Far From Ordinary
Page 24
“I – what?”
“How was your vacation?” He repeated, a hint of a smile playing out on his face.
“It was… rewarding, I guess.” Sarah pursed her lips. What was he getting at? He knew damn well that she had disobeyed a direct order in going to Berlin.
“Good. I’m glad to hear it. I expect it was exactly what you needed, yes?”
“Listen, can we cut the bullshit? I went, I did the job and almost got myself killed in the process.” Sarah said impassively. She had resigned herself to whatever fate Mo would give her a long time ago.
“I know,” he sighed. Of course he knew. He had known that Sarah was going from the moment he had read her email requesting time off.
“Why didn’t you stop me?” She asked. Mo stroked his beard for a long time before answering.
“I considered it. I had my fingers froze over a phone keypad debating whether or not I should call in to arrest you at the airport. I considered having a burn notice put out for you as well. But I didn’t.”
“Don’t tell me it’s because you believed that I was doing the right thing,” Sarah said, putting the air quote emphasis on “right thing,” “because I don't believe that shit for a minute.”
“We’ve been gathering intelligence on the Black Eagle group for about a year now since they came up on our radar with the Alfred Katzmann case.”
“I know,” she said impassively.
“It was determined that they were behind the assassination attempt. Now, what we choose to do with that information I don’t know yet, but the Government almost certainly isn’t looking kindly on Abelard Lochte’s destabilization of Europe.”
“I heard that he wants to turn the entire European Union into one big country,” Sarah murmured.
“Which isn’t a bad thing, but Lochte seems to want a unified German state instead of a unified European Union. Either way, the decision was made to take action against his Black Eagle group, to put them on edge.” Mo leaned forward, stroking his beard.
“So that they know how far our arm is,” Sarah guessed. Mo nodded.
“Not quite that simple, but yes. Fortunately for you, an order came down from the top to weaken the Black Eagle’s intelligence capabilities. I told them that there was an agent already dispatched. We sent them a strong message by burning down their headquarters.”
Sarah considered all of this.
“Sounds like I just got really fucking lucky.”
“Sounds like it,” Mo said.
Sarah stood. They both knew that it had nothing to do with luck. Mohammad Al-Azhar had made an executive decision to support her, instead of blacklisting her. She owed him a favor. More than one, probably, given the scope of the mission.
Hidden in the subtext was a clear message as well. If Sarah were ever to do something like this again – to go rogue – she would immediately be burned from every agency. That was not something which was good for someone’s health long-term.
“Of course, you disobeyed a direct order, and that comes with consequences.”
Sarah looked down at her superior officer.
“I understand, Mo.”
“You’re suspended for the next three weeks. If you ever disobey an order again…” Mo let the threat hang in the air. “Dismissed.”
She smiled. A slap on the wrist. Mo really was too good to her.
“Hey,” she paused at the door. “Thank you.”
“Connor can rest easily now,” he said, looking down at his laptop. She’d been dismissed. Sarah smiled.
“Opened or closed?” she asked, looking at the door.
“Closed.”
She smiled and left it open.
Epilogue
He tossed and turned in the bed as a fever ravaged his body. Around him, the unfamiliar sounds of a hospital filtered into his ears.
Someone was dying. He could hear the muted sobs of the family gathered around the hospital bed on the other side of the curtain. It should have been a mercy. No time for unfounded tears.
He shook his head. He’d never understand such trivial emotions as those.
His stomach ached despite the pain medication they’d given him. It made him sleepy, and he’d protested, but they’d given it to him anyway. First via pill administered four times a day and then, when it was apparent he wasn’t taking them, they hooked it up to the IV dripping into his arm.
He’d been too weak to stop them.
The man had gotten no visitors, although he’d been lying in the sterile hospital bed for well on two and a half weeks now. He didn’t expect any, either. He would have scorned anyone bringing a “get well soon” card or – god forbid – some balloon or flower arrangement.
Not one of the nurses knew his name. He’d been dropped at the entrance to the hospital by a car which had driven off with squealing tires. Bleeding from multiple gunshot wounds, he’d been admitted to emergency and then, eventually, to chronic care.
The man traced the bullet wounds in his abdomen. They were hot and puffy with infection and very sensitive to the touch. When he’d been brought in, he knew that his stomach acid was eating him from within. He could feel it gnawing away at his abdominal wall.
But the doctors had gotten him into surgery, had patched up the holes as best as they could and in doing so had saved his life.
He supposed that he should feel thankful towards them, but he didn’t. He had a black hole where his heart should have been. He didn’t feel anything other than the average human urges. Eat, sleep, fuck.
Kill.
“You’re lucky to be alive,” the medical professionals told the nameless man.
Perhaps he was, but the man knew what had kept him clinging to life as his blood had poured out on the floor and his body had gone into shock, and it wasn’t luck.
Revenge.
It consumed his thoughts at every waking moment, and often his dreams as well. It was what gave him fuel, what made him participate in the rehab exercises which his nurse would go through with him.
He wasn’t a man who made mistakes very often, but this one had been costly. Looking back, he knew what he had done wrong. He had committed the sin of hubris. He’d believed too firmly in himself, and in doing so, he had allowed his opponent that one small chance to beat him.
The next time – and there would be a next time – he wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
He would hunt them down and revel in their cries for mercy. Not only that, he would involve anyone close to them. There would be no end to his fury until they both were dead at his feet.
Already his body was mending. Every day he got a little bit stronger. It wouldn’t be long until he could walk of his own accord and go to the washroom without a catheter.
The doctors and nurses marveled at his progress if he cared to hear it. But he didn’t care for it. Not one bit.
Once he had been the angel of death. Beautiful, distant and powerful. Now he was a shattered husk of his former self. For now. It wouldn’t be long until he was back again, ready to reclaim his mantle.
He would get stronger, and he would become a hunter yet again.
He knew their names now. They burned in his memory, and he wouldn’t forget. When it was all done, he would be the only person left alive who remembered them. He wouldn’t just kill them; he’d wipe their memory from the face of the planet.
And he looked at his reflection in the mirror visible from the hospital bed. His skin wrinkled like brown parchment, a testament to a lifetime with a cold heart, too many years of frowning and thin-lipped smiles. His deep-set brown eyes gazed out with an unfocused sorrow and anger.
For now, he was just a broken man. But, soon enough, the angel of death would rise once again.
Like Atlas, he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He saw past his narcissism, his misguided anger, and his cynicism. For the first time, he saw a man.
From him, there could be no escape but the sweet embrace of death.
The End.
; About the author
M. James Murray is a fiction writer born and raised in Winnipeg, Canada. He has over fifteen years experience writing novels. He graduated with a Bachelor of Arts degree in English from the University of Manitoba in 2013.
In 2018 he published his first novel after leaving his job as a Human Resources professional to pursue his career as an author.
In his free time, you can find him voraciously reading or watching baseball and hockey.