Just a Job

By M. S. West

She is sexy, she is deadly and you don't want to end up on one of her cards. From the time she turned eight she was trained to be an assassin. An assassin for a very specific purpose and for a very specific group.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WSIC EBooks Ltd.
• Release date: Apr 2, 2016
• ISBN: 9781772610338

Book preview

Just a Job

(Book One of Assassins)

By: M. S. West

Published by WSIC EBooks Ltd.

Copyright April 2, 2016 by WSIC EBooks Ltd.

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Disclaimer

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents appearing here are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter One

The discussion has been going on for some time now. Everybody is in favor of doing something so that is not the issue that is holding up an agreement. What is holding up an agreement is the best way to clean up the mess and who among them is best to monitor that those who are given the task do not abuse their authority.

The United States, leading the charge is looking for outright extermination of the crooked judges, untouchable warlords and their financiers, those guilty as sin but who got off due to technicalities or their association with the crooked judges or warlords. The list of corruption goes on and on and is widespread for the current court system and those who are suppose to oversee it is broken.

At first they tried to fix the court system, but that fail miserably so now they are looking to fix the problem by ridding the world of the source of the problems, or so that is what the United States is advocating.

The Swiss are looking for a much more tempered approached calling for the capture or in some cases kidnapping and detention of the individuals in some remote part of the world. They however do not want to be in charge of the headache involved in housing such a group or the expense of the tight security that it would involve.

The United Nations thinks that the United States has the right idea; their only concern is the outcry that would occur if the bleeding hearts of the world found out the lengths they have gone to get rid of the bottom feeding scum plaguing our world.

The Russians are all about control. They want to control the program. The want to control the assets employed. They want to control every minute detail of the operation, which of course is something that not only the United States is against for Russia has not had the best track record for the last…oh hundred years or so.

Two things have been agreed on thus far. The first is that nobody was leaving the room until a solution is found. The second is that a majority vote wins and everybody has to live with, contribute towards, even assist in the operation of whatever the majority vote decides.

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Ten years later

My job is just another job. It is a contract job not so different than anybody else’s. If I do it right it will earn me a living, if not than I starve or worse. The only real difference I have found so far is that most people go to school until they are eighteen or nineteen before joining the workforce or enrolling in a university or college for a few years of higher education before being thrown out to fend for themselves. As for me, he started training me when I was eight so by the time I was eighteen I was already proficient at my job. I like my job and I’m good at it.

At eight I started my higher education. At eight I was taking the core subjects that schools teach as well as anatomy, chemistry, poison, weapon identification, care and of course their use. Then there was weapon-smithing, computer lab as well as learning a dozen computer languages and hacks and last but not lease by any means English and a half dozen other languages.

Unlike those who went to school for perhaps eight hours a day and then got to go home, my schooling was my home. Since my eighth birthday my education was 24/7, including the nightly rapes until I had finally had enough and killed the last two men to ever try to rape me.

The beating I got from Ivan for killing two of his men was more than worth it.

I was Russian born and raised and I don’t blame my parents for selling me off. All things considering I probably had a better life with Ivan than if I had stayed with them for they were dirt poor. They were so poor that they should never have had a baby for they certainly could not take care of one. The best I could have expected if I had stayed under their care would have been to end my life as a junked out whore.

I was eight when my parents sold me to Ivan and from that day on I was trained to be a fixer. I knew it and I knew to what extent I was expected to go to make the fixes Ivan wanted for Ivan never held the ugly truth back from me.

Being young I was still too innocent of the world we live in. I thought I would be training well into my twenties so it came as a surprise when two and a half years ago Ivan came and told me that my training will be ending on my eighteenth birthday whereas I will be tossed out to do for my new owner what I have been trained to do.

Whoever had purchased me must have paid a hefty price for me, as Ivan never gave anything away. In fact, more than once he told me proudly that I was going to make him a fortune, so I can hardly fathom how much my new owner paid.

My training had continued mostly unchanged after the purchase, which assured me that Ivan had not lied to me about what I would be expected to do. For two years the routine continued. Ivan even had me do some fixes for him and then one day I was invited into a dark room and introduced to my new job. I still remember it vividly….

The room was dark. I could not see two feet in front of me. I felt like a trapped animal and that feeling brought out my killing instinct. I would probably have let it free if a thickly accented voice, German would be my guess, had not chosen to speak up. From here on you will be called Sam. I have no idea what you look like. I don’t even know if you are male or female. I don’t care either way and I don’t expect or want you to say anything. You know your job. You know what you have been trained to do and now it is time you for you to fulfill your role. The little background and history I am able to give you is that you are one of twenty working for us, although if anybody finds out we will never admit to it. You are part of an initiative that twenty countries have devised. They will be supporting you, financially that is but they too will never admit to knowing about you. Once I leave a light will come on. You will find a table with your new passport and enough money to keep you going for a year. You will also find a camera equipped cell phone and a deck of cards. On each of the cards is a picture of a target and the bounty that will be paid upon proof of death; I’ll let you guess whose idea the cards were. I don’t think I have to point out that sending proof of death is the purpose of the camera equipped cell phone do I. I’ll take your silence as a no. You have only been given the authority to assassinate those on the cards and reasonable collateral damage. If you kill anybody else under unreasonable circumstances you will be marked for death and it will be your picture that we distribute. You have six months to set yourself up somewhere and I suggest that you leave Russia where someone may recognize you. You have one year to accomplish your first kill or we will consider you to have broken your contract with us, which will also result in your picture being distributed. After that, we will expect a reasonable kill to time ratio. Don’t ask for I don’t know what that is. You have a two hundred thousand euro budget to help you investigate your marks. To access the budget take a picture of a written request for it and it will show up in your bank account. One last thing I will tell you… you are working for the good guys. We have measures and counter measures in place to make certain that nobody goes rouge. There is no need to feel remorseful, if you can still feel that, that is, for you will be ridding the world of unwanted trash.

After that there was a long stretch of silence. I kept waiting for him to say something more, but nothing more was forthcoming. Apparently I had been given my marching orders and the rules under which I am to play. To this day that has been the extent of my communication with my new owner/employer.

And so after four and a half minutes of silence, I counted, a dim light had come on. My first instinct was to look for company. None. My second was to survey the room. No windows, only a table sporting various objects; otherwise nothing. No camera that I can see and no obvious spy holes. I let three minutes tick by before I made my way to the table and there I found the promised cell phone as well as a new passport under the name Sam Keedin. On the table I also find a P220 Sig Sauer, which I quickly take apart, check and put back together as well as a knife with a slender six-inch blade.

As it is, I can kill a person just as easily and quickly with my bare hands as with a weapon, but it is always nice to have one anyways. The cell phone had one saved number, which I memorize and then dial. When it connects all I get is a weird dead space, data type connection. The only other objects on the table were a pack of cards and a laptop. I open the laptop, see a sticky with a password on it, which I memorize and then I eat the sticky. I picked up both and then seeing there was nothing else for me there I made my way to the only door.

That was six months ago. Since then I have set myself up in a flat in the Netherlands and I have managed to track down twenty of my fifty-three marks. Some of the people on my cards are so well known that all I have to do is search the Internet to learn of their current location. My joker card is Kim Jong-un, the current leader of North Korea. I’m not sure if they meant him as the joker in a tongue in cheek way, but he is worth a couple of million euros. Definitely someone to think about, especially as a retirement plan, however the risk matches the payout since the card states that his death must look natural or accidental so unless he happens to fall into my lap… Needless to say he has been put on the back burner for now.

It is not very likely that Jong-un is going to fall into my lap, but someone who had was my ten of clubs, Mahan Ashid. Mahan’s mistake, which got him high up on someone’s hit list and worth a hundred thousand euros to me, was not only his support of ISIS, but he was also stupid enough to let it be known that he was one of the driving minds behind ISIS. I quite literally bumped into him and even then it took me a couple of seconds to put together why his face was familiar for I was in Lebanon closing in on a completely different target. In fact, nothing I had gathered on Mahan even suggested that he would be foolish enough to enter Israel, but apparently psychopaths don’t follow the norm.

Initially, I followed him to his hotel and would have taken him out there, but his stay at the hotel turned out to be a short one. When he left, he did so with a woman called Asrid, who as luck would have it, happens to be my three of clubs and worth ten thousand euros to me. I have no idea why they are travelling together, nor do I care. My job is simple and all I need to do is provide proof of death.

The opportunity was too good to pass up so I followed them to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Lebanon. Once they were inside I waited five minutes before getting myself into position.

I only had to knife two men into silence to get up here. I’m not certain what that does to my status however in war there are always causalities and it is not like the men were innocents. Do I feel sorry for them? Not one bit. They should not have tied themselves up with a psycho if they wanted a long life. Or maybe I’m passed the point of feeling remorse as that voice in the darkness had stated.

So now I am on the roof of the warehouse and from where I kneel I have a perfect view of Mahan and Asrid inspecting their latest purchase. The children range in age from what looks to be nine to twelve years old. One feisty little boy tries to struggle, which earns him a slap in the face hard enough to floor him. An older girl goes to his rescue, earning her not only a slap, but also a couple of kicks when she is down. When Mahan and Asrid are satisfied that they have beaten her enough they drag her out in front of the rest of their purchases and start knifing away her clothing.

So the girl who looks to be no more than fourteen or fifteen is to be their object lesson. They will rape her, beat her and maybe even kill her. All for one reason and one reason only; to teach the others who they belonged to and that they are powerless to stop their owners from doing whatever it is they want to do.

Watching the scene unfold I come to understand the reason why I have been tasked with this job. This man would be all but impossible to get into court and even if someone managed, the chance of