Cruz
I’d met the contact not long after finishing the telephone conversation, following the directions I’d been given. True to his word, a hard-looking guy wearing dark aviator sunglasses stood nonchalantly on the corner of the street. I was amused to see him holding an ex-army issue duffel bag.
He didn’t look up as I approached. He passed me the sunglasses and I put them on. I swung the bag over my shoulder in one deft movement. I hadn’t stopped walking; the exchange was fast and smooth.
I continued on my way down the street, finding the weight of the bag on my shoulder comforting.
If these guys betray me, or the guns don’t fire, they’ll be next, I thought as I continued on my way.
I’d done some work for my contact many years ago--had found a target for him who had fled to the USA. Turned out this guy was planning a counter-attack, and I stopped it dead in it its tracks. I had waited to call this favor in, never forgetting. You never knew when it would come in handy.
My contact knew how mean I could be, and how good I was. He wouldn’t dare fuck with me.
I pondered the dilemma of how to get near Alexandra’s captors without detection. The hotel was a no-go, the place was too hot, and the car was recognizable.
I could go back to the airport and hire a car, but that was too risky. They probably had eyes there and would be sending people out soon to look for me when they realized their comrade was leaking his brains out on the floor of the hotel.
Settling on a plan, I found a large department store. I walked around the block a few times, doubling back on myself. Still no tail. But I needed to hurry. The store was large enough for anonymity, and I entered the front door in a hurry. I quickly grabbed some clothes to change into, heading to the changing room to try them out.
Once inside, I opened the duffel bag to check the contents. There was a .44 magnum revolver, big, reliable, and heavy. A smaller 9mm pistol sat next to it. A couple boxes of ammo sat at the bottom of the bag. I was pleased to see a bolt action rifle, partially disassembled to fit in the bag. A simple, medium ranged hair sight scope was attached. All three guns were fully loaded.
I checked that the safeties were all on, pleased to find they had been clicked in place on the pistols. The rifle didn’t have a bullet in the chamber.
The rifle only had one clip, with no spare ammo. Five .308 bullets, accurate and with plenty of stopping power. Only five, but enough to take down a few targets that were stupid enough to show their heads at any windows.
Finally, a wickedly sharp combat knife nestled next to the revolver in a tough rubber sheath.
I purchased the change of clothes and left the store quickly. Now, for Stage 2.
A quick walk took me on a winding route. Still not being followed, I found a quiet-looking bar end, entered, and quickly ordered a whiskey. The effects of the few drinks I’d had earlier had faded, and I needed focus. One large whiskey would do the job.
I downed it as quickly as it arrived, nodding at the bartender and passing him some money. I then quickly changed in the grimy bathroom, throwing my old clothes into the trash can. I neatly tore a few strips off of my old t-shirt with my combat knife before discarding the shredded debris.
Makeshift bandages. Just in case.
I stuffed the strips of cloth into the side pocket of my recently purchased camouflage-style combat pants. A plain grey green t-shirt adorned my torso, my muscles bulging through the thin fabric.
I quickly washed my face and slicked back my hair. With my change of clothes and glasses, I hoped I would be a little harder to recognize during my escape from the city.
I took a deep breath and left the bathroom, exiting the bar quickly. Shortly thereafter, I jumped in a taxi, the driver looking at me eagerly as I entered. I gave him a location near where I needed to be, a couple miles down the road from the farmhouse. I had decided on jogging the last few miles; it would be easy to sneak up on the house from there. The generously donated sniper scope would help, too.
I sat back in the rear of the taxi as we sped off, quickly eating the chocolate bar and downing the Coke as we neared our destination. I closed my eyes, breathing methodically. In my mind's eye, I visualized Alexandra, scared and alone. I allowed myself a brief moment of weakness as I remembered the intense emotions I’d felt during our evening together. The memories were distant already, faded by rage and adrenaline.
Whenever I got ahold of her again, I wasn’t going to let her go.