I Am the Mission: The Unknown Assassin Book 2

by Allen Zadoff

  I have a job. I have to finish what I came here to do.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  I SLIP INTO THE MAIN HOUSE.

  I hear the chatter of people eating dinner on the first floor. I bypass them, and I move deeper into the house, mounting the first-floor staircase and moving on to the second.

  I have done this once before. That’s all it takes for the layout to be committed to memory.

  I pass a few people in the hall, nodding to them as I go. There is no reason to hide, no need to mask my movement in any way. I project authority and people yield, allowing me to pass.

  I take the corner stairs up to the third floor, and I arrive without incident.

  The war room.

  I pause for a moment, steadying my body and mind.

  I feel certainty deep inside, the laser focus that has always allowed me to accomplish my missions.

  It’s a relief to feel it. The old me. The me without doubts.

  The soldier.

  I assume Moore knew about Francisco’s plan this morning. Francisco would take me up the mountain, ostensibly to repair a satellite uplink, but really to test my allegiance.

  A make-or-break scenario.

  I would turn against The Program, or I would be killed.

  Because I am still alive, he will assume I turned. But Moore will want to know the details of what happened on the mountain.

  I will make my certainty feel like the certainty of a boy who believes he has seen the truth. A boy who has made a new choice for his life.

  This is the boy I will show to Moore.

  I step into the room.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  HE IS NOT ALONE.

  Aaron is with him.

  No matter.

  I stand in the doorway waiting for them to notice me.

  Moore looks up, takes in my appearance, registers the fact that I am by myself.

  He nods to me, and I step inside.

  “Where’s Francisco?” Aaron says.

  “In his room,” I say simply.

  “I thought you two were together,” he says.

  I note him looking at my forehead. I wipe there with my fingers. The skin is raw from a scrape. I feel the stickiness of clotted blood.

  “We were together,” I say. “We took a hike, talked about some things. As you can see, we had a few issues to settle between us.”

  “Were things settled satisfactorily?” Moore says.

  I dab at my forehead. “Let’s just say we understand each other a lot better now.”

  “Boys will be boys,” Moore says.

  “And men will be men,” I say. I look at the blood on my fingers and smile. “You think I look bad? You should see Francisco. He’s cleaning himself up, and then he’ll join us.”

  Aaron looks at me, distrust pouring off him. But he is not the important player in the room.

  I check Moore’s eyes, searching for evidence of doubt.

  I do not detect any.

  “Francisco explained everything to me,” I say.

  I glance at Aaron as if I’m unsure if I should say more with him in the room.

  Moore takes the cue.

  “Why don’t you grab a bite downstairs,” he says to Aaron.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Aaron says.

  “Do as I tell you,” Moore says.

  Aaron looks from Moore to me. His weight shifts from leg to leg, his uncertainty manifesting in his body. Aaron so badly wants to be a tough guy. He is brave but unskilled. I see that now.

  “I’ll pick something up and be back in a few minutes,” Aaron says to Moore.

  “Take your time,” Moore says. “Daniel and I have much to discuss.”

  Aaron looks at me with narrowed eyes, then he leaves the room.

  Six to eight minutes, that is my time frame. That is my estimate of how long it will take Aaron to get back here. It depends on what they’re serving downstairs, the length of the line in the dining hall, and how fearful Aaron is about my time with Moore.

  But the important thing is that he is gone now.

  I say, “I wasn’t sure how much Aaron knew.”

  Moore shakes his head. “We thought it was better to keep him out of it for the time being.”

  “You knew about me all along,” I say.

  “I suspected. I didn’t know,” Moore says.

  I take a step toward him. He allows it.

  He says, “Francisco warned me there would be others, that The Program would not let this stand.”

  Hearing him say the name of my organization causes Francisco’s betrayal to hit me full force. Francisco told this stranger about us, breaking a fundamental code of our work.

  Then I think of Howard waiting for me back at the hotel. I broke the same code.

  Am I any different from Francisco?

  I can’t think about this now. I push it to the side and focus all my attention on Moore.

  I say, “Francisco warned you about me, but you decided to let me in.”

  “I decided the opposite. It’s Francisco who persuaded me to give you a chance that night at the community center. He thought you were a Program soldier, but he also thought you could be something more.”

  “A permanent.”

  “A new kind of soldier,” Moore says, correcting me. “And he was right, wasn’t he?”

  I think of Francisco on the forest floor, his eyes bulging as I squeeze his throat.

  Three minutes gone. Three remain.

  “He was right,” I say. I touch the bruise on my head. “It took a little convincing, but I’m a stubborn guy.”

  “The best ones are,” Moore says. “But if you stay with us, you stay by choice. Not by force.”

  “Choice,” I say. “That’s exactly what it is.”

  Moore smiles.

  “I’m glad to hear that,” he says. “You’re going to be an important part of things moving forward.”

  “I know how Francisco convinced me, but I’m curious to know how you convinced him.”

  “In the beginning?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I didn’t have to convince him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t have that power, Daniel, not really. Francisco had already turned against The Program when he met me. He just needed someone to show him a different way to live. He needed a new mission.”

  “Your mission.”

  Moore nods. “Which brings us to you,” he says. “You were already beginning to doubt the people you work for and the things they ask you to do. I saw it that night at the community center.”

  I take another step toward Moore. I remove my glasses and swing them by my side.

  Moore turns his back to me, looking out the window at the camp below.

  “Now you’re here to stay,” he says. “I have plans for us.”

  “I want to hear about them.”

  “Of course,” Moore says. “As soon as Francisco gets back.”

  He looks out across the encampment, his back still to me.

  “Where is Francisco?” Moore says.

  “He went to his room, but he should be here momentarily.”

  “I see,” Moore says.

  I step toward him, closing in on striking range. He continues to look out the window, his posture relaxed.

  This is going to be easy.

  Or so I think until Moore turns back to me with a pistol in his hand.

  “Don’t come any closer,” he says.

  I look at the pistol.

  It’s a black Beretta M9. Standard-issue U.S. military pistol. Its 9mm bullets have questionable lethality from a distance, but we’re not at a distance. We are in the same room, a few feet away from each other.

  “You’re here and Francisco is not,” Moore says. “I’m going to err on the side of caution and ask you to keep your distance until Francisco returns.”

  He holds the pistol steady, like a soldier does.

  Two minutes until Aaron retur
ns, perhaps five minutes before Moore becomes convinced something is wrong and sends someone to find Francisco. By then there will be eyes on the situation and multiple people between me and Moore.

  I cannot let that happen.

  “Francisco won’t be back,” I say.

  “Why is that?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Is that right?” Moore says unflinchingly. “How did he die?”

  “I killed him and left his body in the woods.”

  Moore is silent for a moment, watching me.

  “Why?” he says.

  He aims his weapon at my chest. From this distance, he will not miss.

  “Because he was a traitor,” I say.

  “To your Program?”

  “Yes. And also to you.”

  His eyes narrow. The first real reaction I’ve gotten out of him. I continue quickly.

  “He was plotting against you. He disagreed with your political ideas, and he wanted us to take over the camp together.”

  Moore looks at me, the aim in his gun hand unyielding.

  “You disagreed with that approach?”

  “Obviously,” I say.

  Moore pauses for a moment, and then he laughs. A deep belly laugh that causes him to fold at the waist.

  “Would you like to tell me why you disagreed?” Moore says.

  “Lee and Miranda,” I say.

  “What about them?”

  “I like them. I trust them. And they believe in you. I thought I might just try it myself.”

  “You really did kill Francisco,” he says.

  “I saved you the trouble.”

  Moore lowers the gun to his side.

  “I trusted him,” Moore says, his face going slack.

  “That was a mistake,” I say, and in one motion I step forward, detaching the temple arm from my glasses. I arc them through the air, pressing the point into the side of his neck and depressing the plunger.

  He doesn’t flinch, only looks at me with a confused expression on his face.

  He stumbles as the poison hits him. He drops to one knee.

  I step toward him, removing the pistol from his hand and helping him to balance. I don’t want him falling in a way that will create a blood splatter that will look strange to his people.

  “You—” he whispers.

  Our faces are close, too close.

  I lay him back on the floor. I replace the pistol in its holster at his waist.

  He gasps for air. Two more seconds—

  “You’re the traitor,” he says.

  “I’m a patriot,” I say, and I watch him die.

  Twenty seconds have gone by, long enough for Moore to pass beyond hope of resuscitation. I hear footsteps in the hall outside, coming toward the room.

  I’m out of time.

  “Help!” I shout.

  The footsteps speed up. Aaron rushes into the room.

  “We were talking and he collapsed,” I say, making my voice shake.

  Aaron scans the room, checking for a weapon, checking for any sign of foul play. I can see him looking and finding nothing. His attention quickly returns to Moore.

  “I think he’s having a heart attack,” I say.

  “Where is Francisco?” Aaron says.

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  Aaron leaps onto the floor next to Moore, checks his vital signs, then begins CPR. He’s not skilled enough to know that it’s too late.

  “There’s a walkie on my belt,” he says. “Tell them we have an emergency. We need medical up here immediately.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  I USE THE CONFUSION OF RUSHING BODIES TO GET OUT OF THE HOUSE.

  A light rain is falling outside. The news spreads quickly. By the time I make it across the camp, teens are already rushing out of their houses, their faces panicked as they run toward the main house with umbrellas or plastic bags over their heads.

  A few people look in my direction as they notice me moving away from the main house rather than toward it, but no one challenges me. I keep my head down, not allowing anyone to engage with me.

  I sense the fear and confusion coursing through the crowd, along with a growing panic. Moore is the glue that binds this group together. Without him, that glue will begin to dissolve. The kids will wander away, returning to their homes and families on the outside, looking for some semblance of the life they once knew.

  I will be the first to leave, but I won’t be the last.

  I move toward the parking area. I turn the corner, and I see Francisco’s black truck is there. The keys will be in the ignition, as they are with all the vehicles here.

  Suddenly Sergeant Burch steps out of the woods behind the parking area. I notice something in his hands that he quickly slips into a pocket when he sees me.

  It’s an iPhone.

  What was he doing with a phone in the forest?

  He walks slowly across the lot, his eyes weary.

  Choices:

  I can engage him, try to talk my way out of the situation.

  Or I can neutralize him. I’m younger and stronger than him, but there’s no doubt he knows how to fight, and he will not give up willingly. I’ll have to kill him.

  Another soldier, another death. Burch is a good man. I’d like to avoid this if I can.

  He comes closer. We stare at each other.

  He nods to me, just the slightest shift of his head. Some glimmer of understanding passes between us, and I know not to stop or ask questions.

  Whatever he was doing with the phone is none of my business.

  I keep moving and so does he.

  Neither of us says a word.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  I DRIVE THROUGH THE RAIN.

  The truck’s tires fight for grip on the steep mountain road that leads up and out of Camp Liberty.

  I made it out of camp, but I’m not free. Not yet.

  The roadblock is up ahead.

  I speed up to it, hoping they will open the gate without question, but that’s not how it goes. I have to skid to a stop at the last moment. I roll my window down as one of the guards runs toward me with his gun drawn.

  “Jesus, you scared me,” he says when he recognizes my face.

  “You heard?” I say.

  “How is he?” the boy says.

  “Bad,” I say. “I’m going for meds.”

  “I can’t open the roadblock until I call it in,” he says.

  “Do whatever the hell you want,” I say, “but hurry. If he dies, it’s on you.”

  His eyes roll back into his head for a second as he takes that in.

  “Open!” he shouts to his partner. They yank the tire strip out of the road, and I race away.

  The second I know my brake lights are beyond the view of the compound below, I pull to the side and snatch my iPhone from my pocket.

  I put it in secure mode and dial Father’s number.

  This is standard procedure after a mission: Call Father, report the successful conclusion of the mission, and receive follow-up instructions.

  The Program has been offline since the night at the community center, but maybe that was a test, some kind of challenge designed to measure my ability to act independently. If so, Moore’s death will be the test’s logical conclusion. Father will answer now, The Program will be back online, and everything will return to normal.

  The line rings on the phone, but nobody picks up.

  Father is not there.

  My hope fades.

  I feel foolish now, but I dial Mother’s number.

  The line does not connect.

  It was stupid of me to use this phone again, even dangerous. If The Program has suffered a security breach, then I may have just telegraphed my location to whoever is responsible for the breach.

  I slam the phone down sharply, the front right corner impacting with the dashboard of the truck. This is a fail-safe action built into the software of my phone. The accelerometer measures the angle and force of the blow and sends a
signal to the battery that causes it to overheat. The battery burns through the interior of the phone, destroying it.

  I roll down the window and fling the neutralized phone into the woods. It will never be used again.

  I have completed the mission, but what now?

  That’s when I think of Howard and the multiple text messages he sent me.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  I’M EXPECTING SILENCE.

  That’s what I realize as I knock on the hotel room door in Manchester. I’m expecting silence or worse, a strange face appearing in the door, asking me what I want.

  Nothing has been right this mission. Nobody I can trust.

  I knock and move away from the door, bracing myself for whatever may come. I move into a strategic position from which I can strike most effectively.

  Mother has taught me to react to situations as they arise, preparing ahead of time, then improvising based on the facts on the ground.

  So when the door opens, I am ready for anything.

  Anything except what I find.

  Howard, blinking as if I’ve awoken him from a nap.

  “Thank god,” he says when he sees me. “Did you get my texts?”

  “Things got complicated. I couldn’t respond.”

  “I thought something bad had happened to you.”

  I shake my head, but then the memory of Francisco pops into my mind.

  Howard is looking at me strangely.

  I don’t know what he sees exactly, but his smile fades.

  “You’d better come in,” he says, and he steps back from the door, giving me a lot of space.

  I walk past him into the hotel room. As I do, I scan him for weapons. I do it automatically, my mind registering the fabric of his shirt under the arms and around the waist, the flow of material around his ankles, the weight of objects in his pockets.

  I treat him like he is a potential danger to me. And then I do the same with the room, bracing before turning corners, checking both hotel suites and their bathrooms, then inspecting window and door locks.

  Howard stands back and lets me do it, watching me the whole time.

  In fact I do it twice, two full passes through the space, double-checking everything.