Gabriel: Only one gets out alive. Page 6

  He thought about the damn light bulb again and played it off. Some teenager in the building was probably screwing with him. Harry hated kids for this very reason. He shut the door, and as he turned, he saw a pair of black wingtip shoes and dress slacks. He looked up and reached for his pistol; before he had a chance to pull it, an intense pain exploded in the back of his neck and everything went black. The last thing he remembered as he lay twitching on the ground was the wet, warm feeling of his own urine as it made its way down the front and sides of his pants.

  Harry woke to a warm sting on his face followed by another one. He felt pressure from the top of his head and finally snapped out of his slumber. He realized it was not a warm sting. It was a phone book, slapping him across the face, and doing it hard and fast.

  Harry blinked away tears, shaking his head. He moved his tongue through his mouth and spat. If it were his first time at the rodeo, he’d have been more curious about the taste in his mouth. He knew exactly what this metallic taste was. It was blood and it was plentiful. He looked up and saw the rafters of his condo. He felt a bit better knowing he hadn’t been taken to some foreign country, where people could do things to him for days and months without any repercussions.

  What didn’t make him feel better were the two-inch thick, metal linked chains attached tightly to his wrists. His fingers had turned purple and his hands were numb.

  He put some weight on his legs and, staring at his captor, spat more blood on his rug. He felt a loose tooth; he wiggled it with his tongue until it was completely free and then spit it out as well. It clinked across the floor and slid underneath the refrigerator. He looked up and realized his eyes were fuzzy. He tried to blink it away. The focus in his right eye sharpened, but the left became harder and harder to see out of. He realized quickly that it was because it was swelling shut. He looked at the man across from him; he had dark short hair, faint dark stubble, and dark-brown eyes. Nothing about the man or his posture was inviting or calming. He looked at his white dress shirt and dark slacks and laughed. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “I know who you are, but you don’t know who I am? Seems like one of us is doing something right in our profession.”

  “You a hitter? You do things for money also?”

  Gabriel didn’t say anything; he just shook his head no. The man screamed, “You are seriously trying to tell me you aren’t doing this for money? You’re a lying piece of shit, do you know that?”

  Gabriel turned around, keeping a safe distance between himself and the man. He stared at the man and punched him with everything that he had. He hadn’t held anything back, and the bones crunched beneath his fist. The man’s head snapped backwards. His mouth was open as he screamed in pain; he hadn’t hurt like that in years. The blood that poured from his nose gushed into his open mouth, once again becoming the dominant taste. He spat it out and hung his head, squinting as he tried to stop the tears.

  Gabriel spoke. “No… I am not here on a paid status. I’m here working pro bono. There will be no payment for this… no seven figures added to my offshore bank account. I came here because I missed the original call, and unfortunately, you were the one that took the job. I got back too late and looked up the hit; it was a woman, plus two. The ‘plus two’ were both children.”

  Harry laughed. “Are you trying to tell me that you really think you’re above all of this? You follow rules and a code and you won’t—”

  Gabriel swung the giant phone book in an arc over his head and slammed it full force into the man’s gut. The wind left his lungs in a way he’d never felt before. Harry was debating on which was more painful: the broken nose, the fractured jaw, or the pain in his gut.

  Gabriel said, “I’m not pure of sin. I’m not perfect. But I don’t kill families. I don’t kill kids. I don’t ever kill kids. If you followed that practice, maybe you’d still be able to take that job in Vermont next month.”

  “Wait! How the hell do you know about Vermont? Where did you find out about that?”

  “You’re hanging here by chains in your own apartment and your life is in my hands. Yet, you still think you should be underestimating me. You still think, somehow, you are the smarter of the two of us?”

  “Well, if you don’t want anything from me, then why the hell am I still alive? Why are you toying with me? Why are you torturing me?”

  “Oh, I haven’t started to torture you yet. I haven’t begun to do anything yet. I need something from you. I need you to clarify something for me.”

  “You’re going to get the information from me and kill me. I know it; that’s what we do… that's who you are.”

  Gabriel walked a slow circle around him, evaluating him from behind. He pulled a large sack from his pocket and shook it out. Harry heard the sound, knowing instantly that it was plastic and began screaming and buckling. “What the hell are you doing back there? What are you doing? Tell me now! If you’re going to kill me, at least tell me! Don’t be a coward—tell me what you are doing! Do you hear me, god damn it? Speak, will you?”

  Gabriel walked back around to the front staring at the man, seeing the fear in his eyes. “You are going to tell me who hired you, who you killed.”

  Harry smiled. “So, you aren't going to kill me? You are going to let me live?”

  Gabriel shrugged. “I don’t have time for this. Over time, I can get the information that I need. It’s going to take me a little longer, but I was trying to speed the process along. I have some work that I need to do and this is just a waste of time.”

  “Let me live. I’ll tell you everything; I swear. I swear on my mother’s grave!”

  Gabriel pulled a bar stool over and sat in front of him, staring him down. “Harry, I know everything about you. I’ve done my homework; first off, your mother isn’t dead, your father is… but he was a drunk and a man who was not the envy of anyone. You choose to lie to me; you must have a serious death wish. Of course, there is the chance that you are just plain stupid.”

  Harry shook his head no. “I was going to be done. I was going to get out. After what I made from him, it was all I needed to reside on easy street for the rest of my life. It was that asshole who owns the software company. His guard hired me, but the guy’s name was Steven… Steven Riddick. It was his idea. They contracted me to do it; they hired me.”

  Gabriel looked around. “So, you wanted the big payout, and you were going to get out of the business after this?”

  “Yeah man, I was done. I wasn’t going to do it anymore. I swear; I do, man. I’m fucking done. Just let me go, and you’ll never see or hear from me. You won’t have to look over your shoulder. I won’t mess with you. I just had that one job in Vermont already scheduled.”

  Gabriel stared deep into the man’s eyes as he slid the plastic bag over his head. Before he tightened it, Harry screamed, “I told you what you wanted, you lying bastard! You have to let me live! You have to, god damn it!”

  Gabriel gripped the man by the hair. “You took the innocent and you have sins to pay for. You can live. By all means, do. Remember, I’m not the one killing you; the bag is.”

  Gabriel put a zip tie around the bag, making it as tight as he could. The man’s eyes bugged out of his head. Harry tried to buckle and shake, but there was nothing he could do. He knew he was in a losing position. Gabriel sat back down, staring at the man. He knew he did not need to worry about looking over his shoulder because he never had anyone left to worry about coming after him for revenge. The bag filled with steam and hot air. He watched until the man took his last breath, as his dying moments finally came and went. He knew he had a trip to make to visit Riddick and a bodyguard.

  Chapter 5

  Unwanted Offers

  Langley, Virginia

  Frank Fox sat at the table, reading for twenty minutes, never looking up once. He shook his head slowly in astonishment. When he finished, he tossed the folder down and let out a long breath; he felt like he had just gone through hell and back. He stood up with the convict
ion of a man who had accomplished the impossible. He gripped his short blonde hair. “Jesus, Tony. Where the fuck have you been hiding this guy? Is his name really Gabriel, for god sakes, or was that some kind of sick joke on your part?”

  Tony sat back in his seat, shaking his head. “He actually picked that, and, really, it’s sadly quite accurate, Frank. If God was going to pick someone to kill on his behalf, there’s a good chance Gabriel would be at the top of his list.”

  Tony rubbed at his tired, hazel eyes. He cursed, stretching his back, jealous of the man twenty-plus years younger than himself. He longed for the days when he had the ability and agility to jump out of a chair like Frank did. He had plenty of missions in his bones that had taken a toll on his body. There wasn’t a day that passed that he wasn’t reminded of the physical missions he’d been assigned to. The things that he had done for his country felt like a valid trade.

  “So, what we have is a master assassin, fucking great. That’s what we need isn’t it, Tony?” Frank pointed at the folder that detailed all of Gabriel’s missions and hits in it. “That guy is a couple of years older than me. What the fuck is he doing retired? I mean, the last time I checked there wasn’t a pension plan worth a shit, right? Unless the spooks get a better plan than we do… is that the case?”

  “It wasn’t really something he talked about; he called me and told me he was out. There wasn’t a real long discussion about it. He was pretty pissed about it at the time, to tell you the truth.”

  “You know what we spend to train these spooks, right?”

  “It would make a taxpayer sick, but he was adamant that he was out. You don’t appreciate what this guy is like when he is passionate about something. There is no right and wrong. It’s just what Gabriel thinks and what he does about it.”

  “Well, expand, Tony.”

  “His last job, as you read there, which was successful was in South America. We had a ride ready to go for him.” Frank went back to the folder and opened it, reviewing the list and nodded. “Looks like he took out a Juan Valdez, who gave the Mexican drug cartel a run for their money in the cocaine trade. He was sending FBI agents back in body bags that were trying to...”

  Tony cut him off, not about to listen to someone else give him a recap of what he himself had written. “I’ve heard the report, Frank. I don’t need a recap on it. Christ, I wrote the thing.”

  “I know, but Jesus, did he really take a shot from a mile away?”

  “He didn’t, or probably more accurately, still doesn’t understand the word ‘can’t’, Frank. He knew we lost the ride for him but took the shot, anyway. He still took the shot, signing his own death warrant. He broke into the compound where he slit the leader open and got the asset out.”

  “So, he knew he was going to be gone. What did he tell you?”

  Tony rolled the cigarette between his lips. “He told me that he quit and that if anyone tried to bring him in for a debriefing, he would slit their throat. He said nothing about not making it back, only that if we couldn’t keep a ride for him and the man, he was out. He never called in again after that.”

  Frank slid the phone across the table. “You were his handler. You call him. You know how to get inside his head. Make it happen, Tony—that’s an order.”

  “No. That’s a death wish. He was dark before we ever trained him. He came to us full of contempt and ready to kill.”

  Tony pulled out one additional file and slid it across the table; the one that he hadn’t yet read. Tony smiled now, giving Frank the creeps for the first time and putting a damper on his cocky attitude. “Here’s his training file.”

  Chapter 6

  Training Day

  August 7, 2013

  The instructors stood in line as the bus pulled through the final turn, where it would come to a rest on the gravel road at the rear of the farm. The instructors’ knowing eyes were hidden by large aviation sunglasses. Each of the men was dressed identically in black military fatigues. Today was Christmas for them as their new batch of recruits was coming and would be there in mere minutes. Then the fun would begin.

  The instructors couldn’t help but anticipate the things that they would put the men and women through over the coming months. Every one of them would be put under a microscope to make sure that they had what it took to survive in the field. The instructors would never send a man out that wasn’t fully prepared to handle all of the situations that could come up. They had to break all of the recruits of the mindset that they were going to be the next James Bond.

  The unmarked bus stopped five feet in front of them. The driver released the built-up air brake supply from the suspension and lowered the giant metal transport vehicle. When the bus settled, the doors opened. For the recruits, the doors might as well have been a portal to another dimension. A place and time that would have rules and lessons and training that they never thought possible but would one day depend on to save their lives.

  All of the recruits had been selected straight from their second year of college. Two instructors watched them file out, all announcing exactly what school they had been plucked from by the school shirts that they wore. They all had the same slim, athletic build, but with a variety of different skin tones. Instructor Wesenberg leaned over and whispered to Pietras. “I wonder what group of dumbshits they brought us this time.”

  Pietras fought back a laugh; smiling wasn’t something the recruits needed to see. “Seems like they are shipping their balls to them later, by the looks of the men. Christ, I remember when I came through; we were already hard by the time we got off the bus. We also weren’t getting all the special treatment these pissants do.”

  The group lined up next to the bus, looking more than a little confused at the scene before them. Whispers from the recruits ranged from “Oh shit” to “What did I sign up for?” to “What do you think they expect us to do here? This is day one? You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

  Chief Instructor Clary smiled. “Welcome to the farm, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Instructor Clary. You may, and will, call me Instructor Clary. If you call me anything else, I—or one of my men—will beat you to a pulp. Now put your bags down and step this way, please, and follow me.”

  The group followed their new instructor warily, unsure what the plan was. In front of the new students were ten men with black cloth bags over their heads. Their hands had been handcuffed behind their backs and they were on their knees in front of what appeared to be shallow dug graves.

  Instructor Clary pulled the top off a plastic shipping crate stamped CIA in white bold letters. A row of gleaming black pistols were inside of it. There was one gun for each of the future spooks.

  A good-looking man with blonde hair was the first to raise his hand. There was always a first, and the instructors all loved betting to see who the first unfortunate soul would be to do so. The instructors ignored his raised hand. Instructor Wesenberg walked behind the row of new cadets, stopping behind the blonde man. He leaned in, whispering just barely at a point of being audible. “Put your fucking hand down before I snap it off and shove it up your ass.”

  The nervous young man slowly lowered it, not looking behind him to see which of the instructors had just threatened him. It took less than ten minutes of being off the bus for the young man to yearn for being back in his seat at his university. “Sorry, sir, I—”

  Wesenberg didn’t allow him to finish. He walked in front of the man, cutting through him and the man next to him, and elbowed the young man hard in the ribs, knocking the air out of his lungs. He dropped quickly to a knee, sucking in a deep breath. Instructor Pietras walked up, dropped down inches from his face, and screamed, “Well, if you are already on your knees you might as well drop all the way down and give me fifty of them now!”

  The young man, who was out of his element and confused, spoke before thinking. "Fifty what, sir?”

  “Pushups… Jesus H Christ! What kind of morons are they sending us? Are we that bad off that the CIA, of all p
laces, can’t get recruits who are capable of intelligent thoughts?”

  Wesenberg, who wasn’t about to let Pietras have all the fun, dropped down by the blonde man’s face, screaming as well, “Is there a reason you haven’t done a god damn push up yet, son? Do you think that you are special? I will bounce your ass out of this class so god damn fast, it will make your fucking head spin!”

  Pietras pushed back up, grabbing the man’s belt, and with one very muscular arm, assisted the man with his first five. Meanwhile, Wesenberg screamed in the recruit’s face, helping him count them off.

  “Dumbass.” A whisper of a voice came from a young man whose large chest, arms, and legs screamed that he’d been a high school football player. His words granted him the full and undivided attention of Clary, who made a beeline straight for him, bumping a chest twice the size of the kid, making him stumble backwards. The kid took a few steps back and popped back to attention after catching his balance. The rest of the recruits, who'd relaxed a bit in their wait for something to happen, immediately followed suit, getting into a tight respectable resting stance as well.

  Clary ripped his sunglasses off and threw them angrily across the distance, smashing the lenses against the side of a nearby shed. He stepped in to the jock’s face. Spittle flew from his mouth, as he couldn’t get the words out as quickly as he wanted them. He gripped him by his shirt collar, lifting him an inch off the ground. “Who the fuck are you to speak? I know god damn well you aren’t Edison or Einstein. Pietras, did we have any on this class list that are fucking geniuses?”