3
I sat behind the aged oak desk in front of my laptop. Long brought his chair around the desk so he could see the screen.
“Please,” he said as he switched on a tiny lamp, “a little light.”
I launched a TOR browser—software that allows anonymous communication. It’s what’s needed to surf the Deep Web, the part of the Internet most people don’t go to or even know exists. But for people like Long and me, that was where we thrived, where we received contracts or could ply our services.
“How often do you log on?” Long asked.
“For a while I monitored chatter regularly, but I haven’t been in here much for the last six months or so.”
“Go ahead and navigate to the Board.”
The Board was an open forum where assassins, not only ones in our clan but from everywhere, could gather to share information. I wouldn’t say it was a cozy family, but if you needed information or wanted to know the state of things, the Board was a good place to start.
I browsed the most recent postings; most were strikes. As usual there were a lot, mostly from a growing number of ISIS cells. Strikes were successful kills. Assassins or mercenaries or whoever, would post the information about their targets and how they executed the kills. Some were pretty inventive, but most were rather mundane. Strikes never overly excited me. It was like bragging that you did your job. The worst were the postings from terrorist groups.
The entire point of posting a strike was to show skill and cleverness in eliminating a mark. Their postings were of mass graves or piles of bodies mowed down with a 50-caliber gun—absolutely no craft in the kill. Assassins worth their salt could target a mark and make the hit without anyone knowing, not even the mark. Collateral damage wasn’t a plus, but a sign of inability. The jihadist didn’t see the difference, and they lacked the appropriate skill set anyhow—intelligence being the cornerstone.
As I scrolled through the posts relating to open jobs, none of them interested me. They were mostly this-person-pissed-me-off-and-I-want-them-dead type of contracts. Nothing challenging or high profile. “You see? This is why I don’t bother.”
“Aw, come on now,” Long said. “I wasn’t suggesting you peruse the classified section. You need to post that you’re available. Your handle is well known. The good jobs will find you. Give it time.”
I went ahead and posted that I was available and then shut my laptop.
“Aren’t you going to wait and see if someone responds?”
“We can check in a few hours,” I said as I stood. “Let’s have some fun. Follow me.”
I led Long to the garage that I had converted to a mini-gym. “What do you think?”
Long nodded his head as he took a moment to take it all in. “Nice setup you have here. The Wing Chun dummy is a nice touch.”
I walked barefoot to the middle of the padded floor and faced Long with a smile on my face.
“It’s been a long time,” he said, kicking off his shoes.
I pulled my left leg up behind me to stretch my thigh. “It has, and I’m curious to see if your grappling skills have improved.” I switched legs.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m not the one that’s been on hiatus.”
I let out a laugh. “Enough talking.”
Long wasted no time and shot forward for a double-leg takedown, but I was quicker and jumped backward. He quickly recovered to his feet, and we moved in a circle, eyeing each other.
“Double-leg—basic and predictable. I thought you were practicing,” I teased.
“I didn’t want to come on too strong, being that you took time off and all.” Long then coughed the word “rusty.”
He had a point. I had a grappling dummy I could practice on, but nothing beat sparing with someone. Not to mention he had about six inches on me and enough weight where if he took me down, passed my guard, and moved into a mount position, his strength would overpower me. I had to strike first.
I shot forward, moving my head to the inside of his torso, and grasped his left leg, bringing it up. As I pushed forward, I pivoted to the outside, forcing Long off balance and onto his back. I slipped onto him, and he immediately clasped both legs around my torso to hold me flush against his body. With my tiny frame, I was able to slip through them and mount him. I sat high on his chest, both legs pressed firmly against either side of his body.
If this were a real fight, I would commence with a ground and pound, but since we were sparring, it was understood that we would only execute submissions. First person to tap out lost.
Long did exactly what I thought he would. He reached up, pressing both hands against my chest and forming a semi-circle with his arms. I reached through the opening and grasped his right arm and pulled it tight against my chest. At the same time, I pivoted my body clockwise ninety degrees and swung my left leg onto his face and kept the right one on his chest. With his right arm still firmly in my grasp, I fell backward to the mat, keeping his arm tucked between my legs. I pulled back, bracing his elbow against my inner thigh, and bent the joint backward. The move was called an arm bar and was incredibly painful. Long tapped out immediately.
I rolled off of him, and he pulled his arm back and rubbed his elbow. “You always were a better grappler than me,” he said, catching his breath. “I think it’s your size. You’re slippery.”
“You should have known better.”
“I thought you would go for the side mount and try for a Kimura. I didn’t think you would be that ballsy and fully mount me. It’s dangerous for someone your size.”
I extend my hand and helped Long up. “It’s also unexpected.”
We spent the next two hours talking and eating a pasta dish I whipped up. I hadn’t realized how much I missed my friend.
“Seems like you’re the world traveler,” I said as I sipped my tea after dinner.
“I like it. I got bored just working in Hong Kong and the surrounding areas. I think taking jobs in different countries has made me better. I’ve furthered my skills. I now get offered contracts that were once out of reach. Speaking of, let’s check and see if your posting had any bites.”
We headed back to my office. I logged back on to the Board and found three messages waiting for me. The first message was regarding a contract in Nigeria. A warlord needed to be eliminated. “Pass,” I said. The second was for a job that was equally as boring as the first.
The last message was an invitation into a private chat.
“Who’s Tark?” Long asked, staring at the message.
I shrugged. “I haven’t a clue.”
“Go. It could be an awesome job.”
I clicked accept and entered the room that listed two members: Tark and Sei.
Sei: Yes?
Tark: I have a job for you.
Sei: I’m not accepting contracts.
“Why did you write that?” Long asked.
“I said I would visit the Board. I didn’t say anything about accepting a contract.”
Tark: I can assure you that you will be compensated handsomely.
Sei: I have enough money.
“You do?” Long turned to me.
Tark: What I have to offer is much more valuable than currency.
A few seconds later a picture of a little girl appeared in the chat room.
“Who’s that?” Long wondered out loud.
“I have no idea, but she certainly isn’t a selling point for me.”
Sei: I don’t accept contracts for children.
Tark: She’s not the contract. She’s the payment.
“Who is this jerk-off?” Long remarked.
Long and I shared similar ideologies regarding our work, and even though my requirements were a bit more stringent, accepting a human as payment was absolutely insane, especially a little girl.
Sei: I don’t deal in human trafficking.
A moment or so passed without a response. I was beginning to think this Tark character was a troll, an utter waste of my time. As I moved the curs
or over the message box to close it, a soft chime rang out, and my eyes darted to his reply.
In that single instant, a surge of prickles erupted in the pit of my stomach and rushed throughout my body. While I completely understood the meaning of what he had typed, I remained dumbfounded. Paralyzed at his suggestion. Could it be?
Tark: What if the child in question were your daughter?
4
A rolling nausea ripped through my body as I re-read what Tark had typed. Could it be? Was there any truth to the idea that my daughter could actually be alive?
For a few seconds, he had me believing. But I realized the absurdity in his suggestion. She had died during the birth. I know so. But another question, one just as significant as the idea that my child was alive, had presented itself. How could he possibly know that I gave birth to a baby girl?
“Sei, you all right?” Long nudged me. “This guy has no idea what he’s talking about. He’s messing with you.”
I turned to Long. “You’re the only person I told about my pregnancy and what happened.”
“It’s probably a coincidence. Prod this sicko.”
Sei: I don’t have a daughter.
Tark: Yes, you do. Take a closer look at the photo.
I double clicked on the picture to enlarge it. The girl had black hair and looked to be about age two, the age my daughter would have been had she survived the birth. She had fair skin and a loveable smile. I could almost hear what she sounded like if she were laughing.
Long leaned in for a closer look. “She looks like you, her eyes, but I think it’s because he placed the idea in our heads. We could be making a false connection.”
“She’s mixed,” I said.
“There you have it. You’re Chinese, mostly.”
“Her father was white.”
“Oh… Do you think it’s a possibility? I mean, I’m just saying.”
I leaned in for a closer look. I couldn’t deny that her eyes looked like mine. When I was pregnant, I would often imagine what she would look like. Would she look more Asian or more white? Or would she be the perfect blend of both? This child looked closely like what I had imagined. Could it really be true? Or had Long been right, were we projecting that thought in our heads?
Tark: I know you see it, the resemblance.
Sei: This is nothing more than suggestive cognizance.
Tark: Is it? Think back to that day in the hospital.
“What’s he talking about, Sei? What happened that day?”
Images of myself lying in that hospital bed transported me back to that moment. Suddenly I was there experiencing it all over. I had worked so hard to bury those thoughts, and now, in an instant, they were back with absolute clarity, forcing me to relive a moment in my life I wanted forever forgotten.
“The doctor said there were complications and that he needed to perform a cesarean birth.”
“What was the problem?”
I stared at the picture of the little girl on the screen wondering myself what that answer was. “I don’t know,” I said, turning to my friend. “I remember asking and then waking in another room, with the doctor standing next to my bed. And even though I was groggy, I could see it in his eyes. Something terrible had happened.”
“Listen, Sei, this has got to be one epic coincidence.”
“But what if he’s right? What if somehow my child did survive, and for reasons unknown, she was taken from me?”
Long let out a breath as he leaned back into his chair. He ran his hand back and forth over his head. “I don’t know what to think. This is blowing my mind. I only just found out you were pregnant a short while ago. I can only imagine what this information is doing to you. I mean, what he’s suggesting…”
“That’s exactly what I want to know.” I tapped out a message on the keyboard.
Sei: Where is this little girl?
Tark: She’s safe and very much alive.
Sei: Bring her to me.
Tark: Are you accepting the job?
Sei: What do you want from me?
Tark: The Black Wolf.
5
Revelations can have a profound effect on individuals. Take my friend Long. He reacted in a way that someone would upon finding out they were to spend a night alone in that spooky house at the end of the street that no one ever saw anyone come and go from, yet every night a light can be seen through the second-floor window.
I couldn’t say I reacted the same way. In fact, I wasn’t sure I even knew what the Black Wolf meant at first, but seeing Long slouch down in his chair gave me a pretty good idea we were talking about a person.
“You never heard of the Black Wolf?” he asked. “Boy, you really are taking this whole hermit thing to new levels. Read a newspaper, why don’t you?”
“Just because I’m not an assassin nerd like you doesn’t mean I don’t know the state of things.”
“Assassin nerd? Keeping up on the competition is a good business strategy.”
Long had built up a remarkable database in his head of what assassins handled what contracts and how they executed them. I knew for a fact he could recite every kill I had, when it took place, where, and how. “The name sounds familiar. Refresh my memory.”
Long sat up and licked his lips. “He’s an assassin. Political figures are his specialty—he has thirty-two strikes. Almost every country of the former Soviet Union has a bounty on his head, which is ironic because those very same countries are the ones that continue to give him contracts. He’s good. Real good—like ten-of-you-in-one-person good. Last I heard he was in a Turkish prison while various governments fought over who had the right to extradite him.”
“If he’s as good as you say he is—how did you phrase it? Ten of me in one person—why was he caught?”
“He got unlucky, or so the story goes. I don’t know the details, but somehow the Turkish military captured him when he tried crossing over from Syria.”
“The more you speak, the less he sounds like me.”
“I know, I know, but really. He’s good, and he doesn’t work alone. He has a trusted crew that works with him. It’s why he can take on contracts that you and I would have to decline. We’re just individuals. Hire him, and you get serious manpower.”
“The leader is caught but his crew escapes. Less and less impressed.”
“Anyway,” Long said, drawing out the word. “I’m guessing with the political deadlock keeping him in Turkey, someone thinks hiring you might be a better way to handle it. Maybe someone wants him dead and off the market. He’s most vulnerable now.”
“Seems that way, but they could hire a number of assassins to get the job done. What I find strange is that they approached me with the idea of my daughter still being alive. It’s very bizarre.”
“Maybe they thought you would turn the job down, which I suspect you would have. It’s obvious they think you’re the right person, considering he’s probably locked up in some dank hellhole. You’re the best I know at infiltration. Holding out the promise of your daughter is their way of sweetening the deal.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You think they were so worried I would decline their generous offer that they researched my past, found out that my dead child wasn’t dead and then put together an incredible package of a deal to pitch me?”
“Well, when you put it that way.” Long took a deep breath, lifting his shoulders slightly. “What will you do?”
“I’m not sure. I would have never engaged with this person because I’m not interested in taking on any jobs. And even if he somehow had found a way to offer me the contract, I would have declined. But, I can’t help but think about the possibility.”
“That your child might still be alive.”
“Yes. Accepting a contract has always been a black-and-white decision for me.” I stood and walked toward the window.
There were no clouds that night, so the bright moon cast a silvery glow on the landscape. As I stared outside, I bit down on my bottom lip. The more I th
ought about that picture, the more I wanted to believe. But all my years of experience told me this job was flawed. I struggled to think straight. My feelings were overpowering rational thought in the decision-making process. I felt as if those emotions were just awakened from a long sleep and stretching out from inside my chest. Warmth spread throughout my body; a feeling I hadn’t experienced in quite some time. The idea that my child could be alive had already taken hold in my head. I had lost her once. Could I risk losing her again?
I turned back to Long. “What if it’s true? What if she is alive?”
“Sei, you’re not thinking straight. This guy pressed the one button that could drive you to say yes to anything. This isn’t the Sei I know. The Sei I know is methodical in her thinking. Right now your emotions are in the driver’s seat. You’re in no condition to make any sort of decision. I mean, what proof does he have besides a picture of a girl who sort of looks like you?”
“But…”
“You can’t be serious about what this guy is suggesting.”
I couldn’t argue with Long, but I couldn’t shake that nagging feeling growing inside of me.
“Sei, I can’t begin to understand how you must feel, but if this is something you seriously want to pursue, at least try and find something, anything that might confirm some truth to what he’s saying. We have no idea who this guy is. It’s extremely dangerous, and I, for one, won’t let you walk into it without a clear head.”
“You’re right.” I returned to my laptop and typed a message telling Tark I would have an answer for him in three days. “I need more confirmation.”
“How do you plan on getting that?”
“From the doctor I hired to deliver my child.”
6
The following day, I woke to blue jays singing outside my bedroom window. I felt rested, but at the same time, it seemed as though I had been waiting all night for daylight to appear. The idea that my daughter might still be alive had infected my dreams, and I woke with an intense desire to start the day.
[Sei Assassin 01.0] Contract: Snatch Page 2
