by MacShayne
George didn’t really know how to respond to this.
‘That’s okay I guess’, Mia continued. ‘I’m a big girl. He taught me everything I have to know. And I still have you and Emily. You guys are great. I trust you because he does. But more important, I love you both’, she said while putting her hand on George’s hand.
‘We love you to Mia.’
George left the house and walked towards the marina. He was happy to be living in his home country again. Mitch had arranged the house, new identity for Mia and most important, enough funds to life a comfortable life. George sometimes wondered where all of his money came from. Probably blood money from enemies in the past. Mitch was the type of person that would steal from the bad in order to survive.
George stepped on Mitch’s sail boat. It was clean and a little wet. No traces of anyone. But George knew that it had rained last night offshore. Not here in Southport. George sighed deeply and knew that Mitch indeed was not coming back for a long, long time. He stepped on the back of the ship’s deck and scouted the neighbour. No one would know what happened on sea last night. But it was probably the last blood that had shed. Mitch was maybe gone, but he already saw it coming. He had said so to George and even prepared Mia for his sudden departure. In all his recklessness and dangerous lifestyle, he was able to provide a way out for almost everyone that got in the mess he himself had created the last decade. Had he found a way out for himself? Could he life without the mess? Either a new adventure or everlasting piece. Mitch was gone... George looked up at the sky.
‘Until we meet again son.’
Federal Point, Zeke’s Island, 17 April 2010
It was deep in the night and raining for more than an hour. He arrived by car at Federal Point in the evening. From there he went further by boat towards the coordinates he had received. He made a fire at Zeke’s Island and ate beans for dinner. It lasted a few hours before he saw something moving in the water. In the far distance. Then, three gunshots. He was wearing rain clothes and walked towards the beach. Shortly after, a body washed ashore.
‘Motherf*cker’, he said while he grabbed the lifeless body and took it further ashore.
XXX The End XXX
Thank you for reading this book. I hope you enjoyed reading it as I did writing it. I’m still perfecting my storytelling and grammar skills and hope the mistakes you encountered weren’t too disturbing. This story concludes the story I began with The Drifter. I hope you all enjoyed all eight instalments. As for an extra, here´s a little background story about a young Mitch Crowne and Sybren Sibranski
MacShayne
About the author
MacShayne is the pseudonym of a Frisian born Dutch writer and actor. He mainly writes English romance- or thriller short stories. Apart from short stories, he also writes lyrics and film scripts. Currently, he is also working on his first Dutch novel which will tie-in with some of his romance short stories. As an actor, he has made multiple appearances in Dutch or Frisian (short)films and series.
Apart from writing and acting, he also completed Small Business and Retail Management at Hanze University of Applied Sciences, Groningen in 2017. His other interests include supporting football club PSV Eindhoven, collecting various CD’s and DVD’s, sports, history, travelling and reading books. In the future he wants to learn at least three more foreign languages.
Discover other titles by MacShayne
Mitch Crown (book series)
1. The Drifter
2. Manhunt
3. A Dangerous Man
4. Killing Crowne
5. Perfect Enemy
6. Cold Case
7. Chaos
Other Books
Once Upon a Time in Navajo
Contact me
Follow me on facebook via: authormacshayne
E-mail me via: emailmacshayne
Sybren Sibranski
Chapter 1: The Pretender & The Crow
An aspiring politician, a former broker, a former technician and having a degree in medication. But still his true identity was secret like he did not exist. Some call him a ghost, a pretender. He can be whatever he wants and will blend in like a chameleon. Nowadays in 2010 he was an American teacher, teaching philosophies at a high school in Virginia. He was living this life for almost three years which meant he was about to move one towards his next life. He was thinking about becoming a reporter or journalist. He wanted to see more of the world and this could be the perfect job to accomplish that need. But that was not the only reason he wanted to become a journalist/reporter.
Posfa (Hungary), 27-7-1991
He was born in Hungary in 1986 and had Russian ancestors. It was during the end of the Cold war and the Soviet Union was about to collapse when everything changed. The four year old youngster and his parents lived in a small village called Posfa. Sibranski was showing signs of high intelligence when he was just four year old and had a promising future. His mother told him that they were going to Germany in a few weeks. Germany, the country that his father called the promised land. Lots of work, lots of opportunities for him but it would never come so far.
Earlier that day, he heard his parents screaming at each other. They had a tense relationship, but this was a whole new level. His father was 39 years old at that moment while his mother was seven years younger. The young boy lay on the ground, only looking at the roof of his room. It was white, but if you stared long enough, you would see different shades of white. This was his way to cut himself loose from the real world. From the daily fights his parents had. Okay, fights wasn't the right word. They had discussions. This time it didn't work. He stood up and walked towards the small window in his bedroom.
Besides him, there was only one other child that lived in the neighbour. He was American. His bedroom was only filled with a bed and he almost didn't have any toys. Sometimes, just sometimes, he had permission of his mother to play with his neighbour. Somehow, he felt like a brother he never had. His name was never spoken and his father was an American soldier. He looked outside but didn't see his only friend. His friend was a few years older than him. Maybe almost ten years. That didn't seem to bother both. They usually went into the woods. Usually may be huge word in this case. They only were together for maybe nine times. But for the young Russian it felt more like a lifetime. Besides him, there was no one else to play with. Not his dad because he was always away. Until a month ago he only played together with his mom when she had time for him. He learned to read when he was two and already read books of boys that must have had his friend's age.
It was during a warm summer day when he felt this urge to explore the outside world a little. He made a promise to himself to not leave the yard. That promise was broken when he slipped. He didn't pay attention to where he walked, so eventually he slipped over a death bird, a crow. That is when he met his friend.
'Did you kill it?', the American boy asked him.
Not knowing what the American said, he just lifted his shoulders.
'It's all right.', the American said helping him up. 'You know what this is?', The American asked while he kneeled so he was on eye level with him. 'It's a crow. Very rare in this country.'
Still not knowing what he said, the boy just nodded and tried to say the same word, 'Krauw?'
'Almost, it's a crow', the American repeated. Then he replicated the sound a crow makes and began to laugh. They both laughed. 'Crow', the young Russian said, knowing what the American meant. That was the first American word he learned.
This was also how he would remember the American for the rest of his life. That was, until a group of his students were debating about their former class. It was a history class that was about the early zero's. About the assassination of the vice president. They showed the now adult boy a picture of the assassin. It was that moment when he decided to change his job once again. Because the assassin, the assassin looked like an older version of the person he knew as the crow.
The American took the young Russian towards the woods wh
ere he taught him how to climb a tree. That wasn't easy. Because they didn't speak the same language he used his imagination and hands to show the young boy how to climb. They were together for two hours in the woods before they returned home. His mother was very upset while the American had no clue that his mother was calling him an evil person. That same moment, an man that looked ,like the American's dad left the house and joined the conversation. He spoke Russia. It became clear that he didn't appreciate his mother speaking badly about his son. The boy's mother countered by saying that his son had an evil force in him that was put in him by the devil. She didn't want her son to be affected by such an evil person. The American's parent laughed and shook his head. Then he said the words that changed him forever, in Russian he said: "he will be your son's only chance of survival."
The boy didn't know what changed his mother's opinion about the American boy. But as the discussions between her and his father became more intense, his mother let him play more often with the American. They usually went to the woods where the American taught him how to jump, how to run and eventually they played hide and seek. Most of the times he lost. But somehow it excited him. They thrill to beat the American. Eventually, at their second last "play day", the American encouraged him to join him climbing a tree. That was on his birthday. At the top, he enjoyed his first panorama view and finally understood the word beautiful. The second American word that he learned.
It was a few days later when the two played for the last time. It wasn't like the other days. The American did strange things, exercises. But instead of ignoring his presence, the American taught him how to do these exercises himself. The young Russian boy enjoyed doing the same things as the American, it made him feel proud, but it did hurt his arms though. Then when his father came home, he was taken away from the American abruptly. He stood up and the two looked at each other's eyes. The American put his hands for his eyes, referring to playing hide and seek. They both smiled before the door of his home was closed and his father asked what was wrong with him.
That same day, yesterday, he saw how the American boy seemed to say goodbye to his father. The two hugged and his father carried a huge army bag. He didn't know that this was the last time Mitch Crowne, for him the Crow, saw his father Harvey for the last time.
His parents were debating, he only guessed it was because he played with the American. It made him feel sad. He enjoyed being out of the house. This may result in punishment. Maybe he wasn't allowed to leave the house anymore. After more than half an hour, he left his room and saw both his parents hugging each other. This was the last time he saw his parents together. His father saw him and walked towards him. He explained that they were knocking on heaven's doors and that the gates to paradise would open soon.
At the same time, his mother was outside to smoke one last cigarette. This was not how it was supposed to end. Until the fall of the wall two years ago, both she and her husband had all the trust in the world that the evil in this world could be extinguished. But what if it was all a lie instead of a test? Was she going to bet her sons life on it? Her daughter was safe in Moscow. They only took their son with them for the perfect cover. But they were liabilities for the KGB. And their former employers were now almost here to take care of loose ends. Then she saw the American boy smoking a cigarette. She was going to betray her husband for this. But she also knew it was the only right thing to do. She had to trust the evil to fight another kind of evil.
Washington, 3 January 2010
His students had left the room except for his best student Emily. He said down in front of her. He was 1.77 metres long, short dark blonde hair with blue eyes. He wore a pantsuit with a black blouse. For a teacher, he was a good looking person at this school. His thin eyebrows almost made him look like a cover model. He was thin and looked smart, like he is. He grinned and looked at her. Emily was a smart student and would be great in everything she could and wanted to be. She had pink hair and wore gothic clothes. She was packing.
'You, it's magnificent', he began. 'If you keep on improving as you did last year, I'll be without a job next summer', he joked.
'I could never become better than you. You're the best teacher I have.'
'Figured out what you want to become?'
'Not really Simon. How did you know?', she asked.
Thinking about all the different life's and jobs he already had, he began to laugh. Simon wasn't his real name. His real name was only for him to know. And the person that he wanted to meet just one more time. The maybe only other person who was living in this world that knew his full name.
'Can you show me that picture about that assassin once more?', he asked gently. Totally off topic.
'Sure', Emily responded surprised.
This person definitely looked like Mitch Crowne. 'Do you know much about him?', Emily asked. 'Would help me with my test.'
'He's not what you think he is.'
Emily didn't understand him. She laughed and stood up before she walked away.
He opened his wallet and found a picture of him and Mitch Crowne. He also kept his only real passport with him. Just for private reasons. never forget who you were. His full name was Sybren
Sibranski, a pretender.
Chapter 2: A New Reporter
Posfa (Hungary), 27-7-1991
A group of five men showed up ten minutes after Sybren’s mother finished what would be her last cigarette in Posfa. Two mini vans. Sybren was together with his father in their bedroom when she entered the room. She was in shock but she had to stay focused. There was only one way that her plan would work. She asked Sybren if he needed to use the bathroom. Sybren didn’t need to go. But at some occasions, his mother would sneeze and sigh deeply two times after each other. This was a signal she taught him that he needed to play along. Sybren knew that he had to lie in these occasions for his own good. At least, that was what his mother told him.
They never went to the bathroom, Sybren was taken to the backdoor while the sound of nearing vehicles could be heard from outside. That was not the only thing Sybren noticed. His mother’s hands were shaking, she was scared. This was the first time he experienced a moment where one of his parents were nervous. He was intelligent enough to understand that he had to wait for her in his own room. His mother left the room and probably went back to his father, which she did. She knew that he would never let Sybren get away, just to be hunted like a deer in the headlights. His father was a proud man and he demanded that his only son would die like a man too. Even, if he was just four years old. Though, Sybren’s mother loved him.
Sybren’s father was armed and ready when he asked where his son was. He would not die before him. He would protect him with all he had. So, when the two vehicles approached their lawn, it got to him that he was set up by his own wife. He looked at her and saw the guilt in her eyes. The rage, it’s the rage that could make good man turn dark. It was that kind of rage he saw in the eyes of the American neighbour’s son. The rage he did not see in his son’s.
‘What did you do?’, he asked his wife with a doubtful voice.
‘I saved our sons life!’, she said resolute.
‘It’s not too late, he’s in his room, isn’t he?’, he walked towards the door when the front door was kicked in. He was just in time to see the grenade that was thrown in their direction. This was not an arrest mission, it was shoot to kill. Betrayed by their own country? Was the last thing he could think about when he pushed his beloved wife away while jumping on the grenade, saving her life. He was killed instantly.
The two cars pulled over in front of the house. Sybren heard them. Then a shadow appeared. It was coming from outside. The light of the moon reflected the person’s shadow in Sybren’s room. Then he found out that his window wasn’t locked. It was pulled open. Sybren was about to run towards his parents when he heard a specific noise. The noise a crow produces. It was his friend. He walked towards the window and then saw that it really was him.
‘You need to go with me�
�, he said. The American looked over his shoulders and then mimicked what he meant. Sybren understood what he tried to say, but wasn’t sure what to do. It was dark outside and he could get in trouble if he went outside at this moment. And he also didn’t want his parents to fight again this night.
The American tried one more time. He stumbled a few words he was taught minutes earlier. ‘Danger, need to come, mother said so.’ Sybren didn’t respond. He wasn’t supposed to listen to strangers. But then again, he wasn’t a stranger right? The American shook his head and walked away.
Four men rushed into their home. Sybren couldn’t see their faces. They were tall, big, like human bears. And the terrifying fact was that they held guns in their hands. Sybren was alarmed by the huge blast that was coming from the door. Was this why he had to go with the American? He heard his mother screaming and crying and he was about to call her name when he saw one of the man coming to him, with a gun. Sybren rushed to the window and was able to leave the house just before one of the mercenaries entered his room. But he was spot once he fell with his feet on the ground. A shot was fired at the window, it missed Sybren by two inches. His ears hurt as a result but he knew somehow that he had to run. And he knew exactly where.
Eventually he was sitting in the tree that the American showed him a few days ago. He wasn’t scared, he knew exactly what happened. The door which was smashed open. The horrible blast moments later. His mother crying and screaming. But somehow, he knew that this was not his end. His mother always told him how bright he was. His father told him that one day soon he would outsmart anyone he knew. And he was only four years old, speaking fluently Russian, Chinese and Arabian. English was another level. It was like the flu for his father. He would never learn English according to his father. It was the language of the devil.
Sybren was four years old when he was sitting in a tree all by himself. Probably, he would never see his parents again. It was night and he didn’t see anything but the stars and the moon. He wasn’t scared, but what would happen now? He could hear footsteps in the dirt, multiple steps at the same moment. He could hear them whispering to each other. He didn’t move a single inch, closed his eyes and controlled his breathing. Like his American friend taught him last month when they played hide and seek.
