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Thursday, January 27, 2011


When I woke up, all I could see was metal. I reached out and touched the metal bunk above me, feeling the steel pressed against my fingers. Then the sound of the sea. The gentle swish of waves pounding away in the same rhythm.

I was in a ship. More specifically, a room in a ship. Of course, I had no idea how I got there. The last thing I remember was a flying hunk of metal screaming down on me. I asked him if he had done anything-

But like I said, I was out too. I don't remember anything as well.

I got out of the bed, taking a moment as the swaying of the ship unbalanced me and almost sent me falling down as well. I stumbled for the door and opened it, which lead to a long metal corridor.

In front of me was a very large man. He stared down at me through dark black eyes with a slight squint, under an equally dark mop of black hair, before nodding at me.

"You're awake. Good. Captain wanted to see you."

"Captain? Is this a ship? Where are we?"

The man had already begun to walk at a rapid pace through the corridor, and I struggled to keep pace and my balance as well as I listened to his answers.

"This here is the Mighty Victory, the largest supertanker built by Yellowmirth Shipping Company. We're on course through the Pacific towards Alaska for refueling. We found you in the water about two days ago nearly dead amongst some debris. Captain Watkins, that's our captain, ordered us to keep you in one of the spare bunks till you're well enough to stand on your own two feet. Once you were fit enough, you're to meet with him straightaway, and that's what we're doing right now."

"Wait, what's your name?"

"Jonathan Smith, second mate to the ship, on loan from the Company's branch in London."

"You're not American?"

"Oh, you could tell, could you? No I'm not one of them Yanks, thank God. Though the Captain is a good 'un, I'm happy to serve under him."

"You don't sound British."

"That's cause I'm not! I'm Scottish! Proud of it, ye hear?"

"I hear."

We had begun to climb a series of metal steps that lead to a huge metal door built into the wall. Smith grabbed the level built into the door and turned around to give me a smile.

"Hope ye enjoy the view."

He turned the handle and pushed open the door as the corridor was flooded with light. I blinked away at the harsh sunlight, rubbing at my eyes. When I could finally see again, I stepped out through the door and stepped onto the deck.

It seemed to stretch on forever. A deck of steel that carried on for hundreds of meters, with a series of pipes running through the center of the deck. A giant sword of steel that pierced through the sea and the sky. I could see men, little ants running around the deck, working on the pipes. I could hear them from the moment I had woken up, but now the sound of the ship's engines were loudly ringing through my years. Hell, I could feel  the vibrations in my feet. Above, the giant dome of blue sky stretched on forever, with a few wisps of white cloud here and there.

I've never been struck breathless, but this was some view.

And the motion. The sensation of not being on terra firma. It takes a while to get used to.

Smith looked at me and tutted. "No sea legs."

Yep, no sea legs.

Shut up.

What? I'm just agreeing with what he said.

"The Captain is waiting for you in the Control room." He pointed behind me. "Up there."

I turned around, and stared up to the top of a massive white tower, several stories high. I blinked, as the portholes and antennae slowly came into sight as well. The control tower for the supertanker was massive, as large as a building, dotted with hundreds of port holes in its walls. The paint of the tower was so bright that the entire tower seemed to shine out loud. Smith's finger pointed to the very top, and then down to an entrance into it. I nodded, and walked inside.

Another sailor helped me to the stairwell, a massive metal green staircase that wound its way all the top floor, like some giant green dragon that hid inside this tower. I began to climb up, counting the floors as I went higher and higher. Outside, I could see the sea staying level with me. I finally reached the top and walked through the entrance to the control room, something borrowed from the Millennium Falcon. But with a fancy wheel attachment. A tall, thin man stood beside it, a single hand on the wheel, the other loose by his side. His back was towards me and he stared out towards the horizon.

"Captain Watkins, I'm assuming?"

The man turned around with a cheeky grin on his face, and burst out laughing. I frowned, confused. He kept on laughing though, now so hard that he had to lean on the wheel beside him for support.

"That's enough, Pilot. The joke's stale now."

"S-sorry cap'," The man was wiping his tears now. "It's just that-"

"And call me Captain, dammit!"

"Yes, sir, Captain sir." He stood up straight and I turned to face the other voice behind me. There was another man seated there, a deep frown etched on his creased face. From his uniform I could tell that he had to be Captain Watkins, but that shirt was hard-pressed to hold back that chest. Watkins was the largest man I had probably ever seen. He was just slightly taller than me, but those arms would have snapped me in half like I was a bloody twig.

I'd kill him in three moves.

The point is, that he was a large fellow. He stood up from his chair and walked up to me, grabbing my hand in one of his giant fists, I shook back, hopping I'd still have my fingers intact.

"I'm Captain John Watkins, the man at the wheel is Pilot Angus Blackthorn, forgive his manners."

"Me manners are fine, Captain, but I hope they always meet your standards."

Watkins bristled, but ignored the comment. He carried on talking to me. "Welcome to the Mighty Victory. We are on route to the Port of Anchorage, Alaska. And while sailing near Cuba, we found you. Well, not just you. Do you remember anything? Your name? Where you were?"

"Adam. Adam Mani, I was... vacationing in Cuba, and we were on a cruise ship that was attacked. I... I don't remember much after then."

Watkins stared at me for a moment, then nodded. "Alright, but we found some possessions in the debris alongside you. Perhaps you'd like to take a look at them?"

I slowly nodded. "Yes, yes I would."

He opened a panel in the wall behind him and brought out Stahlien's duffel bag. I gulped.

"Yes, that's mine."

"By the way, we found this on you, I take it it's your's?"

He held my Colt in his hand.

"That's mine as well."

"I thought so. But as you're not a member of my crew, I can't let you have this now, but at the end of our journey. I'll keep it in the Armory till then."


"Pirates, Matey!" Blackthorn shouted from the wheel. "Even in the twenty-first century!"

Watkins grimly smiled. "Yes. pirates. Not just in Somalia but hear, near Mexico as well. We have licensed weapons aboard, and many of us are accomplished marksmen. It pays to be safe."

"Tell me about it."

Watkins was American, all fifty years of it. The man's face was so weather beaten that it seemed like he had been on the seas when you still needed sails and a mast. The other man, Blackthorn, looked like he had run away from Eton to sail a ship. But he must be good enough, otherwise there's no way he'd be given a ship like this to pilot.

"How far is it to Alaska?"

"About four weeks, though maybe a little more. We're expecting a storm ahead."

"A storm?"

"Yes, and a bad one, through nothing that something like this girl can't sail through. Plus, her tanks are empty, so we have no fear from the waves. But it'll slow us down by a day at least."

"But its nothing our Pilot can't take us through." Blackthorn sang out.

"Dammit, Pilot, sail the ship!" Watkins barked. Blackthorn turned around and took hold of the wheel, whistling some tune.

"How far is the Storm?" I asked.

"About a week away, it'll pass through our route and then cross over onto Mexico. There, over the land, it'll spend itself out."

"And its still going on? That's some storm."

"Yes, we've been getting numerous satellite calls from almost every Meteorologist in the world, with every buffoon asking us to send them our weather data for research. They're acting like its a bloody Gold Rush."

You'd know, you probably saw the last one.

"By the way, did you find anyone else in the water near me?"

He shook his head. "I'm sorry to say this, but no. After we picked you up, we sent rafts in almost every direction to see if we could find any other survivors. But my men found no one. If you had any loved ones on board, then I'm sorry for your lose."

So the Butcher was finally dead. And with it, so was I again. But I had his bag, and whatever was in it. By the way, most of the money was ruined by the way, some forty thousand was still in usable condition. But the Diamonds were fine, as well as the envelopes.

Which I opened.

Why not? They were now mine.

And Wow. I threw away the envelopes, folded the papers and kept them inside my pocket. As long as I had these papers, I knew that I would never run out of money for as long as I wanted to. All I needed to do was to go to a bank and-

That was the first time I realized.

Then? Seriously? I thought about it the second you opened those papers? That you're not the just only one who just got the keys to the good life?

If... If I knew then-

What I'd do with the money? Yeah, yous should have burned away those papers when you could have. But no, I don't think you would have. Cause you're just as greedy as I am. Yes, yes you are. The only difference there is that I have the balls to go and take whatever I want.

Though I'm impressed with that Nazi. He really stockpiled up. Maybe the Jews taught him something as well.

God help me.

He did, Jackass. Say thank you.

Saturday, January 8, 2011


The fourth blow was overkill. The butt of the rifle smashed into the back of the Katsa's head, breaking his neck. But the third had left his skull caved in, blood oozing from cracks hidden under his dark brown hair. Von Stahlien looked down at the mess that was his face.

"Now, Alonso, was that really necessary? It is fortunate that that we have three more. Hopefully, one of them will cooperate."

The bull named Alonso gulped, and hastily stepped back. I took a glance at the other agents. Their seething eyes never left Von Stahlien, their mouths shut in firm lines.

I gave a tired sigh. "We're from the Mossad, we're supposed to bag you and take you back to Israel."

He looked at me, frowning. "You're not Mossad, are you?"

"Your answer is I'm not Israeli. But I am Mossad."

"That must be quite an honor, a Mossad who is not an Israeli."

"Yeah, some honor."

Von Stahlien blinked at the sarcasm. Then he took out a pistol and shot the other two Katsas in the head. Their bodies were flung back with the force and they hit the polished wooden flooring with dull thuds. Von Stahlien turned to face me again.

"Leave us, and take off his bonds. Keep him unarmed though."

The guards hesitated, but quickly marched out as one knelt to removed the bonds around my wrist, before following the others, closing the double doors behind him. Von Stahlien turned around and sat by the table pouring out two glassed of sherry.

"Sit." He said.

I sat down.

He offered me a glass. "Drink."

I drank it.  

He looked at me from over the top of his glass, his eyes never leaving mine. I only then noticed that they were as blue as Jacinto's. The monocle was still there on its chain around my neck, I could feel its metal rim against my chest. I imagined what the Nazi would look like if he were to wear one. It made me grin.

It didn't escape Von Stahlien. "What is amusing you at a time like this? I am most curious."

"I have a gift, from a... friend of mine. He's somewhat similar a chap to you." I just realized how stupid that sounds. I'm comparing an eccentric archeologist to a Nazi murderer.

Yeah... that is pretty fucking stupid.


So then the old faggot looks at me with this stupid cocky smile, and he actually asks if he could see it! So this jackass takes it off, honestly I don't know why you keep that on you, it only further proves how much of a little girly faggot you are, holding on to an 'item of a lost one'. Makes me wanna puke...

Where was I? Oh yeah, so this ass hands him the monocle and, and holds it in his hands, and then he puts it on!

... Alright, I'll admit that it did look pretty fucking stupid on him.


Even a little a funny.


What? Silent treatment again? You know I'm not eight. Shit, you are stupid.


Anyways, so he puts the monocle on, we have a fucking laugh, and the two glasses become a bottle. I take control, cause this little shit has no capacity at all, and the one bottle goes on to six, and a few lines thrown in as well. Soon we're swapping stories about gasing jews and raping chinks, laughs all around.

"And then, and then, he actually thought for that moment he was finally a free man. It was then, when I shot him in the stomach, blowing a hole through his spine." Stahlien let out a slight chuckle as he finished his sentence. I snorted another line. Shit man I gotta tell you, the Colombians know their shit, they could rule they world through this if they had a little more balls.

"Before the Mossad, I was in China."


"Hong Kong, to be specific. It was the first time I killed a man. Well, not exactly, but the feeling the rush, the kick I got from knowing I had just ended a man's life, with an object smaller than my toenail... it was something else, I knew that I would do anything to have that again, and again and again."

Von Stahlien gave me a knowing smile. "The world as it is right now is no longer... accommodating for people like us. We live in harder times."  

"Sure. Says the man in the golden house."

"A golden house, that is also a beautiful birdcage. I have been here in Colombia for longer than you have been alive, I saw the  fall of Hitler, just as I saw the rise of cocaine before the rest of the world was to be hit by it, I saw the potential. And I went for it, I helped the many cartels, taught them, trained them. Escobar couldn't even take a walk in the park without my advice. Now, I am like a hero amongst them, respected, worshiped. By a land of born murderers. But if I leave Colombia, all I become is a target. Even the vast power of the Cartels cannot protect me, as you have seen from tonight, in their own lands, where would I be if I were beyond them?"

The poor bastard had put serious thought into this, and he knew that by the end of it, he was screwed, not because he couldn't get caught, but because the whole fucking game had changed.

It was like I was looking at my own retirement. Kinda creepy, now if I think about it. Shit, I should have just killed him then, just to put him out of his misery. His gun was on the table next to him, but I was sure that I could reach it before him, or at least go for his neck. But I was like, 'fuck it, the old fart's not so bad'.

"So tell me, how does an Indian who lived in China end up with the Mossad?"

I gulped down the rest of my glass. "Also been to Egypt, England, France, Argentina,that was to snap one of your boys, Italy, Mongolia, boy that was a blast... uh... Oh! Also your ruddy fatherland as well, though I think I've forgotten two or three."

Von Stahlien's eyebrows shot up. "You have been very busy, I see."

I shrugged. "Hate to be bored. Hey, can we go kill some people?"

He frowned. "You want to kill people? Right now?"

"Not immediately. But in say, fifteen-twenty minutes?"

A bewildered looking Nazi wearing a monocle is one of the most retardly hilarious things on this planet. Seriously. I think I must have laughed for five straight minutes.

I jumped out of the jeep before the wheels had come to a halt. Blood still flowed from my shoulder from when the bullet had nicked it, but I didn't care. We had been betrayed by one of our own, and this time they were-

Hold on... Oh, we've come a bit ahead. Sorry about that, get confused a couple of times, lotta things aren't that clear. I thought he had come this far, but its alright, I think I know where he left off.

When one complete psycho finds another complete psycho in the land of almost-psychos, it leads to a beautiful friendship. And by the time I had come back from the room, I was one of the Hermandad and deep into the Cocaine Empire.

The Mossad? Von Stahlien sent back the bodies of the other Katsas, with a note attached saying mine was to be kept as a trophy. The Mossad knew they had to withdraw for the present, and they did.

Heh... Hiel Hitler.

And so I was not stuck in another entirely different mess. Actually, it was pretty much the same as before. There's not much difference between the many espionage agencies in the world and the unlawful brotherhoods they wage war against. Its a vicious circle of sharks in a blood red sea. And I was now stuck in it.

In hindsight, the Cartels were not that different from the Triads either. Both hated the law, both thought they were the greatest, and both always end up dead in very elaborate ways. I fitted right in with them. As for Von Stahlien, he became my greatest drinking buddy. Great bloody conversation when you're drunk, God knows why the Mossad would want to kill him. I mean, once you get to know him, he's not so bad a guy. He's read a lot, and likes to debate a lot of philosophy. I'd reply with reality and sarcasm.

We'd also kill a lotta people, though that was mainly me.

Once in a while he would leave his home, and accompanied by an army of guards, travel to meat with the heads. Most of the time, it'd be Mosquera. The bastard always needed a hand to hold, and Stahlien was more than pleased to give it to him. Stahlien always asked me to accompany him on these meetings. He and I both knew why, and both of us agreed to help him. We did owe for that much.

Screw that, I don't owe him squat. I could have taken care of the Mossad by myself.

By the end of it, we had gotten careless. We all knew that with the smuggling and production routes firmly set, some of the heads had started to think that the Nazi was now not that great of a help. The respected hero was now slowly becoming expendable.

The attack started in two places. Both at Von Stahlien's mansion, and the Convoy we were in. Everyone was in it, even the driver of our jeep. But I had put a bullet in his head before he could even raise his gun, and then kicked the body out of the car and climbed into the driver's seat. They had already started firing from the front and behind, and broken shards of glass were flying around the place. I floored the gas and swerved around the jeep in front, yanking a grenade from the car's armory and throwing it into the driver's window. The explosion sent pieces of metal flying through the air, one took off my side mirror.

I drove on like a mad man, while Von Stahlien crouched in the backseat as Diego fired blindly at the car behind us.

Diego. Von Stahlien's bastard son. The Nazi never married, just had a lot of fun. Some of it caught up to him in the form of a five year old boy, whose mother had just died due to a horrible bus accident. The Nazi took him in and trained him to be a lethal weapon. Though Diego had the same olive skin as any Colombian, his eyes were big and bright blue like his father's, not the usual black squint like the others.

When the ambush had begun, Diego had started firing straight away, mowing two men down as we sped away. He had been hit in the arm as well, but he showed  no sign of pain as he leaned down to check on his father.

"Est├ís bien?"

Von Stahlien nodded, and turned to face me. "Indian. We need to head to my home, now."

I turned around when I heard my name. "Your house? Are you sure? Shouldn't we be rushing for some airfield instead?"

"That can wait." He patiently replied. "I have made arrangements to escape, but we need to go to my house first. There are documents that I need which are most important to me. Please, Indian."

I gritted my teeth, and pulled right down another lane. 

Coming to where we are...

Von Stahlien said the safe was hidden behind the plasma. I winced as the sixty inch screen crashed to the floor in a million pieces. The safe was there, and I punched in the key he gave me. Inside lay two hardbound folders, a pouch that I was told contained diamonds, and some half-a-million dollars in cash. I threw everything inside a duffel bag, and ran back out. Gunfire erupted as I ran down the stairs. The Cartels had caught up with us, but Von Stahlien's guards at his mansion held them back. These men could not have been bought over. While not related like Diego through blood, each man saw the Nazi as a father. They loved him, they would have died for him.

Which is what each of them ended up doing. We sped off in the jeep, rushing for the river, while they did their best to hold back the hundreds of Colombians descending on the grounds. Von Stahlien had a jetty hidden there, known only to him, which was built only a few miles away from where the river opened up into the Pacific. The jetty held one boat, but it was fast enough. No car or boat would be able to follow us. We got of the car and Diego leaped into the speed boat, starting the engines as I helped Von Stahlien climb aboard.

It was around then that the chopper flew right over us peppering the river with a hail of bullets. We all ducked to the floor, but Diego had floored the boat, and the hull was already cutting the water in two clean sheets as the little devil jumped to life. The chopper turned around and began to give chase, taking its sweet time to draw closer.

I shouted at Stahlien. "Give me something to blow it up with!"

He pointed to a cabinet built into the floor of the boat. I opened the trapdoor to see enough weapons to start a Blood Diamond mine. Pulling out the classic RPG, (yes, it's a classic), I knelt, aimed and fired. The rocket flew straight into the chopper's belly, blowing a hole right through it. The result was a flaming ball of metal that flew right out of the sky.

And landed right on top of us.

Monday, January 3, 2011


You know, this point marks a very healthy change in our attitudes towards each other, don't you think? A sort of teamwork? Don't get me wrong, I still want to see your guts in my hands but-

Shut up.

See? You always get touchy about the little things? Its what makes me wanna throw your guts to the dogs after I've just ripped them out, or-

Listen, you need to know that I didn't want this, its just that there really was no other way, and I'd thought of everything. There was no way I could escape from the Mossad. They had me under constant surveillance . Then again, the Mossad had all of its agents under constant surveillance, but I was a 'special case'. I could feel cameras all around me, and somehow, now I just happened to know where they were, just like that.

It's called elite training, you jackass, and you didn't have to run through those training tests, I had to haul our bloody ass across-

I'll admit it now, its probably the only good thing we learnt from the Mossad. We learnt how to survive everything else. In hindsight, you didn't screw up entirely

... Fuck you.

Erich Von Stahlien. 'The Butcher'. Third actually, the first two butchers having had as great careers that have now lead them to the grave. Stahlien, the Mossad felt, was overdue. I... he had done this before, he knew the tricks, he knew everything that would have accomplished the mission, fooled the Mossad, kept us alive. I couldn't trust him, but... what else could I do?

The first time I even suggested it, he flipped! Little cunt started screaming off the top of his head, threatening to blow it off! five seconds later, three guards kick the door open and barge in with hecklers at my head! Paranoid bitch, you are!

But after the second time,

And the third,



No, I think it was after some twenty times... I relented.

You know it was the only was we could live.

I do, but I can't believe I had to sell my soul for it.

Ha! You jackass! ...You did that a long time ago. 

Erich Von Stahlien. I almost forgot about him. By the time Hitler offed himself, Stahlien was already out of the country. He had seen the fall early, and sold out to the Russians, giving up secret stashes of treasures and weapons, totaling up to some 17 million in USD. A lot back then, a hell of a lot. In return, the Russians did him a favor and 'killed' him, then under complete secrecy had the KGB ship him out of Russia and into India, from where he disappeared for some sixty years. Intel had reports of him in South Africa during the seventies and a hit-and-grab was attempted. Failed badly, almost got public. Now he's in Colombia. Intel says he's been there for almost a decade, providing advice and experience to the new-rising cartels.

Stahlien boasted to me that he had been here before Escobar.

Stahlien was smart. Figures he was a Nazi. He knew something was off with us. Saw almost all the way through.

Didn't stop you from shooting him in the head, though, did it?

Nope, not a bit.

Mossad wanted him back in Israel. Alive. It wasn't impossible, it had been done before. Only this time the target was surrounded by one of the most powerful and dangerous criminal organizations in the world. The owners, suppliers and masters of cocaine. The Cartels. With a kilo of pure cocaine selling for $60,000 to $70,000 across the water, the Cartel spend hundred of millions equipping their private armies with enough weapons to level a city. And with each addict added, the money bills grew even higher. Which brought us to our number two man.  

Nilano Mosquera. Mossad told us he was the new Don of the North Valley Cartel, the biggest Cartel in Colombia. The previous Don had been caught, tried, and imprisoned. And then someone offed him in jail. Leaving the seat open for Mosquera to take control. Of course, he was advised on almost everything by Von Stahlien. As was the Don before him. And the one before him. All the way to Escobar.

Like I said, smart. Stahlien was gifted, the ultimate traitor. He knew just when to change sides, and he comes out beautiful because of it. And when he helped you, more often than not you became the head of all the pure coke in the world. It's probably why every half-decent gangster in that shit-hole wants to lick his wrinkly old ass to get him on their side. Its made of fucking gold.

When Mossad finally-

Oh shut up, you still don't know jack about how it went on. Choosing Katsas is never a problem. All of them could kill you in creative ways, were trained for way longer than I was, and would die in a second for their country. Losers. I picked the first three from the folder and met them only on the flight to Colombia.

But as for the drop. Parachuting into the night jungle is never fun. But Mossad likes to make you do it. Fucking Katsas would have jumped without a parachute if asked. That's the one thing I hated about being there. The Mossad let you have fun, but kept the kiddy gloves on sometimes. We had to infiltrate the target's mansion at night. Sneak in, bag, sneak out. No explosions.

Sneaking in? Not a problem. There were guards, only guards. Not even a single dog. Though I could see three machine guns held up behind sand bunkers. Two on the grounds, and one on the roof. The closest guard was already dead at my feet, neck broken. I passed him on backwards to where the last man would hide his body under a bush. Quick. Silent. We were inside the building in minutes, having crept in through the open French doors. With little time left, we headed up the stairs, kicked down the door and-


He stood there with his back to us, looking out of a huge widow that framed the entire wall. He was holding something in his hand, and when he turned around I saw that it was a glass of sherry. I felt the katsas raising their guns, and I knew he drill.

You shout, you die. You have crimes to pay for, Von Stahlien and-

"I have crimes to pay for? My boy, I know excatly what I have to pay for." All trace of German was lost from his accent, it was perfect fucking Oxford. But as I looked at him, I could see a weariness, a tired old man who really did want to give up.

"You took your time, gentlemen," He continued. "But I have been patient. I am ready for this, I was a long time ago. Please, don't waste time."

And as we rushed forward, an army of guards burst our of the closet, every door, from behind us, even the windows. In seconds we were nailed to the ground, weapons snatched. The bastard had even trained them to get to our mouths so fucking quickly that we couldn't even swallow the cyanide pills in our jaws.

Stahlien's got a sweet smile on his face, and the old bastard walks up like he's asking us out for a fucking date.

"Now, you will tell him who sent you. And then we will see what to do with their silly mistake."

My turn.

Sunday, January 2, 2011


I was in a room. I don't know for how long, but I was in a room in the corner of my mind. There was nothing there, just a single light that shone brightly. The walls were brightly painted in white, so bright that they seemed to shine. I was dressed in a simple shirt and pants, as white as the walls around me. I feel my chin, there's a stubble... just how long was I there?

The room wasn't very big. Big enough to sleep in, but without any bed. I never felt sleepy, or tired that ways, but when was day, when was night. I wasn't sure if it was a second, or an hour that passed, I couldn't tell anything...

It was like time had died.

I tried breaking the walls once, just thumping at the in anger, frustration. My fists, they never got hurt, just sort of bounced off the walls. This was like solitary in heaven, and I didn't know what to do.

At times I heard sounds, so close I could have sworn they were right behind me. Someone shouting, some screams... it was like they were so close, yet so far off, like whispers around me. I didn't know what I hated more, the silence or that.

The funny thing was when it all came to an end. I blinked once, and I was sitting on a bed in another room, this one with normal walls. There was a mirror, in front of me, and I could see my face staring back at me under a dirty orange light.

The first thing that surprised me was the scar. Just the tip of it was visible from the opening of my shirt collar. I felt through the fabric, and could feel it running down the side of my chest, all the way down to my stomach.

I hope you're still not pissed about that.

There was a sword in my chest, you jackass, what do yo think?

I still got us out of it.

And into what? Of all the things you could have done, what made you go and sign up with the fucking-

Shut it. I know you enjoyed it too.

Enjoyed it? I was stuck there, with no idea of how I had even gotten there, and I had to bluff my way through DAGAN!!! IT'S A BLOODY MIRACLE HE DIDN'T FIGURE IT OUT THE FIRST FUCKING TIME!!

We got out in the end, didn't we? And look at what all we've learnt. The best part, is that we fucking fooled them. The assholes think we're dead. 

They'll find out soon enough. They always end up knowing. But we're getting too far ahead.

The room had a dirty look to it, and there was a large metal door set into one of the walls. I went toward it and reached for the handle, turning it open. Outside, I could see a long corridor lit by a series of bulbs in the ceiling, illuminating the many doors set into the walls of the corridor, as well as the fully armed soldier who stood right in front of me

He saluted and jumped to attention, informing me that the director was waiting for me. I dumbly nodded, and walked past him, frantically trying to understand where the hell I was. By the time I reached the end of the corridor, to where it split into two, I had a rough idea of where I was. It was some sort of military base, where I couldn't tell, and I knew that for some reason, I wasn't here as a prisoner, which was again very hard for me to wrap my head around.

But it was the writing on the wall that did it. There, at the point where the corridor split into two was a board with various signs, pointing to the mess, communications room, interrogation center, research center, and so on until I could see the direction for the Director's office. The first that I noticed, was that everything was written in Hebrew, which then got me thinking when the hell had I learnt Hebrew. But it was the symbol of candles surrounded by wording that hit me like a thunderbolt. Or more accurately, the words written below it. 

HaMossad leModi'in uleTafkidim Meyuchadim 

Mossad. I was in the fucking Mossad.

I'll never forget those few seconds. I couldn't move. A single trickle of sweat trickled down the side of my face as I read those words again and again, trying hard to make something else of them. But all I could see was the name of  possibly the deadliest institute for intelligence and special operations in the world. 

And I was stuck in it.

Stuck? Bullshit, they wanted us there.

I was trying to figure to what to do, when I remembered the soldier's words. Silently, I headed left towards the Director's Office, now all the while wondering whether they were currently watching me or not.

The Mossad is Israel's answer to the CIA, to the KGB, the MI6. Formed in 1949, it has quickly risen to become one of the most feared agencies, having carried out numerous assassinations, rescues and infiltrations beyond Israel's borders. And those were just the ones the public knew about.

Trust me, I know this, but the Mossad are just scary. When you take the most fanatical people from a country of soldiers and train them in the arts of secrecy and murder, then you end up with some seriously fucked up people. They have access to information that no other agency knows, their sources are almost everywhere in the world. The bloody Mossad always knows. When on a mission, the Mossad doesn't care about anything but one thing, and one thing only: Israel herself. And they are willing to do anything, cross any line to protect it.

The Mossad are awesome! It was like I'd finally fond a place to be me! I don't know why I hadn't just gone there in the first place. It was a hell of a lot better that Hong Kong, for sure. 

I was still stuck in Germany, but I was getting so bored that I was stuck surfing the net. A opened a few articles on the attempt on the Queen'n life. Authorities were still combing the land, now spreading to other countries in Europe in collaboration with their governments. Took them long enough to do so. One of the articles even had a picture of me from the window. But it was taken so badly, that all you could tell was that it was a man, which narrows the search by about fifty percent.

But I was popular. The police, the MI6, the entire Royal Marines, even the SAS were after me. After some negotiations, the Italians, Germans and French joined in as well, but the French have been after me for years already, so it was no big deal really. 

But I'll admit that Europe was getting quite hot, and a shift was needed, though where to? See, this is the problem I always end up facing. When you have over a hundred countries in the world, which one to go to? So I started looking around, checking out possibilities. But I just couldn't decide. I almost threw the laptop out of the window in frustration.

I opened up the articles on the Queen attempt as well, scrolling down until I found a paragraph.

"Still no words from any authorities on the status of the manhunt for what the public is calling, 'The Assassin'. Despite visible evidence that not just Britain, but now many countries are utilizing their resources to hunt this man down, he has still managed to evade capture, which leads many to believe that he could be part of a certain intelligence agency of some foreign country, or at least has received training by said intelligence agency, though there is no credible evidence to prove this."

I smiled at that. Gotta love those idiots in the crowd who'll see a burning man fall to his death and think its a stunt jump. So, now I was a spy, or at least, I was thought to be one.

And that's what got me thinking. I'd like to be a spy, I wouldn't be bad at it. It was a nice thought, one of the most wanted men in the world now becoming a secret force for justice. 

But whose justice?

Two days later, I sent a mail. I got a reply back, to which I sent another mail, then I patiently waited. The phone rang exactly thirty seconds later.

I picked up. The voice on the other side spoke first.

"This line is secure. You can speak freely."

"Can I? You already know what I have to say. But I want to know your answer."

"If you are this man, we could arrest you within the hour, send you to London with a nice bow tie around your neck."

"I'm not that easy to catch."

The voice on the line chuckled. "We are better than the British, we do not fail so often."

"True, but I can still get by you if I have to."

I could hear the arrogance on the other side. "We will see..."

Just as I expected, the windows burst in a hail of glass as four men, dressed in black armor, leaped through the windows and landed on the floor, weapons ready and targeting through the room. 

But I was already behind the first one. I punched him in the shoulder, making him loosen his grip on his weapon. I then kicked the back of his shin, almost breaking it as he fell crashing to the ground. I grabbed his gun and shot the other three in their legs before I turned the barrel down on the guy below me, who was clutching his leg in pain. 

A phone strapped to his Kevlar jacket began to ring, I took it and spoke into the receiver.

"Did you like my audition?"

There was another voice on the line now, this one older. "No deaths. Very impressive. We will have a plane ready for you. Board it, come here."

"You won't hand me over?"

"We are still debating on that, though it is agreed that yo would be...useful to us. Board the plane. Come to Jerusalem. We will talk more on your arrival."

You should have never boarded the plane. Hell, you should have never sent that mail in the first place. 

Listen, the Mossad was like home to me, and Dagan may have been a cunt, I'll admit to that, but he knew how to get the job done. I can respect that.

I still remember the first time. The second he saw me, he paused and I could see him frowning. He knew something was wrong, but he still spoke.

"Sit down, Michael."

It took a moment for me to realize who he was talking to, but I nodded and sat. He took his time, pouring himself a glass, downing it, then pouring another one for me and himself.

"England called again." He said.

My eyebrows went up.

"As always, I told them that our reports revealed nothing on their mystery assassin. But we would search eagerly, as always."

He gave a sly smile. "They tried bribing us this time, offered us two Merlins for our 'efforts'. But I said no to the choppers. Israel does not want to be in debt to the Queen, nor do we think that you have outlived your usefulness."

I dumbly nodded, not sure of what to say.

He noticed that. "Why so silent today, Michael? Normally you can never stop speaking rubbish, threatening me with revealing state secrets, or promising to assassinate my mother." He gave a grin. "Though in all honesty, I would not mind you shooting my mother."

I smiled weakly at that. What else could I do?

"Anyways," he continued. "On to business. I know you came back from Argentina only last week, but we need to send you out again. We've found another one, and he'll be a little tricky."

He lifted a remote and pressed a button, pointing towards a wall in his office. It was actually a screen, and an image of an old man appeared. His white-blond hair was well groomed, and I could see gold chains and rings around his pudgy neck and fingers. His blue eyes shone with intensity, the evil kind.

"Von Sthahelin. Erich Von Sthahelin. Over thirty thousand Jews were tortured and then murdered under his authority. In the span of five months. After the end, he went into hiding, just like the rest. We finally fond him though."

Dagan turned to face me. "And this is where the tricky part comes in. Sthahelin is in Colombia. Worse, he is still in business, helping the Cartels their get richer through their cocaine trade. Which means he has their protection. Though I'm sure that won't be too much of  a problem for you."

I finally spoke. "Problem?"

"Yes. The usual please. You need to capture Erich Von Sthahelin and bring him back here for interrogation and then sentencing. As always, the usual resources are at your disposal, and you may choose any three Katsas, apart from yourself, to assist you. You will be leaving in three days."

And with that, the Director of the Mossad turned back to his paperwork, a signal for me to leave.