One Bullet Left

I crouched down behind a fallen tree, letting the thick branches shield me from the view of the searching soldiers. My right shoulder burned from the wound I’d received during my escape, the kiss of a 45 caliber round gaping like a mouth and still bleeding steadily despite my makeshift bandage. On the bright side, at least I hadn’t been showered with the same kind of affection in a more vital area.

My fingers were sticky with blood, which would have made clutching the 9mm I had stolen easier if it weren’t for the numbness that kept me from feeling the gun’s weight. Peeking through the tree’s branches I watched as the line of fanned out soldiers made their way through the underbrush, spread ten yards apart and scanning slowly and carefully.

Slipping back into the gradually thickening forest I picked my way around boulders, fallen trees and gullies, careful to employ all the evasive techniques I’d learned over my years as an assassin. This particular job had become a worst-case-scenario in every sense; being captured and tortured, but I had managed to escape and that is what I focused on.

Happening upon a small stream I walked through it, hoping to mask my scent in case they decided to set dogs after me. My mind whirled as I moved, trying to puzzle out how I was discovered, it had happened so quickly that I couldn’t help but think they knew my plan and knew exactly where I would be; someone had given me up, there was no other explanation. Only one person came to mind when I thought about who wanted me dead, and who had the resources to know every detail of the job: Victor.

Victor had been hounding me since I joined The Agency, always making passes, innuendos and even grabbing at my ass once or twice, which inevitably resulted in his arm bring broken; he was now very clear about my intensions where he was concerned. He was also the Agency’s chief tactician, he was the one who planned this job and I was willing to bet he was the one who set me up.

Putting the woods behind me I spent the next four hours making my way back to The Agency, and the closer I got to my goal the more furious I became; astounded and appalled that someone would let a refused proposition move them to murder. As I approached the non-descript entrance I was met with gunfire and I dove for cover behind the nearest car.

Again my skills kicked in and I made my way toward the door one body at a time, dropping nearly a dozen operatives before reaching the entrance. Marching down the long hallway, my laser-like gaze found Victor and I zeroed in on him, annoyed that he didn’t look more afraid to see me.

“Why?” I asked as I approached him, my gun raised, and all activity in the Com Room stopped, dozens of pairs of eyes locking on Victor and me.

He had the audacity to look condescending, arching one eyebrow at me and folding his arms as he perched on the edge of a desk. “You seem to be under the impression that you are indispensible,” he said evenly, “And you also seem to be under the impression you have control over what you do and don’t do.”

“You are not the messiah of The Agency, and I will not allow you to put my life at risk because of your bruised ego!” I dug into my pocket and withdrew a disc, flashing the shiny silver plastic at him, “And in case you have any notion of denying that you set me up, here is a recording of your call to Black Curtain giving them every detail of my mission.”

He had the good grace to go pale, his light blue eyes shifting nervously to the disc before coming back to lock with my own angry green stare.

“You won’t kill me, you can’t, there are no more bullets left in that gun. A 9mm holds ten rounds and you dropped ten men to get in here.”

I smiled at him, a most unpleasant smile and he shrank back involuntarily. “You’ve been out of the field too long, Victor. This is a Glock G19, it holds 15 rounds, there is more than one bullet left here for you.” And without hesitating I shot two rounds; head and heart.