Fist

Published on June 21st, 2012 | by The Alchemist

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Fist: 5

Good evening Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Alchemists corner.

Our experiment continues…

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FIST

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EPISODE 5: Blind fury

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I have never liked the night.

There are too many shadows and ghostly apparitions masquerading as animate beings. For someone such as myself for whom observation is second nature, there is, as a result, too much to observe – most of which is useless. However, necessity demands and I obey.

I have been in Abuja for almost six days now and in that time; I have observed three things about Brigadier-General Adejuwon:

1.        He is a very important man – he visits Aso Rock twice a week.

2.       He follows a well-ordered routine everyday – under heavy guard.

3.       He is a homosexual.

The first two of these things were already in the file given to me by his wife – my client – and I have now verified them for myself. The third was not. Although I thought that the second of these things would be the lynchpin in my plan to execute this mission, it is the third that has provided me with the opportunity to do so.

Brigadier has dismissed all but three of his apparently most trusted and (I assume) skilled bodyguards for his friday evening rendezvous with the Lover. Killing the five people here tonight will surely be easier than killing the twenty two that make up his usual entourage.

I watch from my rooftop perch as brigadier and his lover-boy kiss each other passionately in his kitchen.  I am mildly amused and mostly confused as to why such an archetypal man – who is married with children, would take pleasure in the arms of another man, far away from the attractive woman to whom he is legally entitled. The homosexual urge is one I have never fully understood but have always been amused by – mostly because I have observed that many of my rich and powerful targets have been closet homosexuals. I do not judge them. I have no sentiments on the matter except amusement.

 It is not good to settle into a set of opinions. It is a mistake to put forth effort and obtain some understanding and then stop at that.

I continue watching as the two of them exchange words and intermittently kiss, essentially replaying their pantomime from three nights ago. I keep observing, waiting for the scene which will be my cue to enter the drama. Twenty minutes pass before the two of them finally cease their pre-coital ritual and begin to head upstairs. Brigadier presses the button that will call two of the guards into the house to lock the doors and secure the premises before they exit again to stand guard outside. I wait and watch until I see the two main bodyguards enter the house. In about nine seconds, after collecting the keys, they will close the heavy, creaky, metal front door behind them.

It’s time.

I leap up from my position on the roof of the house next to theirs, grab the bamboo stick which I brought here with me and hoist it onto my shoulder as I walk in the direction opposite brigadier’s house. When I am on the other side of the roof, I lift one end of the stick onto my right shoulder and use my left hand to help steady the other end which is now suspended in the air. I make a small run and then, planting the free end of the stick onto the ledge of the roof, pole vault across the 15 foot gap bifurcated by a barbed wire fence that separates the two houses. My landing is hard but the timing is almost perfect as I can hear the creaky door being shut. That should have muted the sound of my landing. The stick has fallen silently onto the muddy patch of land in brigadier’s neighbours’ house – a patch of land I had spent considerable time pouring water over earlier. After pausing to make sure my landing has not aroused the suspicion of the third guard outside or anyone else, I walk over to the edge of the roof and gently suspend myself from it so that I am in-between two windows.

Ideally, I would like to eliminate the brigadier and his unfortunate boy-lover without having to deal with any of the guards – a sentiment that has been the main reason for my chosen method tonight. Military men are always a greater challenge than the average hired thug. I once had to eliminate a former SAS staff sergeant on assignment in Ghana. The scar on my left shoulder is a lasting testament to the difficulty I encountered. I do not fear engagement but avoidance is  preferable. If we do engage each other, death is inevitable. And it could very well be mine.

There is a saying of the elders’ that goes, “Step from under the eaves and you are a dead man. Leave the gate and the enemy is waiting.” This is not a matter of being careful. It is to consider oneself as dead from the beginning    

By my estimates, the two guards inside will soon reach this section of the house to bolt the windows shut. I swing over to the one on my left and open it carefully. I am now in what used to be the children’s room- when brigadier allowed his children stay with him.

I hide behind a large wardrobe just as the light is switched on and one of the guards enters to lock the window I just entered through. Once he is finished with his desultory check and exits the room, locking it behind him, I crawl out of my hiding place and retrieve my skeleton key. There are now only three rooms between me and the brigadier. I move cautiously until I reach his bedroom door. There are moans of pleasure (or perhaps pain) coming from within and I pause to listen. I can tell that they are not on the bed. The sounds are coming from the anterior part of the large room. They are probably up against a wall or on the chair beside the dressing table. I pause to clear my mind and focus. I compute alternate reactions for the myriad of scenarios that can unfold from here on and I commit them to my subconscious. I have to move quickly now. Time is of the essence. I pull out my Beretta FS and raise my right leg to the door handle.

My foot shatters the lock with a loud crack and I burst into the room. The noise should have provided me with at least two seconds of delayed action due to surprise but it seems I have underestimated the old man’s instincts. As I fire my first shot in the direction of his head, he ducks, leaning into his partner, and my bullet misses. I fire another shot and this time, he is not so quick. He presses himself against his partner and they fall to the floor but not quickly enough. My bullet has already hit him in the shoulder blade.  Two steps closer and it should all be over.

As I move swiftly towards the two bodies, I see he has rolled onto his injured back, using his lover as a human shield. I will have to clear the shield away. I perforate the lovers head with a single bullet and try to kick the lifeless corpse off the desperate man but he clings onto it stubbornly. I can hear footsteps coming.

Shit.

I consider using Baba’s juju to make a quick escape but my work is not done, I cannot leave. To retreat without accomplishing my task would be a blight against everything I believe in.

It is written that the priest Shungaku said, “In just refusing to retreat from something, one gains the strength of two men.” This is interesting.              

I pull away from the tangle of naked flesh and empty my Beretta Clip into the human shield. I hope one of the bullets goes through. I now have other things to worry about. Pulling out my back-up Glock 19 from my right holster, I look at the ground beneath the door, waiting for a shadow to appear, I cannot rely on sounds alone – trained men will not give themselves away so easily by shouting or charging in foolishly.

I hear muted footsteps and as soon as I see the first shadow, I estimate the height of the first challenger and take aim. I fire and his head explodes as my bullet finds its target waiting in the line of fire.

Perfect.

That should cause the others to pause before attempting to breach the bedroom again. I kick the door shut and pull down the wardrobe beside the door. It crashes down, creating a small barricade. That, and their suddenly felled colleague should buy me a few seconds – few men are immune to fear. I need to kill this stubborn bastard quickly and think of an escape plan. Walking briskly back to the mass of flesh I perforated earlier, I use all my strength to lift the bleeding body of the brigadier’s lover off him. I need to make sure he is dead and if not, ensure it.

Just as I manage to drag the body off, I am engulfed by a puff of white powder emanating from the brigadiers mouth and all of a sudden, I can see nothing.

FUCK!

I’m blinded. My heart races wildly now. This is the worst case scenario. I have underestimated an enemy and it has cost me dearly. Death cannot be far off but I am prepared to greet it with a smile. However, even blinded, I must kill this stubborn bastard before the two guards enter.

If one’s sword is broken, he will strike with his hands. If his hands are cut off, he will press the enemy down with his shoulders. If his shoulders are cut away, he will bite through ten or fifteen enemy necks with his teeth. Courage is such a thing.                    

I throw several blind punches with my gun grasped in my left hand and my right balled into a cruel fist, towards the last place my eyes saw my targets face. My left hand meets the carpeted floor but my right meets the jagged edge of nasal bone. I fire off another series of blind haymakers and listen intently for movement. The right meets a cheek. I quickly bring my left hand with the Glock into alignment with the right and begin to fire blindly at that spot hoping that the punches and my earlier bullet have prevented him from moving. Just as I fire the eighth of my bullets, I feel my body take involuntary flight – compelled by the impact of a kick to the small of my back.

It’s over.

The two remaining guards are inside now; I can only hope the brigadier is dead from my most recent onslaught. I feel my gun leave my hand as I crash to the floor. Still blinded, I rise to my feet to face my attackers even if they send a bullet as their forerunner. Just as I begin to wonder why they have not shot me yet or at least spoken, I hear a sharp and incredibly loud  sound come from behind me. With a great effort, I turn back to face my attacker even though I know I will not see his face. Still, it is important that I do this.

Furthermore, if you are slain in battle, you should be resolved to have your corpse facing the enemy.

I feel myself slumping to the floor before I realize that the sound came from the impact of something hitting my own head. I discern too late that it was probably a bullet.

All the world is a deafening ringing, then silence and then…

Nothing.

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You can read previous episodes of FIST (Owó Èsé) here:

FIST (Owó Èsé):  An Introduction 

FIST –  EPISODE 1: The More You Look, The Less You See…

FIST - EPISODE 2: Pandora’s Box

FIST - EPISODE 3: The Taste of Death (I)

FIST - EPISODE 4: The Taste of Death (II)

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FIST (Owó Èsé) continues next week.

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FIST is sponsored by TALION Capital and Consulting - An investment company with special competence in real estate.

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Tags: Assassin, Courage, Discipline, Fist, Hagakure, Loyalty, Purpose, Sacrifice

About the Author

The Alchemist

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