Diary of an Assassin Read Free Page A

Rhett’s.
    “We done here?” Rhett said.
    “Those guns are expensive. It would be a shame if they were stolen. Maybe you want I can drive them to your hotel for you.”
    Rhett glanced to the driver and then reached for one of the suitcases, his other hand slipping into his jacket. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
    As he pulled the first suitcase out, the man in the passenger seat swung around, a Smith & Wesson pistol in his hand. Rhett drew his .22 and fired two shots, hitting the man in his left hand, the Smith & Wesson falling to the van floor.
    The driver swung with a right. Rhett ducked and came up with an elbow into his jaw. It snapped his head back and Rhett kicked him in the groin and swept his legs out from under him before he had recovered. The passenger, grunting from pain, scrabbled for the pistol. Rhett jumped in and grabbed his hand, shoving his finger through the small bullet wound in the back of his other. The man screamed and Rhett bashed his open mouth with the butt of his .22, cracking several teeth. 
    The other man was on his feet and pulling a pistol out of his waistband. Rhett fired a single round, shattering his collarbone. The man shrieked and fell back in pain. The passenger threw a lightning-fast punch and caught Rhett on the jaw. He punched again and again, landing blows to his neck and face.
    Rhett brought his arms up and covered his face. He got up to his knees and spun around with a hook, connecting with the man’s temple. He fired two rounds into the man’s shoulders and then swung with everything he had into his jaw, breaking it and knocking him unconscious.
    He leapt outside the van and rolled to his feet, coming up with the pistol pointed at the driver , who was slouched against the vehicle, delirious from pain. Rhett stashed the weapon and removed both suitcases from the back before bending down over the man and checking his wound.
    “Normally I would’ve just killed both of you, but you’ve caught me at an odd time. You’ll live by the way.”
    Rhett turned to leave, a suitcase in each hand, when he saw a small child standing behind the glass door of the non-profit, staring with an open mouth at what he’d just seen. Rhett looked to the van and then back to the kid and said, “That’s what happens when you don’t stay in school.”
    He went around the corner to a Cadillac and drove away.
     

 
    June 16 th
     
    We were in the forests of Virginia, somewhere in the south of the state. I couldn’t say exactly where because they wouldn’t tell us. We were doing maneuvers in pure mud because it had been raining for three days straight.
    A woman was in training with us. It was a big deal in those days and we had to respect her. At least I respected her. She was brunette and slim, with the muscles of a bodybuilder and the deep blue eyes of a model. Her name was Heather and she, out of the class of six, had by far the toughest job. Because while the rest of us helped each other through the training, she felt she had to prove herself by doing it all on her own.
    As we were finishing up a ten-mile run through the mud with fifty-pound packs on our backs, we stopped suddenly and dropped to our stomachs. Targets appeared up in the forest. We took out our L115A3 AWM rifles. Probably the best sniper rifles known to man. They were a British make and I always thought it odd that we were Americans, signed up with an American agency, on the premise of patriotism, using British weapons. It wasn’t until later that I realized it spoke a lot about the agency: they used whatever tool worked. Pride and emotion played no part in their decisions.
    Heather pulled out her weapon and began to assemble it . She took out her night-vision goggles, as it was late now. Taking a step forward, she slipped on the mud and fell to the side, and, I’d learn later, broke her ankle.
    The rest of us fired off our shots. Five clean shots through the hearts of the paper targets. We packed up and began the jog again. All