned to Long. “You’re the only person I told about my pregnancy and what happened.”

  “It’s probably a coincidence. Prod this sicko.”

  Sei: I don’t have a daughter.

  Tark: Yes, you do. Take a closer look at the photo.

  I double clicked on the picture to enlarge it. The girl had black hair and looked to be about age two, the age my daughter would have been had she survived the birth. She had fair skin and a loveable smile. I could almost hear what she sounded like if she were laughing.

  Long leaned in for a closer look. “She looks like you, her eyes, but I think it’s because he placed the idea in our heads. We could be making a false connection.”

  “She’s mixed,” I said.

  “There you have it. You’re Chinese, mostly.”

  “Her father was white.”

  “Oh… Do you think it’s a possibility? I mean, I’m just saying.”

  I leaned in for a closer look. I couldn’t deny that her eyes looked like mine. When I was pregnant, I would often imagine what she would look like. Would she look more Asian or more white? Or would she be the perfect blend of both? This child looked closely like what I had imagined. Could it really be true? Or had Long been right, were we projecting that thought in our heads?

  Tark: I know you see it, the resemblance.

  Sei: This is nothing more than suggestive cognizance.

  Tark: Is it? Think back to that day in the hospital.

  “What’s he talking about, Sei? What happened that day?”

  Images of myself lying in that hospital bed transported me back to that moment. Suddenly I was there experiencing it all over. I had worked so hard to bury those thoughts, and now, in an instant, they were back with absolute clarity, forcing me to relive a moment in my life I wanted forever forgotten.

  “The doctor said there were complications and that he needed to perform a cesarean birth.”

  “What was the problem?”

  I stared at the picture of the little girl on the screen wondering myself what that answer was. “I don’t know,” I said, turning to my friend. “I remember asking and then waking in another room, with the doctor standing next to my bed. And even though I was groggy, I could see it in his eyes. Something terrible had happened.”

  “Listen, Sei, this has got to be one epic coincidence.”

  “But what if he’s right? What if somehow my child did survive, and for reasons unknown, she was taken from me?”

  Long let out a breath as he leaned back into his chair. He ran his hand back and fo
rth over his head. “I don’t know what to think. This is blowing my mind. I only just found out you were pregnant a short while ago. I can only imagine what this information is doing to you. I mean, what he’s suggesting…”

  “That’s exactly what I want to know.” I tapped out a message on the keyboard.

  Sei: Where is this little girl?

  Tark: She’s safe and very much alive.

  Sei: Bring her to me.

  Tark: Are you accepting the job?

  Sei: What do you want from me?

  Tark: The Black Wolf.

  5

  Revelations can have a profound effect on individuals. Take my friend Long. He reacted in a way that someone would upon finding out they were to spend a night alone in that spooky house at the end of the street that no one ever saw anyone come and go from, yet every night a light can be seen through the second-floor window.

  I couldn’t say I reacted the same way. In fact, I wasn’t sure I even knew what the Black Wolf meant at first, but seeing Long slouch down in his chair gave me a pretty good idea we were talking about a person.

  “You never heard of the Black Wolf?” he asked. “Boy, you really are taking this whole hermit thing to new levels. Read a newspaper, why don’t you?”

  “Just because I’m not an assassin nerd like you doesn’t mean I don’t know the state of things.”

  “Assassin nerd? Keeping up on the competition is a good business strategy.”

  Long had built up a remarkable database in his head of what assassins handled what contracts and how they executed them. I knew for a fact he could recite every kill I had, when it took place, where, and how. “The name sounds familiar. Refresh my memory.”

  Long sat up and licked his lips. “He’s an assassin. Political figures are his specialty—he has thirty-two strikes. Almost every country of the former Soviet Union has a bounty on his head, which is ironic because those very same countries are the ones that continue to give him contracts. He’s good. Real good—like ten-of-you-in-one-person good. Last I heard he was in a Turkish prison while various governments fought over who had the right to extradite him.”