Blood Abandon (Donald Holley Book 1) (3 page)

“Mr. Holley, let’s take a walk,” he said.

I followed him out of the room, and the other men dropped in behind me as I drew up beside Manor. We walked across the open training ground, which was approximately the length of two football fields. The training ground was in a miniature valley between two small mountains. At the other end of the field was a large gray building, which as students we had never been in. It looked like a warehouse of some sort, its composite cinder block and steel. We were headed that direction, toward the structure.

“Mr. Holley, I asked you to stay this morning because I believe you have abilities that some of the other students don’t have,” he said. “I believe you are different; special, as I would put it.”

I said nothing, just walked alongside, listening.

“Frankly, it isn’t your physical abilities. You weren’t the most athletic or conditioned of the students, as you yourself would probably admit,” he continued. “And yet, you are no slouch. You can handle yourself in combat. The difference is, I believe, is your mental fortitude.” We stopped walking and he looked at me. “I believe you don’t have the same parameters most of the students here had.”

“Sir?”

He looked back at the men, who had dropped back silently and watched, appraisingly. He addressed me again.

“I believe you are capable of anything. I don’t think there is a task I could put before you that you couldn’t accomplish, regardless of the requirements. Where most men would quit, mentally, you would keep going. Where many men would waver, claiming ethics, morality, I believe you would hold fast.”

I said nothing.

“That isn’t an insult, either.”  He nodded at the men. “These men here, they are here for that reason. I called them and asked them to come; to see you. If I am right, you could be of indispensable value to them.

“These are men that you will never see again after today, no matter how things play out. But their reach is longer and more powerful than you could imagine. If they like what they see, your life will change in ways you couldn’t imagine, for the better.”

“If they like what they see?” I repeated.

“Yes. In order for things to move forward, there
is a final battery of tests, so to speak. There are some things you will have to do, that you will have to show an ability to handle, in order for this path to move forward. If you say yes, we will move forward and get started. I will warn you, it will be very, very tough, but ultimately worth it. And once you begin down this path, there is no turning back, ever. If you decline, you must do so now. There will be no hard feelings, and I will drive you to the bus station, and put in a good word for you with a few security firms. In or out, it is your choice.”

I looked back at the men, looked at Manor, and considered the options, though there wasn’t much to consider. Either
I choose obscurity and struggle, or whatever was behind the mysterious curtain. I didn’t have anything to go back to in the world, and I owed this man in front of me. He had given me invaluable skills. The choice was easy.

“Okay, let’s move forward.”

He nodded. “That’s good. Let’s get started.”

***

We entered the building from the north end. Inside, the facility was broken into different rooms, many of which were padlocked from the outside. The walls were a dark gray, the doors an olive green and the floors were cement. Somewhere inside the building, the hum of a generator vibrated rhythmically. About halfway down the hall, we came to a room on the right in which the door stood partially open, revealing a mass of computer monitors and electronics. On the screens were live video feeds of each room; they appeared on the screens in an eerie bluish hue. I paused momentarily, looking in. A man sat at the monitors, ignoring my presence. He appeared to be toggling back and forth between rooms on the screen using a feed switcher. Some rooms had equipment in them, some only chairs, and some were
barren.

“Donald,” said Manor, redirecting my attention to him. “Let’s keep moving.”

I noticed he had switched to using my first name, instead of ‘Mr. Holley’ as he had been prone to do with all of the students who had attended the school. We continued down the hall to a room near the end, on the right side. Manor removed the padlock and opened the door. Stepping inside, I took in my immediate surroundings: it was fairly large, approximately the size of an average classroom in dimension, but completely empty minus a metal folding chair. Its walls were gray like the others I had seen from the control room; the door green, the ceiling composed of tight metal meshing, with several large spotlights shining down overhead. I estimated the walls to be approximately fifteen feet tall, and the lighting above was mounted several feet higher than that. The only thing different about this room was that the far wall had a basic metal double-door in the middle made of riveted steel. I looked at the door, down at the chair, and back at Manor and the two men, who stood next to him. They all appeared to be appraising me; it was clear to me now that everything I did was being judged. I waited for someone to speak.

Manor stepped toward me, and withdrew a large hunting knife. He laid it flat on his palm, and extended it toward me. The handle was a black plastic composite, while the blade was a polished stainless steel, tapered at the point. It appeared to be about a foot in length, and extremely sharp.

“Take it,” he said.

I took it from his hand, and got a feel for it, flexing my grip around the handle. It was as heavy as I expected it to be.

“Now we begin,” Manor said. He left the room, followed by the two men, who pulled the door closed behind them. I looked around, my blood pressure rising. I considered what could be next; the ideas ran through my head in multitude. Suddenly, a voice came on from a speaker overhead. I looked up for it, but could not see it.

“Donald, one minute from now, the double door on the far wall opposite of you will open, and a man will enter. You are to kill him with that knife.”

I looked up at the ceiling again but all I could see were the lights. I blinked.

“Who is he?” I asked. “What did he do?”

“That is not important. What is important is that you kill him. Quickly or slowly, that part is up to you. When your testing is over, you will be paid fifty-thousand dollars for this job.”

The realization of what my testing was for quickly sank in. I didn’t have time to think about it, though. The door opened, and a man shuffled in.

He was approximately six feet tall, medium build, and haggard looking. He had wild blue eyes, which darted around, from my face, to the knife, to the door, and back to my face. I figured his age to be just shy of forty. He was sweating profusely, even though he was clad only in a tee shirt and jeans. Other than scared, he struck me as fairly normal looking. I quickly wondered what had led this man here, much like myself; on opposite sides of a deciding fate. If I didn’t kill him, these men would probably kill me. I took Manor at his word that there was no going back; once I had accepted his offer, this was the only way forward. A voice overhead suddenly interrupted my train of thought.

“Don’t think about him, don’t second guess this. You are both where you are for a reason.”

Of course they had read my mind, because they had been here before. The men who watched us currently were professional killers. They were training me for their line of work; molding me, testing me, seeing if I was really capable.

I stepped toward the man, and he backed toward the wall, shaking, and stumbling. His eyes fluttered wildly, and he put his hands out toward me, pleadingly.

“Please man, don’t do this. You don’t have to-

I pushed forward, shoving him against the wall and quickly drove the blade into his chest, right where his heart was located. I quickly twisted the blade, and the man’s eyes rolled back; blood and spittle gurgled from his mouth down his chin and onto his shirt. I withdrew the blade from his chest, and thrust the bloody steel into his brain from underneath his chin. His body trembled on the blade as he lost footing; I pulled the knife from his head and he fell to the floor, blood spreading from his neck and chest. He was dead prior to falling.

This was where I knew I was not the same as most people. Though I had killed before, it was somewhat defensible; I had been in a bad fight trying to defend myself. This, however, was something else entirely. I had just murdered this man without knowing a thing about him. Where most people would feel remorse, or hesitate before killing, I felt nothing. I didn’t feel anything negatively about what I had just done; if anything, I felt invigorated. I was different. Manor was right: there was no turning back.

The door in which I had entered the room opened, and Manor stepped in. I sat the knife down on the ground and wiped the blood from my hands on my pants. He regarded me, almost like a proud father of a son.

“I knew I was right about you.”

I nodded. “What’s next?”

***

Over that next month, I learned many things about myself. I learned what I was capable of enduring, and what I was capable of doing. I was taught how to kill, in almost every manner you could imagine; I was taught how to extract information from even the most resistant individuals, and how to cover my tracks when I was finished. I learned how to inflict pain and suffering that would be nearly unimaginable to most people. I also learned that everyone has a breaking point, and I found mine, as the last two weeks of my training consisted of being tortured and deprived of anything other than scraps of food and water. My captor was a man I had never seen, and he was both cruel and effective. When I finally broke, and gave the information to him that I had been instructed not to, Manor only said I had done very well. “Don’t feel bad; everyone breaks. In fact, you lasted longer than I did when I went through this training.”

I rested for two days, rehydrated and ate well. When it was time, Manor brought me a box, and an envelope. Inside the box were some documents, a phone, and some other miscellaneous items; the envelope contained a check for the jobs I had completed during my training. It was written out to me for the amount of three-hundred thousand dollars. I didn’t feel excited about the money; instead, I felt prepared for the future. Manor went over the documents in the box, and explained how things were to work going forward.

“You will tell people you are a security consultant employed by North American Security Services, a consulting firm. Obviously it is a shell company with a generic, hard to trace name.” He extracted a card from the folder. “Here is your business card. You are a 1099 contractor, so keep aside money for your taxes.” He handed me the envelope. “My advice is to hire a CPA.

“Now for the important part: there is a smartphone in the envelope. You are to use this phone for business only. There is a number programmed inside of it. This is the number you will receive work contracts from. If you need assistance, you will contact this number. You are to
wait for calls for work only; do not contact this number looking for work. You are also to never use your skills for another employer unless otherwise authorized. Understand?”

I nodded.

“Use some of your start-up money to get the necessary supplies for this employment. An account has been set up for you with a Swiss banking firm. Your bank card, first book of checks and online access information are in the box. Your pay will be deposited as follows: half up front, and the rest promptly upon completion of contracts. The following part is important: when you complete a contract, take a picture of it with the smartphone, and text the image to the number stored within. Is this all clear?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Good,” he said. “I’ll take you the bus station. You’ve done well, and now your employer awaits your services.”

And
that was how I came to be a contract killer.

Chapter Six

I pulled off in a
strip mall shopping center parking lot on the way back to Chapel Hill. It was after six p.m., and the grocery store in the strip was busy with traffic; winter storms sent towns in the south into an excitable panic. The snow fell thick from the evening sky, and was beginning to collect in the parking lot and out on the streets.

“Let me see the phone,” I said. Bit passed me the phone, and pulled the folded paper from his pocket. I looked at the names again, and then the phone number; it was local. I punched the phone number into the keypad of the cheap phone, and went over what I wanted Bit to say to whomever answered. After I was confident he was ready, I pushed the send button and put it on speakerphone. It rang out in a thin treble within my vehicle. After two rings, a man answered.

“I was wondering when you would work up the nerve to call, Gerald,” the voice said. The man had a heavy Hispanic accent.

“I’m listening,” Bit replied, ignoring the baiting.

“That’s good,” the man said, “because we need to have a conversation about some money that has gone missing.”

“Before we go any further, who are you?”

The man paused before speaking. “My name is Oscar. But what you really need to know is that I’m the worst person you could’ve fucked with,
ese
.”

Bit composed himself before speaking. “I’ve seen your work. But I know you’ve got your money back. It was at that second house. You are right, we shouldn’t have taken the money, but you have made your point.”