With a Pull of a Trigger

Chapter Twenty-Three

There was something poetic about setting something aflame, enough to let it burn and destroy itself by way of fire and hot embers without looking back. Reini refused to notice the glaring similarities of that poetic situation and her current situation. Poetry wasn’t always nice, and the most famous ones were almost always ones that ended in tragedy.

No matter how much of a poetic situation her life might be, Reini had to remind herself that tragedy was often the topic of dark and convoluted poetry.

Reini had to remind herself that her life was more like poetry, in which the darkest ones are the ones most read and loved, rather than fairytales, in which the lightest ones are the ones remembered.

No, she wasn’t a princess, and Samuel wasn’t a knight. She faced situations far worse than the ones faced by charming princes, and in this case, she wasn’t the damsel in distress. Unlike the stories, there wasn’t a clear antagonist and protagonist, because it seemed like in this story, in the story of her life, she was both.

It was, as she expected, hot in Egypt.

Catherine was wearing a short-sleeved, white button-up blouse, a pair of lightweight khaki pants that stopped at the knee and a pair of tan rubber shoes. Her hair was tied into a braid, and she had binoculars held to her eyes.

She sighed, the warm weather making her sweat profusely. She crinkled her nose in displeasure at her current state, all sweaty and smelly. The sun’s rays beat down relentlessly on her back, and sighing in distaste, Catherine revved the engine of the brown and green truck she was currently in.

The wind felt cool against her too hot skin, and she smiled softly as she saw her target—a small thing in the distance that gradually became larger with every rev of the engine—right where they said he would be. She was about a kilometer from the man when she saw the man turn around, handing a metallic briefcase to someone wearing a white shirt and brown shorts.

Catherine had hoped that this would be an easy mission. As she revved the engine further, she decided that fate hated her, and this was their way of telling her that she had bad luck. When she was finally near enough, she propelled herself right out of the truck, sailing through the air in an almost perfect arc, her feet kicking the man holding the briefcase to the desert ground. The truck continued on its way, stopping after a few meters of not having anyone to control the engine.

The target, Martinez, started to run away once the shock of someone in front of him suddenly falling to the ground wore off, his eyes panicked. Catherine allowed the man to run away a good five meters before she sighed and quickly reached for the small automatic she had in her sling bag, shooting him with such good aim that he crumpled to his knees in a few seconds, the bullet having gone to his head.

Catherine found herself suddenly splayed on the ground, desert sand finding its way into her open mouth and nose. She coughed, wincing at the disgusting taste, and quickly rolled over, her enemy’s foot trapped between her ankles, thus making him fall when she rolled. She stood up, immediately positioning herself into fighting stance while waiting for her opponent to stand up.

The man was wearing a sheer white polo, a white undershirt, a pair of army shorts, and a pair of simple black sports slippers. A huge motorcycle helmet covered his face, and when he removed his helmet, Catherine gaped.

“Gil?”

“Good morning, agent Saunders. I trust you’ve had a pleasant day?”

“You can say that, I suppose.”

“Excellent. If you may just sit down next to Miss Chase, we’ll start this meeting.”

Reini shrugged and closed the door behind her, walking to the chair with quick, easy strides. She sat down with poise, crossing her legs.