He ran and ran until he couldn’t breathe anymore at which point he quickly darted down an alley way and stood panting, bent over in a doorway. It had all gone wrong, terribly wrong. He had been doing this job for years and the one mission he never expected to go awry had.
He’d been assigned to this job a couple of weeks ago and it had seemed easy. Easy breezy was the term he had put to his employer when he accepted. What a cocky son-of-a bitch he was. The mission was simple, take out the target, make it look like an accident then disappear. About par for his job as a whole.
The target was none other than Salim de Sade, Osama Bin Laden’s French contact and a formidable enemy to the US, the World and peace. At the time of the operation Salim was going to be in Sri-Lanka on vacation and giving a conference for his legal arms company’s plan for expansion. Right, vacation he thought. Salim seemed to be perpetually on “vacation”. Clubbing in Rome one night, eating with a French Model in Sevilla another. It was amazing and almost untraceable that he had dealt arms and Intel to Osama for the past 1 ½ years. Almost untraceable. Right before he was put on the mission his employer had picked up a phone call with Salim and an unknown man (presumed to be Osama’s son) discussing the buying and delivery of mass explosives. His employer’s employer (the CIA among other national intelligence groups around the world) had determined it was time. One less scumbag on the planet and the world might seem a little shinier.
The next week he was on a flight to Sri Lanka with his contact’s name in his breast pocket. Upon arrival he handed the Customs agent his passport (the one of many he had) citing his trip as purely for pleasure. He would take pleasure in taking this douche bag down.
At his hotel he unpacked his one carry on bag: A white button down shirt and khakis with a baseball cap and glasses. He would be playing the role of the stereotypical American tourists. That’s when the phone rang.
“Yes?” he said.
“There’s a fax for you at the front desk, sir,” the receptionist said in a heavy accent.
“Thank you.” He then changed into his get up and went down to the front desk, grabbing his fax on the way out.
“3:00pm” was all it said.
At 3:00pm sharp he arrived at the pre-arranged meeting point (arranged by his employer) to see his contact. Sitting on the corner reading a Sri-Lankan newspaper was the man he has seen in the picture given to him. He sat down opposite the man who put his newspaper down.
“The location is set,” the man said sliding an envelope over the table to him, which he subtly covered with his fax, picked up and put in his pants pocket. He waved over the waitress and ordered a cup of coffee.
“How’s the soccer team doing?” he asked casually.
“They’ve had a shitty season,” the man’s accent was French, the southern province he assumed. He didn’t know who this contact was or who he worked for. All he knew was his employer had sent him here and so he was here. His coffee came, he drank it down and left as the man picked up his paper and continued to read.
Nine hours later and he was back out on the street. This time in mostly black .He had gone to the address the French man gave him where he had been given all he would need for the assignment. Since it was a “silent operation” as his employer called it no guns were needed. He arrived at the hotel on the one and only night Salim would be in bed early. Salim’s conference was the next morning to tell his investors of his legal enterprise how their money would be spent. Salim had to put his best face forward.
He took the elevator up to the top floor and crept along the hallway. He saw the one Rent a guard Salim had in place, rushed forward and quietly snapped his neck from behind. He held the guy as he slowly crumpled to the floor. After picking the lock he dispatched the two guys in the suite’s living room in the same manner as the guy in front. Tip toeing into the bedroom he could see Salim’s slow breathing, deep in sleep. It wasn’t until he passed by the bathroom on the right, with the full length mirror that he noticed the guy under the bed with the gun. He immediately dropped and rolled back to the living room as a shower of bullets rushed past him. Silent mission my ass, he thought and he rolled to the right and pulled the front door open running as fast as he could. He turned the corner and shot up the stairs to the roof. He could hear Salim and his guy shouting as they slammed into the stairwell after him.
He ran and jumped off the roof and immediately pulled the cord releasing his parachute. He felt the wiz of bullets flying by just missing him. Then one hit, hit the chute causing him to plummet quickly. He pulled on the left and as he veered around as he gathered the chute, making it smaller and closing the hole where the bullet had hit. He landed in the middle of a crowded street barreling into people. It caused a scene; some people clapped but mostly they were pissed. At least they had broken his fast fall. He ditched the chute and started running.
“Fuck,” he thought as he ran. “Now what?” Now to protocol. He must call the boss and tell him the job went south. Standing in the alleyway, thinking of what he would say to the big man, he turned around and saw the French man from the coffee shop standing a few feet away with a silencer in his hand. He put his hands up “What’s going on?” he asked dumbfounded.
“You’re a liability now, man” Suddenly the French man was no longer French but speaking in a perfect American accent. He should have known.
“A liability? No no no, I’ve been a loyal employee for the past 5 years,” he said the tension rising in his voice.
“Yeah, but you know how the boss man feels about mistakes,” the American, no longer French man said.
“I haven’t had any mistakes,” he said slowly walking to the right towards an open door. Following him with the gun the no longer French man said “Until now.” With that the American pulled the trigger just as he threw himself towards the open door.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Don't Eat the Sushi- Ch. 3
Chapter III- The Final Installment
The day came, the stage was set and everyone was ready. And so it began. The Bull was sitting at her desk grading some papers. Ariel knocked on the door around 12:00pm with a package of sushi from Whole Foods (pre-dosed with Mercury thanks to Tony’s friend in the Pharmaceutical department). “Hey Mrs. Carlislie, I brought you some sushi.” The Bull looked up with that fake smile plastered on her face and said “Thank you, dear.” She called all her TAs dear because she never cared to remember their names, another reason to bring her down.
“I was also wondering if you might look over-“
“No time, dear,” the Bull replied tartly, waving her hands and looking down at her papers. “No time. Later.” Ariel silently slunk out of the room, turning her back on the Bull and smirking. With that the plan had been set into motion.
Twenty minutes later Scott called Brad from outside the cultural arts building to say “The Fish Market Friday night?” This signaled that the Bull had eaten the Sushi.
“You got it.” At that moment Scott left his apartment, walked to 5 minutes to the Bull’s office and knocked on her door.
“Yes?”
“Professor,” Scott said walking in “I have a few questions about the assignment for this week’s discussion.”
Before she could answer, telling him to leave her office as she had Ariel, Kathy stormed into the room in a flurry saying “Professor there’s a problem. One of my students keeps saying these obscene things and I’m not sure if she’s attracted to me or she has some condition like Turrets or something.”
As the Bull opened her mouth to speak Tracy and Selma stormed in arguing “You take him!”
“You can’t just shuffle a student around between us TAs because he asks, Tracy.”
“Can too!”
“Can not!”
They both turned to the profession inquisitorially and said “Can you, Professor?” The excitement mixed with the amount of mercury she had been dosed with caused the Bull to start to teeter in her chair. She stood up, put out her hand and then crashed down on top of her desk pushing the papers all over the floor sliding to the ground in a heap.
“Oh my god! Mrs. Carlislie?!” Kathy shouted. It was rehearsed of course but very convincing Selma admitted to herself.
“Don’t worry, I know CPR,” Selma said holding her hand in front of Kathy. “Somebody call 9-1-1.” As Scott jumped to the phone and dialed Selma turned the Bull over and checked for breathing. As she began pumping away on the Bull’s chest Scott told the 9-1-1 operator “Yes, we have an emergency. Our professor is unconscious and seems not to be breathing. We are…”
While Scott continued giving the necessary information Tracy’s eyes glazed over and her happy Bull free world lay out before her. Fifteen minutes later the paramedics lifted Mrs. Carlislie onto a bed, strapped her in and wheeled her away, breathing.
“You saved her life,” the paramedics said to Selma and in turn to Scott. The four of them who had been in the office stood there with phony expressions of shock and horror on their faces as other people came out of offices and around hallways to see what all the commotion was. One by one each of the TAs left, going down different hallways and out various doors.
Leaving the Bull’s office for the last time Tracy held back the grin and mirth she was exploding with inside. Walking outside into the bright rays of sunshine she texted everyone “Friday night dinner is a go,” closed her phone and sauntered across the quad.
The day came, the stage was set and everyone was ready. And so it began. The Bull was sitting at her desk grading some papers. Ariel knocked on the door around 12:00pm with a package of sushi from Whole Foods (pre-dosed with Mercury thanks to Tony’s friend in the Pharmaceutical department). “Hey Mrs. Carlislie, I brought you some sushi.” The Bull looked up with that fake smile plastered on her face and said “Thank you, dear.” She called all her TAs dear because she never cared to remember their names, another reason to bring her down.
“I was also wondering if you might look over-“
“No time, dear,” the Bull replied tartly, waving her hands and looking down at her papers. “No time. Later.” Ariel silently slunk out of the room, turning her back on the Bull and smirking. With that the plan had been set into motion.
Twenty minutes later Scott called Brad from outside the cultural arts building to say “The Fish Market Friday night?” This signaled that the Bull had eaten the Sushi.
“You got it.” At that moment Scott left his apartment, walked to 5 minutes to the Bull’s office and knocked on her door.
“Yes?”
“Professor,” Scott said walking in “I have a few questions about the assignment for this week’s discussion.”
Before she could answer, telling him to leave her office as she had Ariel, Kathy stormed into the room in a flurry saying “Professor there’s a problem. One of my students keeps saying these obscene things and I’m not sure if she’s attracted to me or she has some condition like Turrets or something.”
As the Bull opened her mouth to speak Tracy and Selma stormed in arguing “You take him!”
“You can’t just shuffle a student around between us TAs because he asks, Tracy.”
“Can too!”
“Can not!”
They both turned to the profession inquisitorially and said “Can you, Professor?” The excitement mixed with the amount of mercury she had been dosed with caused the Bull to start to teeter in her chair. She stood up, put out her hand and then crashed down on top of her desk pushing the papers all over the floor sliding to the ground in a heap.
“Oh my god! Mrs. Carlislie?!” Kathy shouted. It was rehearsed of course but very convincing Selma admitted to herself.
“Don’t worry, I know CPR,” Selma said holding her hand in front of Kathy. “Somebody call 9-1-1.” As Scott jumped to the phone and dialed Selma turned the Bull over and checked for breathing. As she began pumping away on the Bull’s chest Scott told the 9-1-1 operator “Yes, we have an emergency. Our professor is unconscious and seems not to be breathing. We are…”
While Scott continued giving the necessary information Tracy’s eyes glazed over and her happy Bull free world lay out before her. Fifteen minutes later the paramedics lifted Mrs. Carlislie onto a bed, strapped her in and wheeled her away, breathing.
“You saved her life,” the paramedics said to Selma and in turn to Scott. The four of them who had been in the office stood there with phony expressions of shock and horror on their faces as other people came out of offices and around hallways to see what all the commotion was. One by one each of the TAs left, going down different hallways and out various doors.
Leaving the Bull’s office for the last time Tracy held back the grin and mirth she was exploding with inside. Walking outside into the bright rays of sunshine she texted everyone “Friday night dinner is a go,” closed her phone and sauntered across the quad.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Don't Eat the Sushi- Ch. 2
Chapter II
Over the next couple of weeks Tracy and Selma each met with their colleagues in one on one get togethers, of course. Dinner with Brad at the Fish Mart, drinks with Kathy at Carl’s and so on. Never in the same place, same time or in the neighborhood of the university. One by one people agreed, some more quickly than others but no one took long to be persuaded and to Selma’s surprise and delight every single TA working for the Bull agreed to the plan.
About a third of the way through the semester Tracy and Selma organized a “TA Dinner” at Selma’s place. Completely inconspicuous since it was common for TAs to want to get to know each other, go over the course work and maybe discuss their worst students. On the night of the dinner, after everyone was stuffed with food, had a few drinks and were in a merry mood Tracy stood up on her chair, giggling.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Selma and I appreciate you all coming together this evening. We all know why we’re here, the very noble cause of bringing the Bull down by the horns!” Everyone cheered, clapped and laughed. Tracy raised her glass, took a sip of her red wine and continued. “So to the task at hand. You’ve each been given a role to play in this extravaganza whether it is to be a look out or to just keep your mouth shut if you have to.” She winked, people chuckled. “The event will take place in 3 days and will hence forth be referred to as Friday Dinner. We cannot emphasize precaution enough.” Tracee took another sip, sat down and then Selma stood up on her chair.
“With that being said we have a few ground rules. Do not talk about this on campus. If you must discuss it over the phone remember it is called Friday diner and be cognizant of what that means to someone who may be listening in. Anything you talk about would have to make sense in the context of a Friday night dinner. On the day of the event no talking about it period. You should know your roles and have all your questions answered by then. So, are there any further questions?” A hand rose at the end of the table.
“Yes Tony?”
“Yeah, when’s the celebratory party afterwards?” Tony asked smiling. Everyone laughed.
“Friday,” Selma replied grinning. “If there’s nothing more let’s eat, drink and bring the Bull Bitch down!” Everyone raised their glasses and took a long hopeful gulp.
Over the next couple of weeks Tracy and Selma each met with their colleagues in one on one get togethers, of course. Dinner with Brad at the Fish Mart, drinks with Kathy at Carl’s and so on. Never in the same place, same time or in the neighborhood of the university. One by one people agreed, some more quickly than others but no one took long to be persuaded and to Selma’s surprise and delight every single TA working for the Bull agreed to the plan.
About a third of the way through the semester Tracy and Selma organized a “TA Dinner” at Selma’s place. Completely inconspicuous since it was common for TAs to want to get to know each other, go over the course work and maybe discuss their worst students. On the night of the dinner, after everyone was stuffed with food, had a few drinks and were in a merry mood Tracy stood up on her chair, giggling.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Selma and I appreciate you all coming together this evening. We all know why we’re here, the very noble cause of bringing the Bull down by the horns!” Everyone cheered, clapped and laughed. Tracy raised her glass, took a sip of her red wine and continued. “So to the task at hand. You’ve each been given a role to play in this extravaganza whether it is to be a look out or to just keep your mouth shut if you have to.” She winked, people chuckled. “The event will take place in 3 days and will hence forth be referred to as Friday Dinner. We cannot emphasize precaution enough.” Tracee took another sip, sat down and then Selma stood up on her chair.
“With that being said we have a few ground rules. Do not talk about this on campus. If you must discuss it over the phone remember it is called Friday diner and be cognizant of what that means to someone who may be listening in. Anything you talk about would have to make sense in the context of a Friday night dinner. On the day of the event no talking about it period. You should know your roles and have all your questions answered by then. So, are there any further questions?” A hand rose at the end of the table.
“Yes Tony?”
“Yeah, when’s the celebratory party afterwards?” Tony asked smiling. Everyone laughed.
“Friday,” Selma replied grinning. “If there’s nothing more let’s eat, drink and bring the Bull Bitch down!” Everyone raised their glasses and took a long hopeful gulp.
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