Forever An Assassin

The alarm pierced through the air, but Jesse Conley was already awake. A decade of regimented living will do that to a man, courtesy of the CIA’s demanding schedule. But Jesse walked away from that life three years ago, and he was wanted because of it. A “criminal” for deserting his country. At least, that’s how the media spun the story. Jesse knew better. The real criminals owned the media, and the media did what they were told. Jesse wasn’t perfect – far from it. The guilt reminded him of that much.

But a criminal? No. Jesse was no criminal.

He leaned over and saw her. Soft brown hair covered half her face while she breathed in and out, in and out. Her beauty combined with the hypnotizing rhythm of her breath made Jesse want to stay. But he had too much discipline to sleep past 6am. So he kissed her cheek, took a shower, then left their quaint apartment.

Jesse walked the three-minute walk to the parque for his morning game of chess with Carlos. The air was fresh, thanks to the Andes climate. After fleeing the United States, he and Dani relocated to this peaceful mountain town outside of Medellín, Colombia. Jesse figured they’d never look for him here, but he’d soon find out he was wrong.

Carlos never showed up for chess that morning.

Jesse was about to go home, but then he saw a man approaching. Jesse knew that walk. Chest puffed too far out. Head held too high. Condescending dark eyes. Those eyes belonged to Mr. Max Moller, head of the CIA’s black-ops division. Moller didn’t have a formal title, because as far as 99% of the country knew, Moller didn’t exist.

“Jesse, might I interest you in a game of chess?” Moller said, as he sat down in Carlos’s seat. Jesse’s body tensed up. A series of emotions flooded over him. Fear, anger, and frustration. Fear for what he knew must have happened to Carlos. Anger for the pure evil capable of this man sitting across from him. And frustration at realizing his life in the Colombian countryside was now over.

Jesse decided to play Moller's game.

“Moller, I should have figured you’d find me at some point. How’d you do it? Wait, let me guess. You chipped me back in the day, during a random surgery when I was out cold.” He moved his pawn on the chess table, making the first move. Moller countered by moving a pawn of his own.

“Come now, Jesse,” Moller responded. “You can’t run from your past, you might as well accept who you are. Make the most of it. After all, you have a very unique skill set. A skill set that many would pay top dollar for, if I might add.”

Jesse moved his queen to the middle of the board. He wasn’t pretentious enough to pretend he was good at this game. So his strategy was simple: be aggressive. That usually led to losing his best pieces early, but hey, at least he was learning.

“I have no interest in killing people to further your agenda, Moller. I want to live my life. You know I’m not dumb enough to expose you, which means I’m not a threat. So why can’t you leave me alone?”

Moller placed his chubby fingers on his horse and moved it. “Because, Jesse. Ego, control, power. You know those are my vices. And because of a more pressing matter. A high-ranking Panamanian customs officer has intercepted three of my last five shipments. I need him to disappear, and you’re the only one who can do it.”

Jesse’s stomach twisted. Moller’s operation was simple. He used CIA Intelligence to make drug-busts in the US. Then, he used that same intelligence to move the drugs through South America. After that he shipped the drugs to his connections in Europe, where they were sold on the street for a hefty profit.

It was a win-win for Moller. The states recognize him as a leader in the War on Drugs, and he profits by selling the drugs overseas – adding to some other country’s “War on Drugs.” In Jesse’s eyes, Max Moller didn’t have a soul. How could someone live such a contradiction? But that was only the half of it.

Moller did whatever necessary to keep his operation running. As Jesse found out years before, that included blatant-lies to justify “disappearing” anyone who stood in Moller’s way. Competitors, government officials, even civilians.

Civilians, Jesse remembered.

In his last mission with Moller, Jesse was told a lie that led to the death of an innocent girl. She couldn’t have been older than 10, 12 years old. She died because of Jesse. Because he was naïve enough to believe everything his government told him.

How wrong he was.

“No, Moller.” Jesse’s voice was firm, his patience thin. He stood up in a burst, knocking the chess board and all its pieces to the ground. “I will not kill for you. Find someone else.” Jesse started to walk off, then stopped dead in his tracks at what Moller said next.

“She’s beautiful, you know.” He said, not bothering to turn around. Jesse clenched his fists. His breath short, fast, rabid. “Look, Jesse. You know what I’m capable of, and you know I have no moral boundaries – inconvenient things, if you ask me. So I’ll cut straight to it. If you don’t kill my target, then I kill her. You choose.”

Before Jesse could even think, Moller spoke again.

“In fact, I already have her. What a good boyfriend you are, kissing her goodbye this morning. And what a cute apartment you two have." Jesse's face went pale as he realized the weight of what Moller had said. "Come now, Jesse. I’m the CIA. I know everything about everyone. Don’t look so surprised.”

“NO!” Jesse screamed. He sprinted to his apartment, turned the corner, and saw the building’s security guard shot through the head. The blood was still fresh on the wall. Jesse tore up the stairs, ripped open the door, and shouted, “Dani! Are you here?!”

She didn’t answer, but her scent still lingered in the air. It taunted him for not being fast enough, for not being good enough. He stood there, panting in exhaustion but fueled by adrenaline. His phone rang: unknown number. He answered, and Moller's voice slithered into his ear from the other line.

“I figured you wouldn’t agree, Jesse. So I needed leverage, and Dani here is the perfect leverage, isn’t she?” Jesse heard her muffled screams in the background. He clenched his jaw, and struggled to hold back the red-hot anger that threatened to burst from his core.

All Jesse wanted was a new life, and a chance to do good. A chance to make amends for the death he caused over an entire decade. A chance to follow through on the promise he made to himself three years ago: to never kill again. But that chance had now vanished, and with it, his only true source of happiness. Her, Dani.

“Moller, listen to me,” Jesse started. “You win. I’ll do it, damnit. I’ll make the hit so you can continue playing your twisted little game. But swear to me, Moller. Swear to me that you will not touch her. She doesn’t deserve this. She has nothing to do with it.” 

A pause.

“Answer me, Moller!”

“Jesse, I swear I won’t touch her – for now. It’s a good thing that Panama is so close, because you only have 48 hours. I needed this done yesterday. You’ll find the dossier on our friend in the VIP Lounge in the International Terminal of the Rio Negro airport. Ask for Valentina, she’ll know who you are.”

Jesse pressed the phone to his ear to scribble down notes as Moller talked. He planned it in his head. 45 minutes to the airport. 25 minutes to pass through security to the lounge. 2 days to make the kill.

Damnit, Jesse thought to himself. He couldn’t plan a hit in 48 hours. It’d be sloppy. He would need an escape plan. But he'd have to sort that out later. For now, he had more immediate concerns.

“Oh, and Jesse,” Moller said before hanging up. “You’ll be surprised to find out that Dani has much more to do with it than you think.”

The line went dead.

What the hell? Jesse’s mind raced. He had known Dani for four years. She was with him at the end of his time with Moller and the CIA. She dropped her life to come with him here when he fled the country. She was always there for him, but he never stopped to wonder why she put up with it.

Hiding from the United States government was no easy task, after all.

But he’d have to figure that out later. He needed to get to the airport, and he needed to get there now. So he called up the only other person in this country that he trusted. His driver, Mauro.

“Mauro, it’s Jesse… Yes, I know it’s early. But I need to get to the airport right now… You can take me? Perfect, thank you Mauro… I’ll see you in 10.”

Jesse hung up the phone. Packed a backpack. And then lifted up a tile that opened into a dark space under the floor. He reached down and brought up a black safe. He plugged in the four-number passcode, then pulled out the envelope that held the secrets of his former life. Fake passports, forged birth certificates, and anything he’d need to prove he was someone he was not.  

Jesse left the apartment and set off on a mission with one objective: to kill.  

He didn't look back.