Kill Shot - An Abram Kinkaid Thriller

by Blake, Cameron

  Abram continued walking. He knew they wanted them. They wouldn't lose them. Abram assumed they were already watching them now, perhaps seeing what they would do, how they would interact with the locals. Abram was headed up a slight incline when a young boy ran up to him asking him to buy some of his wares.

  Abram shook his hands and thanked the boy. He told him he didn't have any money. The boy pressed him until Abram had to shake him off his leg. Abram felt bad, but if you didn't stand your ground, you'd have the entire village wrapped around your leg, begging for money. Abram had dark eyebrows, a strong jaw, and dark, low-cropped hair. If he stayed in the sun a few days, he might even look a little Arab. Abram watched as the same boy ran up to another man coming on shore from another ship. They must rarely get visitors.

  A vendor caught Abram's eyes and he walked over.

  "Ah, sir. These are the very best jewels in the world. You'll never find anything more pure. Perfect for you pretty lady."

  "I'm just grazing," he said, but he picked up the bluest jewel he had ever seen. He held it up to the sun and it sparkled like the color of the sea.

  "Very good choice, sir. Legend claims stones like these are sprouted from the sea herself. When the tide is just right, and her belly is full of love, she releases these Heart of the Sea stones."

  Abram placed the stone back on the table.

  "I'm looking for someone," Abram said, scooping up a small dagger adorned with more precious stones. He spun it in his fingers and pulled the blade free of its sheath. The sun reflected off the smooth surface.

  The man eyed Abram. Abram returned the blade to its holding place.

  "His name is Jihir. I'm told he lives in these parts."

  "I no know anyone named Jihir," the man said, but Abram saw his eye twitch. The man pretended to be organizing his wares, suddenly uncomfortable with Abram's presence.

  "If you hear from him, let him know I'm here." Abram nodded and left.

  It was only a matter of time now. Whoever this Jihir was, he'd show up. The vendor had known exactly who he was referring to and was fearful. Abram wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. Abram stopped by another tent and glanced back at the vendor. He saw him speaking with another gentleman and pointing in his direction. Both men looked worried.

  "Good," Abram mumbled to himself.

  Sims had disappeared in the crowd. Abram gazed across the tops of the tents but there was no sign of Sims. Maybe the man had taken this opportunity to back out. Abram wouldn't blame him. Get out while you still can, before you've seen too much.

  The cargo ship that had brought them there was pulling out of the dock. Abram watched its metal body bob in the shallow water. A crisp breeze blew down his back, and he felt eyes on him. He didn't bother turning around. He knew who was there.

  "I was told to find you," Abram said.

  "There were two of you. Where's the other man?"

  Abram shrugged.

  "Come with me."

  Abram turned to find a small man of about sixty years old staring at him. His back hunched forward slightly from the many years as he walked. Most of his head was browned from the sun except for the stray flakes of white above his ears. The man walked with a limp, but he was surprisingly quick. Abram had to hustle to keep up.

  Jihir led Abram through the vendors and deeper into the structures behind. He ushered him through a door and closed it behind him. Once they were inside, the man spoke.

  "My name is Jihir. I've been assigned as your contact."

  Abram looked around the small room. Only a small table and a lone chair. The window in the side was covered with a sheet, or maybe a rug, Abram couldn't tell. Jihir walked into the kitchen. This was most likely his home.

  "Would you like some tea?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  Jihir came back shortly and handed Abram a small teacup. Abram thanked him and held the tiny cup in his fingers. He took a sip. It wasn't the best, but it certainly was better than the sweaty water he had been drinking the last several weeks.

  Jihir plopped down on the single chair. He sipped his tea and stared off into nothingness. Jihir was old. Not just from age, but the years had not been kind to him. Abram didn't know the man, but he knew enough like him to know his life had been a hard one.

  The two of them sat in silence for awhile. Abram found a small stool and leaned it against the wall. He laid his head back and closed his eyes. Jihir's house was anything but flattering, but there was something about the simplicity that drew Abram in and calmed his spirit. The sun was nearer the horizon when Jihir finally spoke.

  "Sun'll be down in an hour. Best we get started."

  Abram rubbed his eyes. He hadn't known he had fallen asleep. His neck ached, but the weary drip that had been clinging to his bones had lifted slightly. Jihir revealed a hidden passageway in the back of the house. He dove through without waiting for Abram to follow. When Abram entered, he was welcomed by a tunnel. Every ten meters or so there was a torch on the wall. Again, Abram struggled to keep up with the old man's pace. The tunnel wound back and forth in a dizzying fashion. Abram wondered if this was all part of the plan. If you ever found yourself in the tunnel, you'd get disoriented before you were able to escape or catch the person fleeing.

  Abram's head felt light and his body dripped with sweat. Finally, the tunnel ended and opened up into a cavern. Jihir was walking briskly to the center of the room. Light filtered down through slits in the ceiling. The room was dank like a sewer. Puddles of water and trash gathered in the corners. Two rats squeaked as he entered and climbed through a crack in the wall. The wall was made out of stone. Then Abram's eyes fell on the object in the center of the room. Jihir was standing next to the hooded man.

  As Abram stepped into the light, Jihir removed the man's hood. A split second of confusion creased Abram's face. It was Sims. Why was he tied up? Upon seeing Abram, Sims started thrashing in the chair that held him down.

  "Abram, these people aren't who they say they are. You got to get me out of here."

  Abram traced his eyes from Sims to Jihir. He allowed his eyes to sift through the haze of the room. There was someone else standing in the shadows. Abram kept the shadowed man in clear sight.

  "What is this about?" Abram asked.

  Jihir's expression was stoic.

  "Your training."

  As Abram examined Sims more closely, he noticed the man had gashes along his arms and exposed torso. His shirt had been slashed vertically, and his feet were bare. Other than the blood on his limbs, his face was clear.

  "What do you want me to do?" Abram asked.

  Jihir tossed a metal object on the ground. It clanged with a thud. Abram didn't take his eyes off of Jihir, nor the man in the shadows.

  Sims started pleading immediately.

  "Please, Abram, don't do this. These people are sick. Untie me and we can both get out of here."

  Abram ignored Sims plea.

  "You want me to kill him?" Abram asked.

  "We've discovered that he's a traitor and must be removed before he can cause any more damage."

  "What has he done?"

  Jihir was stern. The flash of anger was unmistakable. Jihir wasn't a man used to being questioned. Abram placed that in his memory.

  "He was caught trying to steal confidential information and release it to the public. We don't take kindly to traitors."

  Abram weighed his choices. He could pick up the knife and make it quick. God only knew he would be doing Sims a favor. Or he could refuse. Refusing might get him smack dab in Sims's predicament.

  "I won't do your dirty work. If he's betrayed your trust, then you do it. I'm no judge. For all I know, he's innocent."

  "No one is innocent, Mr. Kinkaid."

  The man from the shadows stepped into the light. He didn’t make much of an impression, but Abram took note of the way he stood, maintaining balance for a quick strike or retreat. He knew beneath the fine suit was toned muscle, capable of snapping a neck with bare hands.
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  "And you are?"

  "My name is not of importance. But I can assure you, report of what transpires here today will be presented to leadership."

  The man circled Sims and placed both hands on his shoulders. Sims flinched.

  "I know what we’re asking you to do is not a light feat. You're a soldier. You're used to saving lives, not taking them. I respect that. I, too, am a man of deep virtue and calling. You and I are not all too different."

  "I don't know you. Don't even begin to speak as though you and I have anything in common."

  The man raised his hands in surrender.

  "Nonetheless, here we are."

  Abram flexed his fingers, letting the blood flow to his extremities. He didn't know what was going to happen in the next few seconds, but he would be ready.

  "And if I refuse?"

  The man in the suit pursed his lips.

  "Then you weren't the man we thought you to be."

  Sims met Abram's eyes. The fear had gone and was replaced by an understanding.

  "Just do it," he said. "They'll kill me anyway."

  Abram kneeled and picked up the knife in his hand. The handle was wrapped in stained cloth. The blade was sharp, but it had been worn down over the years. Abram spun it in his fingers and teased the edge against his open palm. He walked towards Sims and circled behind him.

  He leaned in close and whispered in his ear.

  "I'm sorry."

  Sims had tears streaming his face, but his shoulders were square. He was ready to face his fate. Abram positioned the knife for the killing blow to make it quick. What was he doing? Was he really about to kill someone in cold blood? What had he become? Abram struggled with his inner demons. He knew if he didn't kill Sims, they would, but he still couldn't bring himself to do it.

  He released Sims's shirt and dropped the knife on the ground.

  "You do it."

  Abram stepped away and in a split moment, faster than he could have anticipated, the man in the suit scooped up the knife and plunged it into Sims's chest. Abram heard the man gasp before his brain processed what had just happened.

  The man ripped the knife out and cleaned it off on a cloth, then handed it to Jihir, whose face was expressionless. Abram thought he saw a glimpse of hope there.

  "There's no place for a conscience in this line of work," the suited man said.

  "My moral compass is a little skewed, but killing a fellow soldier ranks pretty low on the spectrum."

  Sims’s eyes rolled back and his head flopped on his chest.

  "He was a traitor," the man said. "He would have killed you if given the chance."

  "Maybe. I guess we'll never know for sure," said Abram.

  The man smiled and squared up with Abram. He was several inches taller, definitely the build of a fighter.

  "There will be missions where we ask you to obey orders without question."

  "I thought we weren't supposed to follow orders? Isn't that the whole point of this secretive organization? Leave all morals behind? All that matters is the mission."

  "There's always orders."

  "Life is precious. Who are we to decide who lives and who dies?"

  "That's not for us to decide. Remember, it's for the greater good. Sacrifice must always be made for progress. Without it, we're just a bunch of heathens."

  Abram saw the sideward glance from the man a split second too late. The floor came rushing up to meet him.

  Chapter 8

  "You're really going to have to stop doing that if you expect me to have any kind of brain functioning."

  The side of Abram's head had a large knot. He hadn't seen the second man in the shadows until it was too late. He really needed to brush up on his skills. He'd been out of the game for far too long.

  Abram was in a different room, but one equally damp and dark as the one where they had killed Sims. Abram was seated on a stool behind a small wooden table. He wasn't restrained.

  The suited man came in through the door and dropped several manila folders on the table.

  "Here's your innocent man," he said.

  Abram opened the first folder and flipped through the photos. The first was of a village. The images depicted a massacre of some kind. Men, women, and children were all butchered and tossed into ditches. The photos were taken weeks after the act. Their bodies were already decaying and were covered in maggots and flies. Abram scrolled through the images quicker, already knowing what he'd find. There were written reports, too, and wiretaps. All of them pointed to one conclusion, Sims had been a traitor and a murderer.

  "Why show me these now?" Abram asked. He didn't bother opening the other two folders. He didn't think he had the stomach for it.

  "Sometimes there won't be time for answers, just action," the suited man said. "Our job is not to question the reason for the orders, but to obey. I can assure you, no assignment will be given without proper vetting and intelligence taking place prior."

  "If you're going to kill me, just get on with it. I don't have time to play games."

  The suited man laughed.

  "Kill you? Why on earth would we want to do that? No, Mr. Kinkaid, we aren't going to kill you. We want to bring out the best in you."

  "I questioned orders and refused to kill Sims. Why would you keep me now?"

  The suited man pulled up a chair and sat on the opposite side of the table.

  "Mr. Kinkaid, whether you killed Sims or not was irrelevant. All that mattered was what you would do and why. You see, Mr. Kinkaid, we aren't just about the killing business. We're in the business of improving lives. We want to help you reach your full potential. And to do that, we must first understand what makes you tick. Sims was a dead man before he met you. Now, let's discuss the future."

  Abram rubbed the side of his head.

  "We'll have someone look at that. But first, I need to know one thing."

  "What's that?"

  "Are you in or out?"

  The images flashed before his eyes and the thought that there were more people out there like Sims made Abram furious. His jaw clenched as he pictured the bodies.

  "I'm in."

  "Good. Jihir will take you to your room."

  Jihir entered upon the suited man uttering his name.

  "Follow me, Mr. Kinkaid."

  Abram followed Jihir. The room led to another tunnel, but this one was more manmade and the walls were made out of industrial material, not dirt. Jihir led him to another room and opened the door.

  "Dinner will be in an hour."

  Jihir left him with that. Abram's room was an eight-by-ten rectangle. There was a sink, a toilet, and a cot. Even a small table and stool with a lamp was positioned in the corner. Abram also noticed that the room had a lone window, barricaded with steel rods. The sky was dark on the other side. Abram walked over to the cot and fell face-first. His body sucked into the sheets and the rough fabric of the mattress. It was the greatest thing he had ever felt. It wasn't long before he succumbed to exhaustion.

  Chapter 9

  Abram woke some time later. He didn't know how long he had slept, but there was a plate of food on his table. The bowl of stew no longer steamed. Awhile then. Abram's stomach growled at the sight of the loaf of bread, the chunk of cheese, and the stew. He grabbed the cheese first and stuffed it in his mouth. His saliva glands burst to life and his cheeks burned. His stomach pulsated as he chewed the food as fast as possible. The bread came next, then the stew. Abram washed it all down with the cup of tea that had been placed on the tray.

  His stomach throbbed from the cooked meal. Abram leaned back against the wall and stretched his body. Hunger sedated, now what? Abram's door was ajar, so he went to it. No one was in the hall. He left his room and headed in the opposite direction they had come from to get here. The hall was a straight path. Abram passed several more rooms like his own. They were all empty. The hall opened up into a larger room that looked like a living area. Sofas and tables adorned the room, and there was a kitchen in the bac
k. This room was empty as well. Abram thought he heard grunting coming from a side hall that jutted out from the other side of the room. He went toward it. As he neared, it was unmistakable. Someone was fighting.

  He quickened his pace until the hall came to yet another opening. This one was like a grand atrium. Tall pillars towered on both sides to a high-vaulted ceiling. In the center of the room was a mat, and on it were the suited man and another man. They were locked in martial combat. Abram stood by the entrance and watched as each of the men struggled to gain control of the other. Their bodies shined with sweat, their long hair tied back in ponytails. Suddenly, the other man managed to get his hand free and twist it around the suited man's throat. He then climbed over his back like a monkey and wrapped his legs around his shoulders and pinned him to the ground. Within seconds, the suited man tapped his hand on the mat and the other released him. Both men were panting and bowed to the other.

  Then they noticed his presence. The other man scooped up his shirt and exited through a door on the other side. The suited man was slower in his movements.

  "Who was that man?" Abram asked.

  "That, Mr. Kinkaid, was the great Qang Jing. He'll be your master for the next four months."

  "Is he good?"

  "The best. You'll not find a better trainer than him."

  "Did he train you?"

  "Yes. He trains all of our new recruits. Some need more training than others."

  He winked at Abram.

  "I don't know your name."

  "Tajji White."

  "Good to meet you, officially," Abram said.

  Tajji gave Abram a mutual nod before exiting the same way Qang Jing had left.

  Chapter 10

  Abram made his way back to the kitchen. His stomach ached in more ways than just hunger, but that was one thing he could control. He pried open the fridge. To his surprise, it was fully stocked with water bottles, colas, meats, breads, fruit, vegetables, and many other assortments of nutrition. He grabbed the loaf of bread, the cheese and meat, and made himself a dry sandwich. He didn't bother with the mayo or mustard.