Christ.
And I don’t know what’s worse — dying, or allowing Josh to believe I’m dead when I’m not. I don’t think I can do that to him. He’s like my brother. He’s been there—
“Time’s up,” says the man, moving toward the door. “What’s your decision? Become legend or become death?”
I stare into his blank green eyes. Outside my cell, I hear the rattling of keys again as the guard approaches.
He places a hand on the bars of the door. “Last chance, Adrian…”
I tense my jaw muscles and stand. I take a deep breath, hold it for a moment, and then let it out in a slow sigh as I close my eyes.
I must be crazy…
He turns to leave.
“Okay, wait. I’ll—”
He stops and looks at me. “I’m sorry, Adrian. But you were too slow. My offer has expired. If you’re so unsure about the decision, the Order probably isn’t right for you. And vice versa.”
“What? Hey, wait a goddamn minute, you said—”
“I said your time was up.” He turns to face the door again. “Guard?”
The security guard from before reappears and opens the door. The man in white steps out and to the side so the door can be closed again behind him.
He looks at me through the bars. “I’m sorry, Adrian. It’s a real waste of potential. But you should’ve been more committed to the idea. You know what they say: hesitation can get you killed.”
He smiles and walks away, disappearing from view. I’m left standing, lost for words and a little confused, facing the row of armed security personnel assigned to watch me in my final hours.
I shake my head. “Sonofabitch.”
34
I’ve not slept. I’m about to sleep forever, so I didn’t want to waste my final hours of life with my eyes closed. I’m just sitting on my fold-down bed staring at the floor.
I sigh heavily. This is really, really shit. I always figured I’d go out in the proverbial blaze of glory — a gunfight or a fistfight… something with a bit of dignity. But instead I’m about to be strapped to a chair and killed by a three-inch needle.
It’s actually a little humiliating.
I’ve been playing in my mind over and over again what that walking negative said to me yesterday, about how I was good but could be better with training. What’s he talking about? I don’t mean to sound… Y’know what? Screw it. I don’t care if I do sound bigheaded, I’m about to die. I am the best fucking assassin on this planet. I know that. I believe that. I don’t need the approval of some prick with poor taste in clothing.
But it would’ve been nice if he’d given me ten more seconds to mull over the biggest decision I’ve ever had to make. And I was going to take him up on his offer, too. I know that probably makes me look like a dick — choosing to do that to Josh, to put him through the grief of believing I’m dead… As it turns out, I’m going to do that anyway, I just won’t be around to feel bad about it.
I hear a door opening somewhere outside my holding cell away to the left, out of sight. The sound of multiple footsteps gradually gets louder on the tiled floor, and after a few moments, ten armed security personnel appear. They’re wearing ski masks, holding assault rifles, safeties off, fingers hovering over the trigger.
“On your feet,” says one of them, taking a step forward.
I stand begrudgingly. “Don’t I get, like, a last meal or something?”
The door opens and he steps inside. The men behind him arrange themselves into a trained formation.
“Let’s go,” he says, “nice and easy.”
I hold my hands to the sides and shrug. “Not much point putting up a fight now, is there?”
I step out and the other guards swarm around me, their weapons trained on me from all angles. The first guy follows me and moves to the front of the pack. He starts walking and we follow.
I’ve no idea which facility I’ve been taken to. It won’t exist, anyway. It’ll be some off-the-books CIA black site somewhere obscure. There are no windows — certainly not in the parts of the building I’ve seen. It’s all artificially lit and has a fresh smell like it’s recently been opened or renovated.
We’re walking along a seemingly endless network of narrow corridors. There are rooms periodically on both sides, but I’ve seen no one else here. After a few minutes, we stop outside two large swinging doors like those in an operating room.
The guard turns to me. “Wait here.” He disappears inside.
I look around casually, examining the building with a professional eye, searching for a weak spot or something I can use. Maybe I can try to escape. I reckon I could take out at least half of these assholes around me before they realize what’s happening. Steal a gun, shoot them all, make a break for it… I get lucky, maybe I get away. I don’t, I die from a thousand bullets. A blaze of glory.
I smile to myself. Who am I kidding? I can’t be bothered. Not anymore. I’ve done a lot of bad things in my time. And I like to think I’ve done some good, too. Question my methods all you want, but by killing President Cunningham I did this world a massive service.
I guess I’m exactly where I should be. Where I deserve to be. I don’t like it, but I’m coming to terms with the finality of the situation. I’ve passed the point of no return here. Whatever I do from this moment on, I know I’m going to die. Apart from Josh, there’s no one left for me in this world. Not anymore.
I’ve tried not to think about Tori. Or the sheriff. Or anyone else I knew back in Devil’s Spring. That place was my home. This might sound heartless and selfish, but I don’t want to spend my last hours wallowing and thinking about loss and death. If I allowed the emotions to run free in my mind, I’d be crushed… distraught with grief. But I don’t want to die feeling that way.
The guard reappears. “They’re ready.”
The huddle disperses, forming a loose U-shape around the doors.
I crack my neck, stretch my arms and back, and take a long, deep breath. I look around the formation. “Thanks, fellas. Good job all around. No hard feelings, okay?”
No one responds. That’s fine, I didn’t expect them to, really. Just wanted to be polite.
I push open the doors and step inside a white, clean, air-conditioned room. I hear one of the guards follow me through, but I don’t bother looking around at him. In front of me is one horrible-looking chair… My God! It looks like it belongs to a dental surgeon with a bondage fetish. There’s a stand on either side, one of which has tubing that leads into a hole in the wall. The room next door will be where the drugs are, I guess.
One wall is covered by a large floor-to-ceiling curtain, which is currently drawn. I wonder if there’s much of an audience on the other side…
There are three people present in the room. One looks like a doctor, and the other two look like guards. All three are wearing plain white uniforms and disinterested expressions.
One of the guards, a youngish guy with ginger hair and a scraggly beard, looks at me. “Step forward.”
I move over to the chair.
“Sit.”
I do, shifting in the seat until I’m reasonably comfortable. I place my arms in the rests on either side. The second man in white moves to my side, and along with the first guy they secure me to the chair.
I instinctively try to pull my arms free, testing the restraints.
Yeah… I’m not going anywhere.
They step aside and the doctor moves next to me. He runs an alcohol swab over my arm. Courteous, but slightly irrelevant at this stage I think. They’re about to kill me, yet they’re making sure I don’t get any last-minute infections…