The Missing

The Missing

The merchant seaman, Mike Adams, had travels that took him around the world. Seventeen countries had been called home over the time period of the last ten years. This rugged man was originally from Boston, Massachusetts.

Adams was tall and stood over six feet, four inches in his stocking feet. His weight was a physically hardened two hundred and sixty pounds, with no apparent body fat. His chosen profession was of a mercenary, and he was quite successful in his career.

In between his stints of leading mercenary forces through the world, Mike was also an assassin who hired himself out for only the highest “projects” on the black market. His was a face none would ever recognize, and to see it meant death. He kept his contacts few and far between to protect his identity.

He was deep in thought as he rode the back seat of the UBER in Orlando, Florida. The driver was a man of German descent, who still had a strong German accent with a Bavarian brogue. Mike had an ear, not just for languages, but for dialects of many of them.

“Are you from Augsburg?” Mike asked.

“How could you tell?” the driver said.

“It’s a pet hobby of mine. I like the German language and so, I learned the various dialects as well, but I am not an expert, by any standard.”

“Impressive,” Franc, the driver said. “You are the first person ever to speak in my dialect. What brings you to Orlando then?”

Mike steeled his deep blue eyes and met Franc’s gaze in the rear-view mirror. 

“This is my stop here. It is also yours.”

Franc had stopped his charcoal grey Prius in front of Motel 6 on Adanson Road off the I-4 exit #88 in Winter Park, Florida. There was no one in sight and Mike had waited till the car had pulled around a corner of the building, just blocking the view of any onlookers.

Franc’s face froze into one of horror as it struck him what the words of his fare implied. His attempt at staying in the shadows had not succeeded.

“What gave it away?”

“The birthmark in the hairline on the back of your neck, and the final confirmation, the dialect.”

“I suppose I am unable to pay you to allow me to slip away?” Franc said. He knew there was not really any hope.

“Franc, I am a professional. So you know better.”

Mike breathed deeply through his nose, taking in the all too familiar scent of fear permeating the inside of the Prius. He was well aware that Franc was about to make a move for fight or flight.

Franc gave out an odd squeal, looked down, and saw the blood turning his white shirt a bright red. The shape had a strange design, like a flower blooming brilliant red pedals as though it were a work of art.

His eyes then went up to his rearview mirror and saw a face that appeared to be made of stone. It was one he recognized, but only through reputation, the Ghost. It was the last thing Franc ever saw. 

Even though Mike had this one mission to fulfill, one he had agreed upon previously, his actual goal was not related to this hit or any mercenary work. His priority was one that would have been a surprise to everyone, as well as to himself. 

His past had returned to haunt him, it was unfinished business in his life. But he was a man who believed in fulfilling debts of honor. He had received word via his secret contacts that his only son had been killed by a group that had been professional accomplices of his for many years.

This left his daughter-in-law and grandson left behind. This was a grandson, age of four, that Mike had never met. Mike had always stayed away in an attempt to keep his son and family safe, but now Nathan, his firstborn, had been taken because of Mike. And now, Mike Adams was returning to the Firm, and Death and Hell were coming with him.

Mike had always looked to the head of the group as his friend and as a mentor. He had always been loyal to them, as they were to him. But it seems that their hand of friendship had only been extended while he was of use to them. 

To them, Mike was without any further usefulness. The last time he performed a mission for the Firm was more than five years ago, and after that job, Mike sent them his marker.

The sending in of a marker essentially meant a termination notice of sorts, and the Firm never appreciated the gesture. The killing of Mike’s only son was an open declaration of war against Mike. It meant for him to come back or else.

The Firm had an additional problem on its hands. Mike, AKA the Ghost, was actually unknown. No one knew what he looked like or his actual method of action, so what had happened was that it became a challenge to Mike to return to the fold.

“Welcome aboard, sir,” the attendant said with a toothy smile and a false layer of happiness.

“Thank you,” Mike said. He returned a fake smile in return. He knew the “act friendly game” all too well.

He sat down in his seat, buckled up, and closed his mind to all surroundings as he planned his return to his old friends. He planned on retiring the entire board of the Firm, one by one if he had to. 

I wonder if I’m actually expected, he thought somberly? The man he used to look up to, Joey Massoon, was in his mid-seventies and was not going to be an easy target. The only thing questioned by Mike was the order of executions to follow, and if he would need to take out the entire Firm.

Mr. Massoon had to know that Mike would be able to exterminate anyone he set his mind to. Of this, Mike had no doubt. So why now? Why wait five years to murder his son? For this, Mike had no answer. 

After the plane landed and luggage was collected, Mike grabbed a rental car, a Chevy Tahoe, and drove to the house which had once been home to Nathan, and now was home for Maria and little Mike. Mike was somewhat surprised that the grandson he had never met was named after him.

Prior to going up to the door, Mike paused in the Tahoe for several minutes, watching the house and street for any unwelcome visitors. It only took thirty seconds for him to spot them, in a dark sedan about two hundred yards down the street.

He paused a few minutes then slipped out the back seat opposite the sedan and worked his way down and past the two men waiting in the car. They weren’t exactly giving it their undivided attention, so Mike was able to slip up from behind them and appear next to the driver’s side window, which was rolled down.

“Hello, boys. How’s your night going? Have you seen anything yet?”

Mike whipped out his ICA19 Silverballer and held it in a casual handgrip so that the two men inside the car knew meant business. 

“Unlock your doors, now.” Said Mike.

The car locks popped as the unlock button was punched, and Mike slipped silently into the back seat. 

“Man, you too are gonna get reamed by Joey when he finds out you let the dude you were staking for, sneak up behind you.”

“So here’s how this is gonna play out, and the ending is really going to be up to you.”

“What do you mean, up to us?” the driver seat man said.

Mike wrapped the man in the back of the head with his pistol and he grunted. A slight splattering of blood trickled into his hair.

“I’ll ask the questions, and you too answer them to my satisfaction, or this will be your final stakeout. So, let me explain it plainly, simple query, simple responses, got it?”

Both men nodded energetically.

“Great. First question, do you know who I am?”

“You’re the guy who used to work for the Firm and tried to walk away.” The passenger-side man said.

“I didn’t try to walk away, I did. I turned in my marker. And so, here’s the next question, who shot my son, Nathan, and who ordered the hit?”

“It was Mr. Massoon that ordered the hit, and it was his son who did it.”

“Oh, so Lil Pete did the deed, surprising. Pete always was a little chicken, but I suppose he’s trying to prove himself to Joey. Were either of you two with Lil Pete when he did it?”

Neither man answered at first. The driver as well as his partner made a sudden turn toward the back and appeared to be pulling out guns. If they had realized that this man they had been watching for was the Ghost, neither would probably have tried it.

There were two sounds like forced air and both of the men had small holes appear just behind their ears, and immediately died. It could be said they died of lead poisoning.

Mike reached around and grabbed their cell phones. He opened the driver’s phone and found a call from Joey a bit ago. He dialed it and waited for an answer.

“Why are you calling me, Ox?”

“Hello Joey, it’s been a minute.” There was a deathly silence on the other end.

“Um, Hello Michael. It has been a while.”

“Just a couple of things Joey. We were friends, I thought. You should have known better. You know this ends our friendship, and as a matter of fact, you are now on a special list of mine, and yours is the only one on it. Well, along with Lil Pete.”

“We were never friends. And if you don’t come back, we’ll finish the rest of your family!”

“Joey, just remember the gate swings both ways. If you don’t give me Lil Pete, I’ll take all of your family, your other kids, your grandchildren, your pets, brothers, sisters, everyone, and then the entire board of the Firm. And I’ll save you for last. The choice is yours.”

“You’ll never touch me and you’ll never get to my son, old friend, never!”

“As I said, you were my friend once, Joey. I performed many tasks for you; Not for the firm, but for you. I looked up to you.”

“There’s no way you will ever get close enough… to do anything.”

“Oh, and Joey, Lil Pete… is dead either way… just like you. How many others, well, we’ll see. I can walk right by you and you’d never even know it till it was too late.”

“Michael, please, isn’t there something else I can do to make this right?”

There was dead air over the line for several seconds. All Joey heard was the sound of Mike’s breathing. Mike knew Joey would have a fear building deep inside. He could seemingly hear the fear through the cell phone.

“Yes, Joey, there is something, you and Lil Pete can die. Take care of that, will you?”

“Mike, wait---"

Mike clicked off the phone and stepped out of the car, leaving the two bodies slumped over inside. He dialed 911.

“911, what is the nature of your emergency?”

Mike spoke with a German accent and a Bavarian dialect, “I vas valking my dog on Elm Street, two men appear to have been shot. I zink they are dead, ya, they shot in zee heads.”

Mike clicked the phone off and walked by the home of his daughter-in-law and grandson. He didn’t stop, and he would not, till he had finished with Joey, Lil Pete, and the Firm.

The following morning, Mike Adams paid a courtesy call on Lil Pete and Joey. He cleared their itinerary, permanently. That afternoon, he sent a text to every member on the Firm’s board.

The message was short and succinct. It listed the names of his family with their addresses. It went on to inform the board that those on the list were off-limits, or else. Mike did not put his name in the message. He merely put “Ghost” in the end.

The graveside service was beautiful and had quite a large crowd in attendance, for Nathan had been well-loved throughout the area. Far to the back, standing about fifty yards away, was a solitary gentleman in a black Zegna suit. 

His dark sunglasses hid his eyes, full of sadness, and no one could see his face of granite. It was the sight of his grandson, standing at the grave of his father, Mike Adams, a world-renowned mercenary and hitman made the decision to would retire.  

Maria and Mikey never knew why Nathan had been killed, and they never would. They were taken by friends back to their home, where dozens of close friends gathered to share their remembrances of the life of a good man. 

Nathan had acquired great friendships over the years. His wife and son had never met Nathan’s father. They only knew that he was a loner, a man who had no friends.

“Momma, who is that man?”

Maria turned from the three friends she was talking to and faced Mike. She had never met this man, but she knew him immediately. He was a bigger and much older version of Nathan. 

Immediately, tears began to stream down her face as the man approached her. Mike placed his large hands on Maria’s shoulders and pulled her into a bear hug, where she began to sob tears like a waterfall.

Mikey stood beside his mother, face going from his mother to this stranger, who looked like his daddy. Maria pulled out of Mike’s hug, looked down to Mikey, and smiled.

“Mikey, this is your grandfather. This is Daddy’s Daddy. You were named after him.”