The False Serenity
The man answered the call.
The English accented voice asked, "In or out?"
"In , of course. I have no choice." The answer came easily and calmly. "Of course you have a choice, but next time I may be asking someone else." "Yes, I understand. Who and where?" The voice on the phone told him. He knew who he had to get. But this time the voice had said, "This one is your choice. Kill or not kill. At least wound, though."
That had never happened before. Maybe the Englishman had gone soft. Nope. That can't be it. How many times had he been called to do this? One hundred and seventeen times. He knew the number. He knows all the numbers. Would he stop doing it? Could he stop doing it? He had heard that voice for ten years now. For the twenty and more years before that it had been an American voice. He had done this eighty four times. Eighty four dead people. Men and women. Another fifty six unknown. Either seriously wounded or dead. And before that when he was sent out with others it was at least two hundred killed or wounded. Hard to keep count when under fire and with others shooting as well. That had lasted almost five years. Then they had changed him change jobs. Stay and do the numbers and then go when told to. Now it's time number one hundred and eighteen.
Nikita was at Michael's apartment. He is playing the cello. Michael asks "What's that to you?" She replied, "I am your friend." "That would be a mistake." "Why?" Michael starts walking around swinging the cello bow in the air. Micahel says, "Because people who care about me end up dead or..."
A shot rang out. Michael swung around. Blood was coming from his chest area. Nikita went over to him quickly as he sank to the floor.
The man in the car put the gun down onto the passenger seat. He calmly drove away. He was thinking, "Did I get him? Is he number eighty five? Does it matter? I was given a choice and I couldn't choose. So I let the bullet choose. I chose the best time and posiution to shoot but the target was moving around waving something in his hands. Oh well. The bullet hit him anyway. He had seen some blood splatter through he telescopic sight. We shall see.
"Hey, sugar. What's up? You look sad."
"Walter. Michael's been shot."
"Wow! How bad? Is he..dead?"
"No. Lucky he was wearing a thick coat and was moving. The bullet must have been slowed down by the coat. He got a major flesh wound in the shoulder. He's in Medical. He's gonna be okay." "Back to eighty four" "Huh?" "Sorry sugar, I've just been checking the inventory. Say hi to Michael when you see him. Hope he's okay soon." "I will. See ya, Walter." "Yep, you sure will, babe. You sure will."