In the corner of my eye, I see Schultz reach out to me. “Adrian, don’t do this…”
I ignore him. “Can you see it, Charlie? Can you see how great we’ll become?”
“No!” he screams. “No! This is my world! My dream! You have no right to take this away from me! You can’t—”
I pull the trigger.
A crimson cloud bursts into the air as the body of the president—sorry, former president—drops to the floor with a loud thud.
I stare down at his corpse, watching the blood pool and stain the carpet. “Fuck you.”
The silence that follows lasts only a few seconds. The SWAT team swarms the desk, grabs me, and forces the gun from my hand. They press my head down against the surface of the Resolute desk and secure my hands behind me with plastic ties.
With a gloved hand on my face holding me still, I look up at Schultz. He’s staring at me in shock, his jaw hanging loose.
I look him in the eye. “I acted alone, Ryan. Do you hear me? I did this all on my own, and the fucker deserved it.”
33
May 1, 2017
22:15 EDT
I’m sitting on the floor of my eight-by-eight holding cell, resting against the back wall and staring blankly ahead of me through the bars. There’s a fold-down bed attached to the wall on my right. Overhead, a single light bulb flickers dimly.
It’s been a long twenty-four hours. No one else is around. I’ve not seen anyone in a while. I doubt they’ll put any regular prisoners in here with me. Not after what I’ve done.
The way I see it, in the end I had no choice. Cunningham had to pay for what he’d done. On top of all the atrocities he masterminded, he killed Tori. He blew up the entire town of Devil’s Spring to do it, too. I just know he would’ve found some way of beating the system, so killing him was the only way I could guarantee any kind of justice.
I have to admit, speaking as a professional, I’m a little proud of the fact I managed to carry out what many in this game would class as the impossible kill. I had a lot of help, I know, but still I pulled it off.
That said, look where it’s got me… They don’t put people like me in prison for very long. They put people like me in a chair. Any feeling of victory will be short-lived. Very short-lived, I suspect.
The people who know the truth have already made their apologies, which were gestures that offered little comfort, although I appreciated them all the same. But regardless of the circumstances, which I know they’ll do their best to keep out of the public record, the bottom line is I shot and killed the president. In the Oval Office. In front of almost thirty witnesses.
I’m not expecting any favors from the new president, either. Schultz will have to show the world that America has its house in order. I understand that, and I don’t hold what he’ll have to do against him.
I’m just glad I was able to keep Josh away from it all. I’ve left him my fortune. Dollars won’t be worth much where I’m going…
There’s a rattling of keys outside. I look up and see a security guard fumbling hurriedly to unlock the door. Behind him, eight of his friends are standing in line, alert and armed, staring at me like I’ve taken a shit on their front lawns.
Maybe this is it? No trial, no fuss, no wait—straight to the executioner. Can’t say I blame them. They can do away with me quietly, and then spin whatever story they want afterward.
The guard pulls the door open and takes a step inside. “On your feet. You’ve got a visitor.”
A visitor, eh?
I stand casually and lean against the back wall as a man strides into view, his steps patient and deliberate. He’s wearing a brilliant white suit with a black shirt and white tie. He’s got the shiniest pair of black shoes I’ve ever seen. He looks like a walking negative.
His heels click as he stops and turns to look at me. He half glances at the guard. “You can leave us. I’ll be fine.”
His voice is like a whisper, yet I can hear every word with frightening clarity.
The guard shuts the door and steps a respectful distance away. The guy is standing silently, staring impassively at me.
I look him up and down. “So, Colonel Sanders, what can I do for you? Bit snazzy for a state-appointed lawyer, aren’t you?”
He must know who I am, yet he’s standing here almost like I should be afraid of him. The man’s face shows no emotion whatsoever. His green eyes are dead, and the coarse, loose skin around his cheeks is the only thing giving any indication of his age.
Silence.
“Adrian… It’s an honor to meet you.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“I have waited… many years for the moment to arrive when I could stand before you.”
Say what now?
I fight the urge to respond, despite being very confused.
“We’ve been watching you… monitoring how you progress—how you… evolve.”
Okay, I’ll bite.
“Who are you? And what do you mean you’ve been watching me?”
“Killing the president of the United States… that’s an impressive feat.”
I wave my hand dismissively. “Well, I’m not one to blow my own trumpet or anything, but… y’know… toot.”
I smile, but he says nothing. His eyebrow rises with an almost imperceptible twitch, but that’s all he gives me.
“Adrian, are you aware of what will happen to you now?”
I stare at the ceiling and exhale slowly like I’m giving it some real thought. “Oh, I dunno… a cold beer and floor seats to a Lakers game?”
The man sighs, which I take as a sign he’s growing impatient. “Not quite. In approximately eighteen hours, you will be sentenced to death via lethal injection.”
“Huh… Well, that’s gonna suck. Hang on—how do you know?”
“I know lots of things, Adrian. I represent an organization who hires people with certain… skill sets. My employers then invest considerable amounts of money to help those individuals perfect those skill sets. Tell me, have you ever heard of the Order of Sabbah?”
My eyes widen involuntarily. I’m trying to hide that I’ve been caught off guard and am shocked, but I can’t.
The Order…?
Let me tell you, they’re like an urban legend among assassins. An organization that, allegedly, stretches back thousands of years and is made up of the greatest killers the world has ever seen. It’s a load of bullshit, if you ask me, but every now and then you hear a rumor about someone disappearing, or someone turning up to a job to find it’s mysteriously been taken care of. No one reads too much into it, as those examples can usually be explained. But in the same way devout Catholics use God as the answer to almost any science question that doesn’t have a logical explanation, many of my fellow assassins like to use the Order of Sabbah as the explanation for anything out of the ordinary.
“Is this a joke?” I ask, finally. “You turn up and tell me I have less than a day to live and then expect me to believe you work for some silly ghost story?”
The man smiles humorlessly, like he’s seen the same reaction a thousand times before. “I assure you, Adrian, the Order is no ghost story. We are very real, and we believe you are ready to join the elite of your profession.”
I shake my head. “I hate to burst your bubble, but I already am the elite of my profession. I’m—”
“You’re good, there’s no denying that. But you could be so much more… with the right guidance. I am here to present you with the opportunity to join our ranks. To become that ghost story, as you put it.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me? You just told me I’m gonna die tomorrow…”
“If you remain here… yes, you will.”
“Ah, I see. But if I just walk out the front door holding your hand, you’ll take me some place far, far away, right?”
“I can save you, if that’s what you’re implying.”
This guy’s a basket case. But for no other reason besides having literally nothin
g better to do on what has turned out to be the last day of my life, I’ll humor him.
I shrug. “Okay, lay it on me then… What’s the catch?”
The guy looks at me thoughtfully, and I see him slightly curl the corner of his mouth the way people do when they’re trying to hold back a smug smile because they’ve just proved someone wrong or won a bet.
“The catch, if you wish to call it that, is we’ll kill you.”
“Hmmm… I’m failing to see the benefits, I’ll be honest.”
He shakes his head. “You will be pronounced dead as a result of your not-so-public execution. You will officially cease to be, leaving you free to do whatever you want. Or, more specifically, whatever we want. No one can track you because all they would ever find are records of your death.”
“And how exactly do I trust you to do this?”
“You don’t. And, Adrian, if you honestly thought you could, then I’m afraid we’ve made a mistake, and I’ll leave you to the last day of your—”
I hold my hands up. “Alright, alright. So, what, you fake my death and then I’m part of the team?”
The man nods. “It’s along those lines, yes. But I need your decision right now. And you need to realize you will be dead, Adrian. Officially. Which means you will no longer be able to contact anyone in your life. The world must believe you no longer exist.”
I let out a heavy sigh and move over to the pull-down bed, which I lower and sit on.
This is crazy!
I’ll be dead… Josh will think I’m dead. Can I really put him through that just to save my own ass?
The man checks his watch. “Tick tock, Adrian.”
I look up at him. “Hey, don’t rush me! This is a lot to think about, alright?”
“Big choices are never easy to make.”
I shake my head and resume staring at the floor.
Fake my own death and join the Order of Sabbah? That’s insane. And I’m still not even sure I believe this guy. I can only compare it to someone turning up at your front door and telling you they’re an angel. To have something that has been forever shrouded in mystery and myth suddenly proven to you is… well, it’s a lot to get your head around.
The Order.
Fuck…
I sigh and look across at the man in white, who’s staring at me, watching me struggle to make the decision.
I’d never see or speak to Josh again. I’m sure he’s working his ass off to get me out of here. But what if he can’t? I’m not afraid to die, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to.
The Order is an assassin’s fairy tale, right? I mean, no one actually believes an organization comprised of the best killers in history really exists… What did those stories say? That they shape humanity’s future by removing people they think will have a negative impact on the world, or something like that.
Sounds like bullshit.
But then, what have I got to lose? I say no, I’m dead. I say yes and I’m wrong, I’m dead. I say yes and this guy’s on the level, then I stay alive, but the world will think I’m dead.
And how the hell is he going to do that, anyway? I know you can get pills and things to make you ill… is that his plan? Make me sick, get me to a hospital, and then—I don’t know—switch my body with a fresh corpse, maybe? Fake a car crash on the way there? What? I have no idea…
Christ.
And I don’t know what’s worse—dying, or allowing Josh to believe I’m dead when I’m not. I don’t think I can do that to him. He’s like my brother. He’s been there—
“Time’s up,” says the man, moving toward the door. “What’s your decision? Become legend or become death?”
I stare into his blank green eyes. Outside my cell, I hear the rattling of keys again as the guard approaches.
He places a hand on the bars of the door. “Last chance, Adrian…”
I tense my jaw muscles and stand. I take a deep breath, hold it for a moment, and then let it out in a slow sigh as I close my eyes.
I must be crazy…
He turns to leave.
“Okay, wait. I’ll—”
He stops and looks at me. “I’m sorry, Adrian. But you were too slow. My offer has expired. If you’re so unsure about the decision, the Order probably isn’t right for you. And vice versa.”
“What? Hey, wait a goddamn minute, you said—”
“I said your time was up.” He turns to face the door again. “Guard?”
The security guard from before reappears and opens the door. The man in white steps out and to the side so the door can be closed again behind him.
He looks at me through the bars. “I’m sorry, Adrian. It’s a real waste of potential. But you should’ve been more committed to the idea. You know what they say: hesitation can get you killed.”
He smiles and walks away, disappearing from view. I’m left standing, lost for words and a little confused, facing the row of armed security personnel assigned to watch me in my final hours.
I shake my head. “Sonofabitch.”
34
May 2, 2017
08:57 EDT
I’ve not slept. I’m about to sleep forever, so I didn’t want to waste my final hours of life with my eyes closed. I’m just sitting on my fold-down bed staring at the floor.
I sigh heavily. This is really, really shit. I always figured I’d go out in the proverbial blaze of glory—a gunfight or a fistfight… something with a bit of dignity. But instead I’m about to be strapped to a chair and killed by a three-inch needle.
It’s actually a little humiliating.
I’ve been playing in my mind over and over again what that walking negative said to me yesterday, about how I was good but could be better with training. What’s he talking about? I don’t mean to sound… Y’know what? Screw it. I don’t care if I do sound bigheaded, I’m about to die. I am the best fucking assassin on this planet. I know that. I believe that. I don’t need the approval of some prick with poor taste in clothing.
But it would’ve been nice if he’d given me ten more seconds to mull over the biggest decision I’ve ever had to make. And I was going to take him up on his offer, too. I know that probably makes me look like a dick—choosing to do that to Josh, to put him through the grief of believing I’m dead… As it turns out, I’m going to do that anyway, I just won’t be around to feel bad about it.
I hear a door opening somewhere outside my holding cell away to the left, out of sight. The sound of multiple footsteps gradually gets louder on the tiled floor, and after a few moments, ten armed security personnel appear. They’re wearing ski masks, holding assault rifles, safeties off, fingers hovering over the trigger.
“On your feet,” says one of them, taking a step forward.
I stand begrudgingly. “Don’t I get, like, a last meal or something?”
The door opens and he steps inside. The men behind him arrange themselves into a trained formation.
“Let’s go,” he says, “nice and easy.”
I hold my hands to the sides and shrug. “Not much point putting up a fight now, is there?”
I step out and the other guards swarm around me, their weapons trained on me from all angles. The first guy follows me and moves to the front of the pack. He starts walking and we follow.
I’ve no idea which facility I’ve been taken to. It won’t exist, anyway. It’ll be some off-the-books CIA black site somewhere obscure. There are no windows—certainly not in the parts of the building I’ve seen. It’s all artificially lit and has a fresh smell like it’s recently been opened or renovated.
We’re walking along a seemingly endless network of narrow corridors. There are rooms periodically on both sides, but I’ve seen no one else here. After a few minutes, we stop outside two large swinging doors like those in an operating room.
The guard turns to me. “Wait here.” He disappears inside.
I look around casually, examining the building with a professional eye, searching for a weak spot or something I can
use. Maybe I can try to escape. I reckon I could take out at least half of these assholes around me before they realize what’s happening. Steal a gun, shoot them all, make a break for it… I get lucky, maybe I get away. I don’t, I die from a thousand bullets. A blaze of glory.
I smile to myself. Who am I kidding? I can’t be bothered. Not anymore. I’ve done a lot of bad things in my time. And I like to think I’ve done some good, too. Question my methods all you want, but by killing President Cunningham I did this world a massive service.
I guess I’m exactly where I should be. Where I deserve to be. I don’t like it, but I’m coming to terms with the finality of the situation. I’ve passed the point of no return here. Whatever I do from this moment on, I know I’m going to die. Apart from Josh, there’s no one left for me in this world. Not anymore.
I’ve tried not to think about Tori. Or the sheriff. Or anyone else I knew back in Devil’s Spring. That place was my home. This might sound heartless and selfish, but I don’t want to spend my last hours wallowing and thinking about loss and death. If I allowed the emotions to run free in my mind, I’d be crushed… distraught with grief. But I don’t want to die feeling that way.
The guard reappears. “They’re ready.”
The huddle disperses, forming a loose U-shape around the doors.
I crack my neck, stretch my arms and back, and take a long, deep breath. I look around the formation. “Thanks, fellas. Good job all around. No hard feelings, okay?”
No one responds. That’s fine, I didn’t expect them to, really. Just wanted to be polite.
I push open the doors and step inside a white, clean, air-conditioned room. I hear one of the guards follow me through, but I don’t bother looking around at him. In front of me is one horrible-looking chair… My God! It looks like it belongs to a dental surgeon with a bondage fetish. There’s a stand on either side, one of which has tubing that leads into a hole in the wall. The room next door will be where the drugs are, I guess.
A Necessary Kill Page 28
