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Order this writing in the collection book Layers of Creation available for only 1795 |
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This appears in a pre-2010 issue
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Game On
Ken Dean
The bedroom was quiet and still. There was just the right touch of coolness for a perfect night’s sleep. Moonlight was streaming in the window, playing across the beauty of Andrea’s face. She was dreaming, reliving an old childhood trauma where she fell off the backyard swing and broke her arm. Up she went, higher and higher. She was nearing the height of her swing; her grip beginning to loosen on the chain just before she tumbled to the ground. A hand slowly came out of the shadows into the moonlight. It was a black-gloved hand, holding a pistol. The silencer pressed up against her left temple. Andrea startled awake from the pressure, her eyes snapping open. Two flashes, two bullets. Andrea dreamt no more.
Hans Stryker was waiting in the shadows. He knew stepping out into Victoria Square meant risking exposure. There was a certain person he was looking for in the passing crowd, one dressed a certain way. There, a man just passing by. Hans stepped out and quickly caught up with him. Moving up from behind, Hans slipped his hand into the man’s black overcoat pocket and switched cell phones. The man felt a small pressure on his side and turned his head quickly to see what was going on. Hans brushed it off as an accidental bump, saying ‘Sorry.’ He seemed to accept this and turned around to continue walking. Hans quickly went back to an alleyway where he could watch the square. There had to be operatives looking for him in the crowd. What he was more concerned with were snipers. Most operations had a sniper on watch.
Nicholas was on the roof of the Zorbas Hotel, peering down on the square through his sniper scope. This assignment had come too suddenly, cutting into his personal life. Plus it was damn cold on this roof. But he was considered an asset in this region, so he had to answer the agencies call. His earpiece crackled for a second, and then a voice came to life.
“Nicholas, do you have the target yet?”
He replied in a thick, Greek accent, “I’m scanning the square, Larkins, just a moment. I think I found Stryker.”
He thumbed a switch on his scope, bringing an aiming reticle to life.
It was black until he scanned across who he thought was Stryker, when it began to flash red.
“I’m picking up his cell phone identification in my scope. Do I have an authorization for the shot?”
“Yes...make it a wound shot only, there’s still some intel and the drive that we need to get from him.”
“Copy authority for shot.”
Nicholas lined up the reticle and shot the target in the right shoulder. The rifle was silenced, so the sound was minimal. The target spun around halfway and fell to the pavement.
“Stryker is down.”
Three operatives rushed over as soon as the man fell. They checked him for identification. One of them blared into his mic, “It’s not Stryker. You’ve shot a civilian.”
The operatives quickly pulled the wounded man into an alleyway. A crowd was gathering. They hadn’t heard the shot, but they had seen the man fall. One operative clipped a doctor’s ID to his jacket and began to address the crowd.
“It’s okay people, I’m a doctor. This man has had a heart attack. We’re taking care of him.”
The crowd seemed to buy the explanation and slowly dispersed.
“Nicholas, did you copy that? You’ve shot a civilian!”
“Yes, Larkins,” He responded sarcastically. “I heard.”
He felt something cold on the back of his neck.
A whisper in his left ear. “Turn it off.”
“Nicholas out.” He switched off the mic. “Is that you, Hans?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“Only you could pull this off,” Nicholas chuckled.
“Right...only me.”
“Listen...sorry about trying to snipe you,” Nicholas pleaded.
Hans sneered, “Say goodnight, Nick.”
“Wait...”
The silencer automatic jumped, a bullet buried itself in Nicholas’ skull.
Stryker snorted, “Amateur.”
Stryker went through Nicholas’ blood-spattered jacket and removed his communication gear. He plugged the equipment into the input of the rifle scope. If he was right, the other end of the communications link would show in the scope. With the rifle to his shoulder, he slowly scanned all the windows facing the square.
The aiming reticle turned red. There, an apartment building across the square.
Alexis Larkins was manning the operations command room and didn’t care for the sudden turn of events. He was used to always being in control of the situation. It was an obsession for him.
“Has anyone heard from Nicholas in the last minute? He signed off and didn’t recover communications.”
The two operatives monitoring the laptop communications shook their heads.
“I may have to use one of you to put eyes on the situation, figure out what’s...”
The door jamb suddenly came to life, four silenced rounds smashing through, splintering the wood. A foot kicked the door in. The two operatives were fumbling for their weapons. Hans was quicker, shooting them both in the head. Larkins dove for his jacket which held his automatic. Stryker shot him in the knee. Larkins went down, howling in pain. Stryker strolled over, resting his silencer on Larkins forehead.
“Listen, I know you’re in pain. But you need to shut the noise. And don’t pass out on me.”
“Go to hell!” he winced, clutching his shattered knee.
“Whatever, just keep the noise down. We’ve made enough already.”
Larkins began to quiet down. Pain had a funny way of subsiding after an injury, making a comeback with a vengeance later.
“We were supposed to be taking you down, Stryker. Not the other way around.”
“Well, things work out funny sometimes.”
“We heard you were coming to Greece and the flash drive would be on you. We had to get that from you; it had information that could be damaging to the agency.”
Hans chuckled, “I don’t have it, Larkins. I leaked that information so that I could get it from you.”
Larkins sputtered, “From me?”
“Yes, from you,” he said sarcastically. “I knew you wouldn’t feel secure unless you brought your copy of the drive with you.”
Hans put the silencer back on Larkins forehead.
“So hand it over.”
Larkins knew when he was outmaneuvered. He stuck a bloodied hand into his pocket, pulled out the flash drive and handed it to Hans.
“Thanks. With the information on this, I can bring your whole corrupt agency down.”
“Why?”
“Just for principle sake. I was hoping I could flush you out on this operation. I’ve got a personal score to settle with you as well.”
“And what score is that?” Larkins asked, feigning surprise.
“My partner, remember? You had Andrea killed. Just because of a perceived security threat, of which Andrea had nothing to do with. But you still had to make sure that your own ass was safe and dry.”
“Hans, that was...”
“Save your breath.” Hans pointed the pistol at Larkins.
“Hans, Listen; is there any chance I can walk away from this?” Larkins pleaded. “We were friends once.”
Two flashes, two bullets. Larkin’s game days were over.
“And don’t call me friend.”
