My hysterical laughter brays free as I realize what I said. “J-just an old ghost from my past.” I suck in what air I can between the stifling hood and the snot now clogging my nose. “When I was a stupid kid and let Him walk away.” I laugh again. “You sound just like Him.” In my mind, thoseHs are still all capitalized, just like they used to be. Maybe this man is my executioner, but he’s also my unintended last-minute confessor.
“Who the fuck is Carter?” Is there a different tone in his voice now?
Fear grips me as I realize why he’s probably asking. “We served together nearly thirty years ago! I loved him, and He loved me.” I choke back more snot and sobs. “Please, He doesn’t know anything about this. He’s in the States and has a wife and family. He has nothing to do with my life now.”
“He wasn’t involved in this deal?”
“No! None of it, I swear!” Terror seizes my system. I know Carter can handle Himself, but my soul would never know peace if harm came to any of His loved ones. “Please, we were together secretly in the Army back when we were kids. He wasn’t out, and neither was I.”
“Together how?”
Fuck it.“Sexually. We were lovers. Loved each other. He owned me and promised to always take care of me.”
I hear movement. The gun disappears for a moment, then reappears, and I think the American is now the one holding it. He goads the back of my skull with the muzzle, and not gently. “Then why bring this Carter guy up now? There must be more to it than that.”
“Just final regrets, that’s all.” I sadly laugh. “You sound just like him. We were both wounded in-country and almost died. I pushed Him away when He wanted me to leave the Army with Him. I couldn’t make myself be out. I stayed in, and he went on to law school and a career in state politics.” I’m babbling now and can’t help it. “Please, I swear, He’s guilty of nothing more than loving me back then. I wouldn’t let Him keep His promise.”
“What promise?”
In these last moments of my life I know I should stop talking, but it’s like I’ve lost the ability to control myself since I finally have someone to spill my soul to and have admitted why this man’s getting under my skin. “He promised to always take care of me. Never leave me behind. But I was young and stupid and scared, and He returned to the States. I stayed in after I healed up. He moved on and got married to a woman while he was in college, and now they have two sons, and—”
Pressure from the muzzle disappears, replaced by blinding pain that smacks the back of my skull before my world goes dark.
Part II:
Jace
“All war is deception.”
– Sun Tzu
Chapter Six
Three Days Ago
Fuck my life.
I do my damnedest not to roll my fricking eyes as I sit back in my chair and listen to the man drone on and on.
And fuckingon.
This is one of the many bullshit, mundane tasks I endure to keep the true nature of my career a secret. I pretend to listen to government wonks and code monkeys say what they think I want to hear and stroke my ego. All while I’m trying my best not to kill all of them where they stand for being so.
Insufferably.
Booooring.
It should be a crime.
Retiring is looking pretty damned good as of late, I hate to admit. It’s been years since I’ve been on an assignment that really got my blood pumping. I’m still assigned the occasional wet-work, yeah, but I’m no longer the one who has to deal with the clean-up, and I haven’t been for years. I’m either assigned a team to lead who handles the mop-up after I’ve completed the interrogation, or I hire trusted locals I’ve worked with in the past to take care of it for me.
No, this job isn’t thrilling. Wouldn’t even make a good spy novel. Right now, I’m sitting in a depressingly shitty office in a Soviet-era building in Kyiv and listening to this fucking asshole try to blow smoke up my ass in less than perfect Russian. But his Russian is way better than my Ukrainian, so I give him that much.
When the cell in my pocket buzzes with a text alert, I reach down and silence it without interrupting our conversation even as my pulse races. It’s my burner, because like hell am I bringing one of my real phones into the country, and only three people have the number. This joker sitting in front of me has the number for my dummy phone that has my “work” number on it. I swap SIM cards on that one all the time to keep malware off of it, especially when I have to travel here.
At the first reasonable break in the conversation, I hold up a hand and excuse myself to the bathroom. While in the stall, I look at the message, which came from an unknown number. It’s a single word that sends my pulse hammering through my veins once more.
EXCELSIOR
