Blind Reader Wanted

“I can manage from now on. You can go,” I told him coldly.

“No, I’ll walk you to your door.”

“That won’t be necessary. Thank you.”

“Fuck it, Lara. I’m either helping you to your door or I’m carrying you to it. Make your choice.”

I swallowed. I didn’t even know which way to turn, which just made me feel sad and unhappy. I put my hand on his arm. Instantly, the hard muscles underneath tensed. He exhaled, and for a second I thought he was going to say something, but he just took a step forward. At my door, he waited for me to put the key in and open it.

“Goodnight, my love. I’ll be thinking of you,” he whispered.

I couldn’t help it then, a tear slipped out.

He reached out a hand and wiped it away. “I love you,” he said, “so much it hurts.”

“Then don’t go,” I cried.

“It’s my job, Lara.”

“Get another job,” I pleaded.

“It’s what I’m best at. I don’t know how to do anything else.”

“I’ve got enough money saved. We’ll live off my art.” Tears were running quickly down my cheeks.

“We’ll talk about it when I come home.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. You’re either with me, or in the military.”

He bent his head and gently kissed my forehead. Then he was gone. I went into my house, closed the door, and listened to the car door slam, the engine start, and the car drive off into the night.

Then, I walked to my kitchen. My steps were a little wobbly, but I was all right. I switched on the heater. I walked to the kettle and filled it. Still in my coat I made myself a mug of tea.

Then, I went into the living room. The house was still very cold so I switched on the little two bar heater that I kept for emergencies. I sat down near it. The heat warmed my feet.

I touched the face of my watch. Three thirty-five. I should go to bed, but I wasn’t sleepy. I took a sip of tea and tasted nothing.

At that moment I felt there was no one in Durango Falls, or the world, who felt more alone and abandoned than me. I finished my tea and went upstairs. My steps were slow, like those of an old woman. I didn’t allow myself to cry. I had plenty of time for that.

I knew I would be crying for years to come.

Forty-two

Kit

Call me a son of a bitch for not telling her the truth from the start, call me shit for brains, call me anything, but I’m not sorry. I love that woman too much to give a flying fuck about fair play or what anyone else thinks. Even if the rules I was sworn to uphold allowed me to tell her what I was involved in, which by the fucking way it didn’t, I was not about to lose the one thing in my life that was pure and perfect.

So, yeah, I’m a selfish prick, but news flash, I never claimed to be a saint, and if I had to do it all again, I’d do the same fucking thing. Why would I take even the smallest risk of her walking away? This way I got through her first line of defense, and won myself a chance to fight another day. Whatever happens now, she loves me and it’ll be that much harder for her to keep resisting me. I’ll fight for her until she breaks down and takes me back, or I’ll be camped outside her front door because I ain’t no quitter.

I forced myself to stop thinking about Lara. I shouldn’t. Not if I wanted to get out of this alive. My focus had to be on survival. For me and the eight guys who came on this assignment with me. One small mistake and I was never seeing that angel face, or tasting her sweet flesh again.

I was lying down on a bed of wet leaves in the middle of a Columbian jungle wearing night vision goggles and black fatigues with no insignia. Anything goes wrong and I get discovered, there would be no blow back. We were men who didn’t exist.

Something slimy crawled onto my hand. Oh fuck. That’s all I need, another leech. I can’t light a cigarette here, so I’m gonna have to let it feast until this scenario is over. I squinted my eyes and looked down the sight of my sniper gun.

I was looking at a big ole warehouse painted green to blend with the jungle. It was protected by a tall electric fence and, at last count, eight security guards trained to kill. Probably hired guns, mercenaries. Inside the warehouse was the biggest cache of illegal weapons and high grade cocaine. One day I would make Lara understand.

Someone has to do this.

If we didn’t take care of this tonight, tomorrow morning a long convoy of trucks would appear at the gates of the warehouse. One at a time, the vehicles would back up to the building, and men would forklift out boxes upon boxes of cheap television sets stuffed full of cocaine. They would fill up one truck after another, then the trucks would be off to a port, where money would grease hands, men with families would look the other way.

The shipment would land in my country where hordes of people would maim, steal, and kill for it. That’s what was supposed to happen tomorrow, but tonight, I was here, and what was going to happen just became a whole different story.

My team and I were the difference.

A black 4x4 drove up, the headlights cutting through the dark. The guards rushed to open the metal gates. The vehicle stopped in front of the warehouse door. I shifted my attention to the vehicle door closest to the entrance. A man’s dark head emerged, then his body and one of his legs followed. I trained my crosshairs on an imaginary orange dot on his back.

The instant kill shot.

In a few days, I would think about him again. I would be halfway through a bottle of whiskey, and I would wonder why there were so many like him. How had humanity come to a place where it was men like him who had all the money and ruled over the rest of us?

But deep thoughts and covert activities were like work boots on a poodle. They didn’t mix. Tonight, I wouldn’t consider anything more than the straightforward fact: he was standing between me and my objective.

The voice in my earpiece whispered, “We’re a go.”

Before his other leg could touch the ground, I pulled the trigger.

The man sagged and fell out of the 4x4. My shot was true; he was done before his head hit the ground. A man rushed out of the front passenger’s seat. I had him before he could get to the door of the warehouse. There was shouting and screaming. The car began to reverse with a panicked screech.

I pulled the trigger again.

The wheels began spinning. Armed men came rushing out of the warehouse. Their deaths came from the other side of the building. That was my buddy, Roger, with his sarcastic smile and his perfect aim. I counted eight.

The sudden peal of an ear-piercing siren caught me off guard. “Shit!”

Lights facing out into the jungle went on around the entire compound, lighting up the night as if it were day. I blinked.

Ah, not the first time. Wrong intel. Our careful plan had just gone to hell in a damp jungle. Now we were in the thick of it, well before we had intended to be. Still, the momentum was on our side. I watched the warehouse for any signs of life.

There was the glint of a rifle from an upstairs window.

I aimed and fired. The first bullet chipped through the stucco. The second bullet shattered the window, and whoever was in there screamed loudly enough for me to hear him. A bullet came flying my way, thudding into the soft ground two feet away from me. That was too close for comfort.

Here we go, champ. Let’s p

lay.

I rose up and started a quick trek along the ridge, running hard. He was still trying. I could hear the whoosh and thump as the bullets missed their mark. He wasn’t leading, which told me he wasn’t a sniper. He was just somebody who almost got lucky.

I knelt behind a tree and waited. I was at the right angle to see him make the stupid, rookie mistake that they all make. Only this time, he wouldn’t be lucky enough to get out of it alive.

There was the glint of his gun. I waited. There was his hand, clear in my sights. Still, I waited. Then his head came forward, and he put himself in the line of fire in order to see where I was. It was nothing more than a second, but hey, that’s all a decorated sniper needs, my friend.

My weapon kicked in my hands, what was left of the window shattered, and upstairs guy was toast.

And that’s when all hell broke loose.

Hidden trapdoors all around the compound opened and shots rang out. Apparently, there was far more security than our intelligence had shown – and now that the shit had hit the fan, there was nothing to do but fucking get splattered. Rifle fire followed me down as I threw myself from the cliff onto the ground twelve feet below.

I rolled at the landing to save my knees. I might be a badass, but that didn’t mean I was not getting old. At thirty-two I was no spring chicken. I didn’t have time to survey the lay of the land. I was being hunted. Covered by the friendly fire, I shouldered my rifle, pulled my sidearm, and headed toward the back of the warehouse.

I blew the lock on the door and slammed it open, surprised that it went so easily, and started my way up the back hallway.

Roger’s voice was crystal clear through my earpiece:

“Breached three o’clock, two friendlies.”

A man in a suit swung around the corner and raised his gun. His shot went wide, into the wall. Mine went into his chest, and he stumbled back. The bastard was wearing a vest. My second shot went into his head. It exploded backwards like a watermelon.

“They’re armored,” I said into my radio.

“No shit,” came the reply, along with the sound of distant gunfire.