Sam had decided that Torren was a ghastly place. He much preferred the clean open streets of Taelliwey. The people were nicer there, and at least it was a little more colourful. Here it always seemed dark, even during the day, like the shadow of the desert was always watching, always peering at them from over their great wall. The law was weak here, too, and though the city was strong, it was a surprisingly evil abode.
Sam had rendezvoused with his team and they very precisely filled him in on Garn’s actions – they were all good men, from what he could tell. They had said that Garn had checked into a hotel called The Starry Night, a rich man’s hotel. Whatever he’s doing it isn’t running.
Sam’s team consisted of three men – Commander James Regan, and his two officers; Thomas and Morgan. The plan for capturing Garn was simple – Tom would go into the building and try to arrest Garn or at least spook him into Sam’s trap. Meanwhile Regan and Morgan would be positioned in different lookout points around the building, just in case Garn had security or tried to run.
It was near midnight now and Regan had sent Morgan and Tom to scout out the area before the mission was launched. Sam was surprised by the loyalty and respect they showed the old man. He saw the shimmer of admiration in their eyes as they watched their leader at work. They respected him, and somehow that made Sam feel terribly lonely.
The vast space of the warehouse was furnished only by a single table in the centre and was lighted by some small candles. Sam sat quietly next to James as he waited for the others to return. To pass the time he cleaned his pistol and polished his sword, twice. When Morgan and Tom didn’t return he started to talk. “So Morgan and Tom are good soldiers,” he said. “I can see how they look up to you.”
The commander stopped what he was doing – his fading brown eyes stared at Sam. “Yes, they’re good people. We work well together, as a team.”
Sam set down his sword and looked into the burning candles. “Before my promotion I used to work espionage back in Taelliwey, before that I’d investigate military crimes, sometimes for the king.”
“Ah,” Regan said, “an investigator. Did you enjoy your work?” He spoke with the inclination of a wise man.
“I was good at what I did.” Sam bended his words but the old commander caught on.
“That’s not the same.”
“It was a lonely lifestyle,” Sam admitted, “and knowing who to trust was a real issue for us.”
“You were betrayed?”
“More like tricked,” Sam reminisced, “on my last case. I was investigating a piece of art that had been stolen from a senator’s home in the city. It came in a set of two. Together, both pieces were worth a fortune, but separately… not so much.”
James let out a loud croaky laugh. “I remember reading about that in the paper,” he said. “It was quite the tale.”
“The thief had only stolen one of the two paintings,” Sam continued his story, “I assume he didn’t have time for the other. When I was working the case, I came across a ‘professional’ in this area. We returned to the senator’s home and before I knew it I was unconscious and he had made off with the other piece of art. I had spent that whole time looking for him and he was right in front of me – that sly bastard.”
“I must admit,” James added, “to steal anything from a senator is not easy. That heist must have been months in the planning, and executed with great precision.”
Was that supposed to be comforting? Sam laughed either way. “You sound like you know the guy.”
“Apparently you did.”
“Well, we never saw him again, but we did manage to get the artwork back. Shortly after that I was promoted.”
James nodded slowly. “Even still, it’s a dangerous world out there, and no man deserves to face it alone.”
“Is that why you’re here for Morgan and Tom?”
“No, no, trust me – they’re here for me.” James spoke softly now as he stared into the candle flames – its light glistened off his silver hair. “I’ve been doing this for a long time. I want to settle down, go back to the city and find an easier job, maybe in politics.”
“Is that going to happen to me when I get old?” Sam asked. “I get tired and settle for politics.”
James looked up, his eyes were still. “Probably,” he said.
“Oh good,” Sam replied, holding his blade to the candle light for a better look.
“I am glad I have this chance,” the commander continued. “I know many a soldier who has not been as lucky as I.”
They sat for a moment longer, and then, within the silence, came the loud creaking sound of the warehouse door being opened, followed by two dark figures. Morgan and Tom had returned. A light smile broke on James’ face as he arose. “Are we ready?” he said as they approached.
“There’s been a complication to our plan,” Morgan looked directly at Sam, “it’s your assassin, sir, he’s here.”
A dark chill ran through Sam’s body. Why is the assassin so close? Is he after someone? Me?
Tom added in, “We believe his target may be Mr. Pallerii.”
Sam stood up, gathered his things, and shot James a look of determination. “Well, there is little time then.” He faced the others, “we continue the mission.”
Light flickered from a nearby street lantern as Tom brushed through the rising vapours from the pipes below him. He could feel the assassin’s eyes, lurking like a shadow over the back of his head as he crossed the dark street. The night was cold and unforgiving in Torren, and Tom feared that blood would be spilt. What if he failed? Still, though he didn’t feel it, Tom strode with courage as he stepped through the hotel doors and into the warm scented lobby. He would arrest Garn, he decided, and Sam would use the man for bait in order to catch the assassin. Did he really trust this plan?
The hotel itself was a fine place – red velvet carpets, white marble walls, and a crystal chandelier. A man stood behind a desk in the centre of the lobby, and, noticing the uniform, he let Tom through without question. He pushed a button and the wall opened up. He then stepped into the elevator and began to ascend. Garn was on the fifth floor.
The elevator stopped, and then opened, and Tom took a slow, cautious step forward. With his right hand hovering so close over the hilt of his sword, Tom moved quietly down the hallway, searching for Garn’s room. He read the numbers on the doors – one-thirteen, one-fourteen, one-fifteen! This was it.
Tom readied himself to turn the door handle, but before he could, the door burst open with a snap and Garn came flying out like a spooked bird. Tom caught the poor man’s expression, he was afraid. Either way, Garn was running for the alley window, which meant he would soon fall into Sam’s trap. But then, as he stepped inside the room, Tom managed to see though Garn’s window. The assassin’s hiding place was empty. He was making his move!
How far was the assassin willing to go to get this target? Tom knew that he stood directly between the assassin and Garn, and he could not face him alone. Desperately, his eyes dashed around the room and he dived into the cupboard. Literally seconds later the assassin entered the room. Through the slit in the door Tom saw him. He was dressed like a shadow, consumed in black, and only his bright green eyes remained. The assassin’s piercing gaze scanned the room as he searched for Garn, his dagger drawn. Tom took a silent breath and drew his pistol. Softly, he placed the end of his pistol against the wood.
The assassin remained for some time, and then vanished. A flood of relief came over Tom’s body, but then there was a noise directly in front of the cupboard, and as Tom pushed on the doors he found that they wouldn’t budge. He had been compromised. “No, no, no!” Tom banged against the wooden doors.
How did he know? No, how could he? Tom could only hope that the assassin did not know of James and the others. As for Garn, well, Morgan was waiting patiently at the alley exit. So far, the plan was holding – broken, but holding.
Using his foot, Tom kicked at the door harder and harder. Then from out in the alley came the blast of a handgun, and the searing scowl of a punctured steam pipe. Tom kicked with all his might and finally the door gave way, and the broken remains of a chair flew across the room. He unsheathed his sword and with his gun in hand he rushed from the room, only to be directly confronted by the assassin. All he saw thereafter was the man’s green eyes, cloaked in shadow, and then he felt the force of a powerful fist strike his jaw. He watched helplessly from the ground as the assassin slipped from their grasp.
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