Liam sucks at golf. I don’t know why the hell he has dragged me out here at the crack of dawn to play a round. My favor to him is that I’ll play with him, not that I’ll let him win. I’d prefer sailing. The resort has a beautiful restored, fifty-footer sitting out front. I love the spray of the ocean in my hair and the warmth of the sun on my face. Here, on the golf course, the sun feels more like it is scorching my face as a punishment.

I’m driving the golf cart. Liam looks ahead absentmindedly.

“How are you and Avery doing?”

“Fine,” I nod. Are we really here to talk about that?

“You seem really happy with her? Is she a keeper?”

I look at him. Scrutinize his face. What is the meaning of this? But Liam looks genuinely interested.

“I like her. A lot.”

“I know that’s not something you often admit.”

“No, it’s not. But honestly, it’s not something I ever really felt before.”

“What do you mean?”

“We just have this connection, you know. I feel like she gets me. And I get her.”

Liam smiles, nods. I turn the conversation back to him.

“I’m sure that’s exactly how you felt with Kora,” I say. And then I catch myself. “I mean, I’m sure that’s how you feel about Kora.”

“It was and it is, I guess.”

“That doesn’t sound too convincing.”

Liam doesn’t respond.

“Did you two have a fight or something?”

He shakes his head.

“No. Nothing major, anyway. I just don’t know if this is the right thing to do.”

“What? The wedding?” I stop the golf cart.

“Why are you stopping?”

“There’s no one here anyway. What’s going on?” I ask. I’ve never heard him talk like this. I’m not the biggest fan of Kora, but I know that he loves her. Something big is up. Unfortunately, I’m not the guy to handle it.

“It’s just that she has wanted to get married forever.”

“I know. She has been quite a nag.”

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Liam says, “but yes, she has been a little annoying.”

“Why didn’t you?” I ask. This is something I’ve been meaning to ask him forever. He and Kora have been together for many years. And by together, I mean tied at the hip. They were practically married as is, they just never bothered to have a party or do the paperwork.

“Why didn’t I what?”

“Why didn’t you want to get married? I thought you two were solid. You never dated anyone else. And neither has she. Not that I know of, of course,” I say.

“No, we have been faithful. Very faithful, actually.”

I didn’t know there was such a thing – too faithful – but okay.

“I never knew that you wanted to be with anyone else,” I say it in the most polite way that I can.

“I never did. And I don’t now.”

“So what’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” Liam shakes his head. “I guess I’m just scared. I mean, it’s just going to be Kora for the rest of my life. One woman. Wouldn’t that scare you?”

“Well, yes, of course,” I shrug, “but I’m completely different from you. You were with Kora and no one else for years. And you didn’t have any second thoughts. You don’t want to be with anyone else. Getting married isn’t going to change that.”

“It won’t?”

“No,” I shake my head. “Besides, if anything changes between you two and you no longer want to be with her, there’s always divorce.”

He looks at me, and we both crack up laughing.

“You’re such an asshole,” he says through the laughter.

“I’m not the one thinking of standing up my bride on our wedding day,” I joke. “C’mon let’s play some golf.”

After a few long and blisteringly hot hours on the golf course, I get back to the room for some peace and quiet. I look at my phone. I’d like to go for a swim and then make love to Avery again, but there’s not much time. Besides, she’s nowhere to be found. Instead, I sit back against the headboard and do something that I’ve never done before: research the target that I’m supposed to eliminate tonight.

Don’t you just love that kind of language? Instead of a person, a human being, we say ‘target.’ Instead of kill or murder or assassinate, we say ‘eliminate.’ It’s supposed to make things impersonal, but the people in the government who have created that language are not the ones actually tasked with the elimination. They aren’t the ones who pulled the trigger. They aren’t the ones who have to watch the target’s family gather around and try to bring him back to life. No, to them they are just numbers. Successes or failures. But no amount of detached, corporate bullshit speak is going to make them that to me.

I scan some articles about Sanchez from the New York Times, The Telegraph and some other uncensored South American newspapers. From the English-speaking newspapers, he comes off a dictator. A strong man who consolidated power based on his control of the military and his charisma. Basically, a fascist. But the Spanish-speaking newspapers are probably more spot on. Ever since he took power, thousands of young people have disappeared never to be heard from again. There are rumors of secret torture camps in jungles. Not one person who has been arrested has been found. The families have given up all hope. The major newspaper from Buenos Aires repeatedly refers to him as ‘The Butcher of El Salvador.” And I know that they do not exaggerate and do not flirt with the truth the same way many American and English newspapers do.

Fine, I decide, turning off my phone. As much as I don’t agree with political assassinations and as much as I hate my job, I have to do this. I can’t screw this up. Sanchez has to go. And, if I retire after this mission, perhaps taking out this guy isn’t so bad.