
Stay On Target
By
D.M. KURTZ
Installment 6: Interrupted
All was ready for the completion of his latest assignment. Timothy Swanson would hold a debate at 11am, and by 11:15 his corrupt wife would be dead, along with the demented Sachic. Tenebra took a deep breath before he knelt beside the bed and let his right hand come to rest on the old, worn and weathered King James Bible that lay on the nightstand.
Father, he prayed, guide my hands and my steps today as I become the instrument of your righteous vengeance. Amen.
A simple beseechment, and one that he uttered before every mission. He was certain that his loyalty to God was the source of his success, for none before him had accomplished as much as he without causing some collateral damage, or being themselves caught in the act and unjustly imprisoned or executed. Only Tenebra was a true ghost who destroyed the enemies of both God and state with swift, undetectable strokes that left any local law enforcement utterly bereft of evidence.
He glanced down at the expensive Ashford watch clasped around his wrist and took a deep breath as he rose from his perch beside the bed. Swiftly, he grabbed the small bag that contained his special tablet along with supplies for his assignment. With a final glance at the room that had become his home over the last few weeks, he moved through the door and into the hallway beyond. Long but purposely relaxed and withdrawn strides took him to the staircase, and moments later he emerged into the early morning sunlight of the hotel lobby. With a dip of his head to the brunette at the concierge desk, he pushed through the double glass doors at the entryway and rounded the building to his left.
A light chirp echoed from his black Audi S5 when he deftly pressed the unlock button on the keypad in his right, front pant pocket on his approach. Another habit he’d developed over the years, ensuring that he could enter the vehicle without any interruption or unnecessary lost time. He pulled the handle and slid into the comfy leather seat before simultaneously shutting and locking the door even as he placed his foot on the brake pedal and pushed the button on the console near the gear selector. His vehicle roared to life, and after a few moments more he had left the semi-full lot behind him as he drove toward the nearby city hall.
*Ring, ring!*
The chirping sound from the glove compartment gave him brief pause, but he ignored the device. He knew from the pre-selected tone that is was his personal cell phone, and now was not the time for entertaining anything even remotely sentimental. After a few seconds the ringing stopped, but he blinked when the sound immediately began again. For a second time, he paid it no mind, but when a third cycle began he couldn’t shake the small voice in the back of his head that urged him to answer. He resisted the idea at first, but with an irritated grunt he finally reached over, released the latch and let the small object fill his palm. He had done so too late, however, for the incoming call from his sister had already gone to voicemail. With angst brow furrowed, he quickly clicked through the options to dial the mailbox.
“My baby!” The voice on the other end was frantic, practically unhinged so severely that Tenebra slammed the brakes and swiped the wheel to his right into a nearby empty parking lot. His heart began to pound as he listened intently to the remainder of the short yet drawn out message interrupted by frequent, panicked gasps for air.
“Pick up the phone! I need you! *sob* He’s gone… Ashton is, is gone. He, someone took him, I, I looked away… *choke* a second, just a second… Call me, Jess, please! *click*”
The sharp, hazel eyes of the tall man were glazed, and it took every ounce of control he possessed to force back the tears that threatened to burst past his careful guard. For a brief moment of indecison, he simply sat still, but the uncertainty departed as rapidly as it had come. With a clench to his jaw, he slid the vehicle back into gear and put the accelerator to the floor as he punched redial and lifted the phone to his cheek. Come what may, his mission would have to wait.
THE END
Copyright © 2018 D.M. Kurtz
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No part of this installment may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles or reviews and pages where permission is specifically granted by the publisher or author.
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