A Short Story

The light streamed into his room as if to announce it was time to go. The weather was going to be perfect for him to finish up and exit the country with minimal exposure. Grabbing his black duffle bag, he checked the time.

6:30 a.m. Local.

The room was wiped down after he had gotten ready. He was a compulsive neat freak and it served his purposes, probably saved his life once or twice. His eyes scanned the room twice over. This went back to basic training, the mind never picked up everything the first go-through, always check twice and the second time do it backwards.

All clear.

He grabbed his handkerchief, obtained from a previous run in with someone who a lot of people didn’t want left alive. He had used the handkerchief as a gag. After all, shooting someone in the leg really hurts. After they get past the burning sensation of the wound, the pain courses throughout the leg and into the abdomen.

With the handkerchief covering his hand, he reached for the doorknob, ever so slightly turning the knob and opened the door. He counted to 5. Five seconds is what it takes to determine events in an area you haven’t observed. Your ears can process faster then your eyes. You know the saying; your eyes can deceive you. It was assassins who came up with that.

His mind would wander to training and how he was recruited. That was 5 years and 250 “marks” ago. You forget the faces of the first ones. When you get out of training, you do things on “auto” and don’t take in the details of a face. You only see a target. The Leg guy, that was special one though. He had him square in his scope and one second before pulling the trigger he witnessed his Mark slapping a woman. He couldn’t let that go unpunished.

Read the full version