Saving Nightlock

2. Cultivated Drug Lords

A few months later, September 24, 08:30 P.M.

Somewhere in the jungles of Brazil, South America.

A drug lord's private estate buildings, the furthest guard outpost.

IRENE.

Shick. My hunting knife glides over the unfortunate man's throat. With his dying breath, he gives me a final, hate-filled sneer. I look away to where Jemima is crouching in the shadows and motion for her to join me. The knife slips back into my black boot.

"Anyone else?"

"Not here."

"There should be some more guards nearby, but I think we can get past without notice."

"Yeah." Jemima stares blankly at the dead man, rubbing the leather bracelets on her arm. Usually, her light blue eyes are full of laughter. Now they look dull. Even her hair—which is so blonde it looks white—appears lifeless in its tight French braid. First day back on the field—always the hardest. I put a hand on her bony shoulder, and make a mental note to talk to her when we're finished with the mission.

"Here." I thrust four grenades into her pale hands. "Remember the plan. Go straight and throw these once you get close enough to the main building. Get inside and take out the Head. I'll go around the back to find an exit point."

She says nothing, so I poke her. "Hey, if you don't do anything stupid, like dying, I owe you a bag of gummy bears."

"Hmm."

"Shoot the flare if something goes wrong."

Patting the flare strapped to her thigh, she nods and sprints off into the darkness. Her outfit allows her to move without making a single sound.

I stroll with silent footfalls, my ears searching for the tell-tale noises of combat boots hitting the ground. Strange movements in the jungle to my left catch my attention for a brief moment and I pause. Nothing stirs. Must've been the wind. Inhaling the sharp fresh smell of earth and rain, I continue my trek through the soft, muddy soil.

This mission is weird. Well, missions are plain strange most of the time anyway, but this one is notable. First, I'm summoned to one of the offices Cedric has, or I receive a nondescript package in the mail. A few years ago, "visitors" used to invite themselves in and told me what to do. Last time, the visitor helped himself to my chamomile tea. No one has bothered to pay me a visit since. This time, all I got was a phone call. Second, it was a retrieval mission for data that shouldn't exist. Third, I wasn't supposed to be going on missions yet - I had the Hunters to train. Cedric barely stuttered—thank the heavens—and he didn't waste time. It was most unlike him.

"Brazil, Aaron Rosen. Owns several clubs and bars, the U. S. of A Cowboys, in Salvador, goes by the name Derek Watts on occasion. Sm-small time drug lord by international st-standards. He has information regarding the Hu-hunters Squad and Nightlock Academy. Check out Rosen's estate, take out the guards, flush the drugs and kill him. Find the data, if it's still there. That is the most crucial aspect of your mission. Take Jemima with you, and keep anything you find to yourselves. Re-report back in a week—or, if you decide to take a trip to Beijing, deliver your reports to He-henry himself. He will be there."

Two men come around the corner. I tense. Have they noticed me? They talk in whispers among themselves, eyes on the ground. Apparently not. My heart begins to pick up pace as it always does, right before a kill, but I ignore it. Just think of them as targets, I tell myself, targets. Just like Jemima does. It's strange that they don't seem to be holding any weapons. Budget cuts? Forgetfulness? Just plain stupidity? Guess I'll never know. I step out from the shadows. "Hi!"