Since You’re Dying Anyway…..

pistol-packin-d-cup-small.jpg D-Cup

The AssassinSo it was true.

It was time and this was not a drill.

Anna walked across the kitchen, observing the young man who sat at the bar drinking coffee and slowing turning the pages of the newspaper spread on the bar before him. He was dressed casually in a blue tee shirt and jeans. His manner was calm, but he gave himself away by the slight twitch in his strong jawline.

He was clenching his teeth.

“The orders came today,” was all he said in way of good morning.

“When?” Anna asked, pouring herself a cup of coffee. She heaped one, two , three teaspoons of sugar into the dark coffee. May as well, she thought, I can have a much sugar as I want now….
*****************************************************************
Sighing slightly, Anna took the sheet of paper, folded it in half, and placed it inside the book resting her hand briefly upon it, as she sat thinking. A pained look crossed her face, and she squeezed her eyes shut, but a tear slipped free and rolled down her cheek.

As she stood, she swiped at the errant tear with the back of her hand. The door opened and the young man looked in. “Ready?” he smiled, a little too intensely.

His smile bordered on a leer, but she knew it wasn’t that. It was something else. Anticipation? She decided not to think about it.

“All set?” she asked him instead.

“Yes, you’re in,” Came his quick response.

“Time?” she responded just as quickly

“8 a.m.”

******************************************************************
Shooter Spa“You’re new here?” The chocolate skinned woman asked standing near the massage table. She held the towel close to her body with her beautifully manicured hands.

“No, Ma’am. I usually work weekends,” Anna replied with a slightly deferential manner. She dipped her head a little and avoided making direct eye contact with her client. She’d been briefed about the Secretary of State’s likes and dislikes. She knew that her regular masseuse treated her with a special deference and received large tips, perhaps as a result.

“I see. Well, they explained to you what I like?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I’ve studied your client card, but if there is anything you require, please ask.”

The Secretary of State smiled broadly displaying the slight gap in her teeth as she turned to lie on the table as Anna drew her tray of oils, stones and towels toward her.

******************************************************************

Laptop computerThe young man grabbed the remote and aimed it at the television as he settled into the leather chair behind the laptop computer.

“And coming up, more details are coming to light about the shadowy group that planned and executed the assassination of the President and his Cabinet….”

The young man gazed at his computer screen. His breath was measured, but his jawline twitched slightly. He glanced at the television screen as the commercial ended and the newscast logo swooped onto the screen. On the logo, the American flag waved in an invisible wind. A black cloth was draped around the pole holding the flag. The words “The Ultimate American Tragedy” floated over the logo graphic.

The young man leaned back a little in his chair and focused on the screen.

“Tonight we have new details on the shadowy group that planned and executed the slaying of the President and his Cabinet,” the blond man said directly into the television camera. “In a minute, our panel will discuss this American Tragedy, but first reporter Steve Marbleton has this special report.”

The young man shifted in his chair as he continued to look calmly at the television. A sound came from the laptop computer on the desk in front of him. He’d received new email. He grasped the mouse and made a couple clicks, all the while not taking his eyes off the television. The camera zoomed in on the face of the reporter. The drama it created was mirrored by the reporter’s words.

“The source now tells us that the assassinations were conducted through a series of complex codes. A squad of Americans, average, everyday Americans, was assembled, trained and deployed to commit these horrible murders,” the reporter was becoming a little breathless. This was the biggest story ever and he couldn’t believe his incredible luck in getting this assignment. This was going to make his career.

The young man swiveled in his chair and picked up his mobile telephone. He looked at the phone’s screen for a moment, considering. Then he flipped it open and pushed a button. On the television, the reporter was increasing the pace of his words.

“The source went on to tell us that this squad of assassins was assembled by some well-funded anti-war groups including Code Pink and MoveOn.org,” the reporter nearly exclaimed as the screen graphic switched to some video of Code Pink members at a protest.

The young man held the small mobile phone to his ear and smiled faintly. The twitch in his jaw increased as he refocused his attention on the television. The reporter was back, filling the screen with his near giddy face.

“The most shocking part of this story is the element tying all the assassins together. It seems that each of them, reports tell us that there were forty-five in all, each was a terminally ill patient. Each one already was already living with a death sentence.”

The man leaned forward, closer to the computer, phone still to his ear. He was looking intently at the laptop now. On its screen was an image of Anna smiling in the sun. He studied the picture as he listened silently to his phone. As the young man remained nearly motionless, the reporter on the television concluded his report.

“The investigation has widened to include doctors who assisted in identifying terminally ill patients who were well enough to take part in the training and execution of this plot. The question remains ‘how were these people trained and deployed while ill? How sick are they? What diseases do they suffer from and how did the group maintain this incredible level of secrecy to pull off this horrible crime?”

The young man took the phone away from his ear and lay it on the table next to the computer. He grabbed the remote and switched the channel. Another news show, another report on the assassinations. A dark haired, angry looking man was discussing it with a blond woman. The Fox News banner had been changed to reflect their own American Tragedy logo.

“Sources say that the group is funded by MoveOn.org. There are now reports that the Secretary of State’s assassin employed a mixture of Sodium Pentothal, Chloral Hydrate and Potassium Chloride. It’s the same lethal mixture used by several states when they administer the death penalty by lethal injection.”

The mobile phone rang again. The young man held it to his ear and spoke softly. He nodded in ascent to the caller. He jaw began its slight twitch again.

“Where will I get it?” he asked steadily. He nodded again as he pulled a notepad toward him and wrote something on it. A few seconds later he closed the phone and put it back on the desk.

The angry man on the television was speaking to the blond woman across his studio set desk. “The offices of MoveOn.org have been raided. Investigators are trying to identify all the assassins. We’ve learned that authorities have detained twenty-three people identified as assassins. There were seven killed during the assassination attempts. Authorities are still reeling from the fact that assassins were able to murder the entire Cabinet within forty minutes.”

The young man aimed the remote at the television once more and pushed the power button.
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Post Office BoxesLater, the young man walked along the sunny sidewalk of a busy street. He thought about Anna, and wondered if her death by bullet was worse than dying from the cancer would have been. He remembered a conversation they had about the possibility of her being killed during the mission. She was clear about her feelings.

“I’ve done everything I can to prepare my family. They know I’m dying. If I get killed during the mission, then they will find out later that I died fighting for freedom. I trust that my identity will be wiped. I’ve done what I can to protect them and I understand that the mission will protect them if something happens to me…….” her voice cracked just as it began to trail off.

The young man stopped in front of a store and looked inside. A young mother with a baby in a stroller came through the door as he held it open for her. He took a quick glance around the shop and walked to the rows of mail boxes on the wall. He inserted the key in number 36 and turned it. He reached in, removing a small stack of envelopes. He sifted through the envelopes as he walked back into the sunshine. One by one he opened the envelopes, scanning the information inside before shuffling it to the bottom of the stack.

Finally, he opened the last envelope and reached inside it with two fingers. He withdrew the paper and ran his eyes over it. He stopped on the sidewalk and seemed as if he was about to drop to his knees. He steadied himself by placing his hand on a light pole. He closed his eyes and seemed to be taking deep breaths.

He glanced again at the paper in his hand. On the small piece of paper was written one word. The answer that he’s sought, but didn’t really want to know, couldn’t really know until the mission was complete. Now he knew the mission was not yet complete. More would be asked of him….

He heard sirens in the distance. Since the mission, the sound of sirens haunted him everywhere he went. He thought about the mission again. The point had been freedom. Taking back the country. Taking back the government. Giving it back to The People. The People were what mattered. Freedom, Mission, America.

He looked again at piece of paper. He’d done the right thing. He’d helped with arrangements, had smoothed the way, made it happen. He had helped bring the revolution. He’d been a true patriot for America.

He finally had his answer. Now he knew who was calling the shots. During training sessions, it had been his job to squash conversation about who was paying the bills. He’d been quick to shut down questions, to evade, to ask did it really matter? The mission was all that mattered. The mission would bring back America. The trainees had eventually given up asking or at least they didn’t discuss it when he was around.

The answer known, now he had to figure out what to do next. A shadow passed over him as a cloud passed over the sun. He glanced up as he reached into his pocket for his mobile phone. As he flipped it open, he heard a noise behind him. He turned slightly and was just about to step aside for the large, military looking man who was walking toward him when everything went black.

The piece of paper he’d been holding fluttered to the ground as he fell. The large, military looking man bent to pick it up where it had landed face up with the word Darkwater clearly printed in black ink.

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~ by dcup on November 5, 2007.

14 Responses to “Since You’re Dying Anyway…..”

  1. I am speechless.

  2. Damn! A hell of a piece of fiction. Great writing and a great imagination too. I would give it a great big 10.

  3. Excellent work D-Cup.

  4. Wow!

  5. That was awesome there DCup.

  6. Wow. That was a very good piece of writing. More soon, please.

  7. What if Kaczinski wrote it?
    J-Town Clan Represent!!!

  8. Great story, love your writing stye.

  9. Just wonderful, DCup.

  10. Gripping and believable – amazing!

  11. Literary Math

    [(EL OTONO DEL PATRIARCA + CONVERSACIONES EN LA CATEDRAL + THE BOURNE IDENTITY + THE HANDMAID’S TALE)/(AMERICAN ENGLISH + CANADIAN ENGLISH + PERUVIAN SPANISH + COLOMBIAN SPANISH)]//FLANNERY O’CONNOR = D-CUP

  12. I would submit that this is a terrible story in the sense that is incomplete. I mean that as compliment, really because the possibilities of this tale of left wing espionage are endless. For example, we know nothing of the recruiting effort to bring terminally ill people to kill for a seemingly “true” cause. How did this plot come into being? How was it brought to fruition?

    The bottom line is that you need to take this and develop it further. There is brilliance in this work. Absolute brilliance. Imagine. A whole new genre of female authored left-wing espionage fiction! I can. I just read some.

  13. I’ve been away, but am oh so glad I was told to come read your brilliant piece, DCup.

    I admire your willingness to have your assets patriot-activated.

    That’s the good thing about (my) having few assets, I say.

  14. Shit, this is some quality stuff.

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