Writing instead of insomnia – 6

A lot can happen in 60 seconds.

Rage can increase or decrease, a decision made in haste might be reconsidered, especially if there was another resolution presenting itself.

My immediate rage had not gone away, but that first instinct to kill had faded slightly, but it might still happen depending on what the man in front of me did.

He was cornered and he knew it. But a man in his position cornered like this was a very dangerous animal indeed, I’d seen what he had done to at least one of the team.

I had grave fears for the others.

He had come at me and failed. So far.

He remained warily at bay, just out of reach, and I could see he was sizing up his options, to get past, around, or through me.

Perhaps at this moment in time, he knew the rage within me made it unlikely he would succeed. That meant he was willing to watch and wait me out.

“Who are you?” I asked.

We’d been given a name and a description, but I knew the name was not his. Nothing about this man was real except that he was a killer and quite possibly one of our agents gone rogue.

It was suggested this was a training run, but I think it was something else entirely, but the person who planned it, hadn’t taken his target’s profile into account.

“Why are you following me?”

“I just do as I’m told.” I’d tell him what they told me, “This was meant to be a training run, no one was expecting to get harmed.”

“You were misled. You and your team are part of an execution squad.”

This man was deranged. There was no other reason to explain that response.

But curiosity got the better of me. “Explain.”

“I quit. You don’t quit. Not with all the shit there is in my head.” He tapped his head at the same time. “Ever wondered why there’s no agents in retirement?”

I hadn’t given it a thought. The retirement age was a long time into the future and I suspect having chosen the profession I had, long life was not necessarily on the cards.

I shook my head to say no.

“Because you either die in the service, or they retire you.”

Interesting point.

Not that I had much time to consider his explanation. He considered it time to make a break, having sufficiently distracted me.

And, he nearly made it.

Almost beside me, before I had enough time to react, I didn’t hear the bullet with his name on it, I only saw the end result, entering his forehead, and taking out the back half of his head with it.

He was dead before he hit the ground.

I quickly turned around to see my coordinator just steps away, detaching the silencer from the gun and putting both items in his coat pocket.

“Were done here,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Seeing him put the gun away gave me some hope that I might not be on the menu. It was obvious I was still useful to him.

How long for, well, that was a question I wasn’t going to ask right then.


© Charles Heath 2020

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