Code of the Assassin: Embedded in the data is the power to corrupt (David Diegert Series Book 3)
Page 6
The ball came from the right, struck the floor and ricocheted off the left wall. Diegert could see the ball moving, going high and to the right. His whole body lurched forward, coming out of the chair. Both hands shot forward toward the ball. His right hand contacted the fuzzy yellow sphere which bounced off the base of his thumb. The ball went high, Diegert’s left hand grasped at it striking the ball, sending it higher and farther to the right. Diegert moved his right hand below the path through which the ball was now falling. He brought his left hand down and trapped the ball between them. Falling to his knees, he rolled onto his back until he lay on the floor. Raising the ball in his right hand like a triumphant outfielder, Diegert looked up at Avery with a smile.
“Better, but let’s see if you can do it while remaining in the chair,” said the lesson master.
Seated again, Diegert looked into the corner. This time the ball again came from the right. Its trajectory, though, was much steeper, hitting the floor hard and bouncing high off the left wall. It must have had a lot of spin on it because it went sharply to the right, striking the right wall. From there the ball went low and to the left. Tracking the movement with his eyes and letting the images in his brain guide his muscles, Diegert simply opened his left hand, slid it forward into the path of the ball, and closed his fingers around it when it touched his palm.
“That’s more like it,” Avery said.
Diegert was stunned. How simple this had been. Without reacting to all the distraction of the bouncing ball or preoccupying himself with anticipation, he had just let his brain interpret the visual signals, and the action was obvious and easy. Too easy, he thought. And maybe that’s the problem. If things are too easy, we often complicate them, so they feel like more of an accomplishment. From now on, he would just try to accept easy as appropriate.
Diegert tossed the ball back to Avery, and they continued the drill for another fifteen minutes during which Diegert’s success climbed to ninety-five percent.
“All right, so you’re teaching me about being in the zone,” said Diegert.
Avery looked at him with an inquisitive tilt to his head.
“On the wrestling team, we were taught to chill out before our matches. Coach didn’t want us psyching ourselves out. Like you said, you just have to let your nervous system react and do what’s necessary.”
“The zone sounds very much like the state of the empty self. In this state, you detach from your judgments and prejudices and simply perform the act that is required of you.”
Diegert turned his head to look at Avery, eager to hear more.
The trainer of men continued, “The empty self does not mean there is nothing within you. It means you are free of the baggage of being human. When wrestling, how can a man succeed in doing something which takes rapid neural integration when his mind is completely pre-occupied imagining the outcome of the event?”
Avery looked at David, indicating his question was not rhetorical.
“I don’t know,” said Diegert.
“Then you will know as our training progresses.”
Avery leaned forward, getting uncomfortably close to Diegert. “You will know so that assassinating people will be something you do with an empty self.”
Diegert drew back from Avery keeping his eyes fixed on the man. Avery’s eyes never blinked or shifted.
“You want me to continue to be an assassin?”
“David, you are an assassin whether I want you to be or not. It is the path your life has chosen. You are a unique individual with skills and abilities possessed by few others. You are what you are, and that is a killer of men.”
The assessment left Diegert feeling dejected and confused. He didn’t feel like a killer sitting in this medical room in his cotton t-shirt and sweatpants. He still felt bad about all the people he had killed. Carolyn made him define a lethal code, which he had stuck to, but he also had to admit that when he was on a mission, he found himself in the Zone. His purpose was clear, and he was always capable of making the kill. Like when the wrestling match was over, he felt lost after a mission. He didn’t know what his purpose was except to escape. He may have skills and abilities that few others possessed, but those who did were either in jail or dead.
“Shouldn’t my mission in life be something more than just killing people?”
“You mustn’t confuse the act that you perform with the mission of your life.”
“Why not?”
“Your mission is to serve Crepusculous. The mission of Crepusculous is to provide goods and services to the entire planet to sustain and enhance human life.” Avery intensified his gaze to elicit a response.
“OK, that sounds big.”
“It is an all-encompassing mission which requires tremendous resources, extensive human effort, and substantial security to maintain the capacity to achieve this goal.” Avery took a few steps away from Diegert, then turned to face him from a stable, solid stance before continuing. “When threatened, it is requisite that we eliminate such threats before they interrupt the mission.”
“Boy, you sure drank the Kool-Aid on that one.”
“That’s certainly a dated reference, but if you’re implying that I am a true believer, you are correct.”
“I don’t believe in it,” said Diegert. “In fact, I think Panzer’s crazy and it’s dangerous to have so much power in the hands of a man like him.”
Avery drew several breaths. “What would you propose?”
“I’d burn it down. Fucking Crepusculous should be revealed, indicted, the four of them arrested and the Board destroyed. They’ve made themselves rich while the rest of the planet suffers.”
The strain in Avery’s words was palpable, “You don’t believe they’ve helped people?”
“They’re criminals, the worst kind because there is no accountability for the damage they do. I’m going to destroy them and take over.”
Avery’s movement was so swift and powerful that Diegert was on the floor gasping for breath with the dark man’s hand exerting a vice-like pressure on his trachea.
“My life,” Avery shouted, “has been dedicated to the mission of Crepusculous. Anyone who has access as deep inside as you do must be trustworthy.”
With both of his hands on Avery’s arm, Diegert could not budge the grip. The mentor’s arm was as solid as a tree trunk, and his hand was closing Diegert’s throat. Nodding his head was the only movement Diegert could make. Avery watched as the nodding intensified. He took his time deciding if he should let Diegert breathe.
The rush of air swept into Diegert’s lungs, making him wheeze through his indented windpipe.
“Fuck man.”
“That’s not right,” admonished Avery. “It’s DON’T Fuck with this man.”
Taking deeper breaths, Diegert coughed in a painful spasm.
“You will come to realize that protecting the mission of Crepusculous is the most important job in the world. Killing the enemies of Crepusculous ensures the safety and prosperity of the world’s markets. As a dedicated assassin, you must embrace your role as the honor it is, or you will be eliminated like a malignant cell.”
Diegert let out a sigh and looked at the floor while running his fingers through his hair. From his kneeling position, he saw Avery in a martial arts stance ready to strike.
Diegert coughed again as he slowly started rising to his feet. From his crouched position, he struck out with a rotating kick that drove his heel into Avery’s knee. The mentor’s leg buckled as he fell backward. Placing his hand on the ground, Avery spun on his palm while flipping his legs under himself like a dropped cat. Diegert, now standing, could see his adversary was not disabled. Wasting no time, he applied a flash front kick to Avery’s unprotected thorax. The concussion knocked the wind out of the mentor’s ribcage as audible cracks ricocheted off the tile walls.
Diegert’s primal sense was kicking in. He saw his opponent’s vulnerabilities like a hedge fund manager examining the books of a struggling business.
Like a bull in a Mexican ring, Diegert exhaled with force as he circled the helpless matador.
Avery, as water taking the shape of a vessel, desperately tried a different approach.
“David, you are obviously a formidable adversary.” Avery raised his shaking hands and stepped out of his stance. “You are physically superior, and I relinquish this battle to you. Please don’t hit me again.”
Diegert saw red, he saw black, he saw pain, but now he saw blue and a waving white flag. He saw Avery asking for mercy. Targets usually only asked when it was way too late. Avery was seeking to preserve himself and perhaps the relationship they were forming.
Diegert opened his fists, relaxed his shoulders and stood up straight. His hardened face relaxed into an expression of stoic, cynicism. Avery’s movements revealed the damage to his ribcage. Diegert remembered how it took three long months for his broken ribs to heal.
Raising his hands, Diegert said, “Ok, let’s talk.”
The teacher’s hands fell, and he carefully walked over to a chair.
Diegert sat on the edge of the bed facing his flustered mentor. He watched as the man struggled to regain his composure before speaking. “You occupy a very unique position within this organization, David. Your opportunity to take over Crepusculous and Omnisphere will come to you, but not if you seek to destroy it first.”
David raised his chin but kept his eyes on Avery who said, “There are too many layers that you can’t cut through. You will be prevented from hitting the heart of the beast.”
“It is a beast,” agreed Diegert. “The Board is unconcerned with anything but power. Providing for the world is just to gain profit and power, with all the power going to Klaus Panzer.”
The mentor raised his hand. “Perhaps you are right, and there is too much power concentrated at the top. Destroying the Board though, will only create more problems and lead to an economic collapse that would engulf the entire world.” Avery winced as he shifted in his chair. “Omnisphere’s success supports the global economy. If you destroy it, everyone and I mean every man, woman, and child on earth will suffer. If you want to do any good in this world, you have to work within the structure to which you now have access.”
Diegert felt the flip. Avery had turned the argument around. The teacher didn't deny that change had to be made, he just didn’t support violent revolution, especially within the ranks of the Crepusculous family.
“What do you suggest I do?” asked Diegert.
“Good luck is when preparation meets opportunity. You must be prepared, David, for opportunities that are going to come your way. Bad luck is when an opportunity arises, and you are unprepared. Are you ready to run the world’s largest multinational, global corporation?”
The sobering sense of that question left David with a hollow feeling of doubt.
“So I should just wait.”
“Absolutely not. You should begin preparing. You will inherit an empire. You won’t have to build it. You will have to defend it. It will be under constant attack, so the path you are on now is the right one to prepare you for your eventual ascendancy. As a killer of men, you will have the instinct necessary to protect the empire and preserve the mission of Omnisphere as it provides for the world.”
How is it that Avery always seems to be able to turn the message back to where he began?
“What I need from you now, David,” asked the aching mentor, “is your word that you are committed to the mission of Crepusculous and that you are not seeking to destroy Omnisphere?”
“You have my word that I won’t destroy Omnisphere,” replied David.
“And the Crepusculous Board?”
“They should remain vigilant and be advised that the world’s best assassin is watching them.”
“Very well, David.” Avery shook his head. “I accept your word. Words are indications, but actions are demonstrations. You will be tested to assess your skills and abilities, as well as your loyalty. I look forward to working with you.”
Diegert didn’t know what to say, but he did remember learning martial arts at the YMCA as a kid, so he rose and bowed before his sensei. Avery winced as he rose and returned the bow with a gentle smile. “I will leave you to your morning workout and your breakfast. You have a good day.”
Diegert stretched his back, bending from side to side. A killer of men is what you are and will always be. His code not to kill women and children remained intact, but this thought kept rattling around his brain, and will always be. Its nagging persistence prevented him from finding the empty self. Constant preoccupation with assessing the righteousness of his role was taxing but planning to one day direct the fortunes of Omnisphere brought a smile to Diegert’s face. He jumped up, grabbed the crossbar on the gym, and started pumping out pull-ups while waiting for his morning meal.
CHAPTER 8
Two days out of restraints, able to move around the room, gave Diegert a small sense of freedom. The armed guard outside his door kept that feeling small.
A day after his visit from Avery, Diegert was taken aback when Klaus Panzer appeared at the door of his room. Leaping off his bed, dressed in gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt, Diegert stood with defiance. Facing his father, who had last referred to him as an embarrassing bastard, Diegert didn’t know what to say and asked only, “What are you doing here?”
Panzer replied, “I’ve come to see to it that you get out of that bed and get yourself back in shape.” Panzer leaned out the door and dismissed the guard, who turned and walked down the hall. This action surprised Diegert as well as raised his suspicions.
“It’s good to see you out of bed. I don’t want you getting soft. You’re using the equipment Avery has provided?”
Diegert nodded, feeling no other reply necessary.
“I want you to keep your hard edge. I want you to get ready for more assignments. Having the world’s best assassin at my disposal is something of which I am going to take full advantage.”
Diegert grew tense. Instead of a son, he felt like an obligated servant.
Panzer’s smile broadened. “You know you haven’t killed anyone in quite a while. Do you feel the need? Is the itch to kill getting annoying?”
Diegert felt a sick kind of vicariousness as he imagined how Panzer got off on killing, but only through the hands of others. He peered at the man through narrowed eyelids.
“Nitaage (Nit-ah-gay),” said Panzer with an exaggerated tone. “I almost sound like an Indian, don’t I,” he said with a self-amused chuckle.
Diegert tilted his head, intensifying his glare at the sound of the unusual, yet strangely familiar word.
“That’s what you are,” declared Panzer. “I thought you’d recognize the Ojibwa word for a killer. Hey, you could turn it into a little chant before your next mission. Nitaage, Nitaage, Nitaage,” he chanted sounding like a complete imbecile.
Diegert’s disgusted glare left no doubt about his opinion of Panzer having learned one Ojibwa word.
“Your mom taught me the word. She wants to know if you’re still wearing your “special” amulet.” Panzer peered to see the thin strip of leather from which a circular amulet with an Ojibwa inscription hung around Diegert’s neck.
“She said it says something about walking through the dark to turn on the light.”
“One must pass through darkness to find the light.”
“Yeah, that’s it,” said Panzer derisively. “Pretty corny bullshit if you ask me, but Indians believe in spirits and living ancestors and all sorts of dopey shit.”
Diegert grew silent as insolent disrespect poured from his father’s mouth.
“Do you feel like the Indian part of you drags you down?” Panzer did not allow for an answer before continuing. “Mixing my genes with the weird world genetics of the Ojibwa seems like i
t might produce a confused bastard of a child.”
Diegert’s scowl turned to a menacing grimace as his shoulders tensed.
“You know just because I’m the one who fucked your mom doesn’t mean you aren’t a bastard.”
How dare he come in here and spew this kind of shit. And that word; BASTARD. All his life he wore that label because of this man. As Diegert’s anger heated up, the muscles in his cheeks knotted into rippling bulges.
“Fucking your mother so long ago was good, but last night was even better,” said Panzer with a chuckle and a slight thrust of his hips.
Diegert sprang at him like a mountain lion, hitting Panzer hard, driving him into the wall and to the floor. The tall gray man laid on his back as he pounded on Diegert’s shoulders and head, his blows having no effect on the younger, much stronger man. From his position straddling Panzer on the floor, Diegert grabbed the older man’s neck, encircling the throat with his thumbs and forefingers. With maniacal force, Diegert crushed the airway of the man responsible for all the shit in his life. Panzer’s face turned red as Diegert tightened his grip allowing no air to pass. Panzer desperately struggled in spite of his declining strength.
What a fucker. Diegert never realized how much he hated this man until right now. He unleashed his anger, not only about the last few days but the years of dejection he felt ever since he learned how his mother became pregnant. The irresponsibility of this man left him to be a bastard child.
Diegert could see the blood vessels in Panzer’s eyes enlarging and deepening their red color. He felt the moment of expiration coming. How dare he rape my mother again?
Diegert’s fury exploded, and he lifted Panzer’s head off the floor and smacked it back down hard. He did this again and again until a bloody smear appeared on the floor. The blood grew into a puddle from which a ring of droplets sprayed each time Panzer’s head was driven into the crimson pool.
Diegert kept pounding Panzer’s head until he heard the cracking of the skull and felt the tension slip away from the muscles in his father’s neck. The head felt like a crushed melon slung in a canvas sack. The striking gray-blue eyes were vacant, staring through open lids. Diegert’s fingers, embedded in the flesh, disobeyed the signals to relax as he struggled to release his grip. Straddling the limp body, he realized the only breathing in the room was his own.