The Discreet Hit

Chapter One

The government was surprisingly easy to control. All we have to do is to be either making a bribe, blackmail them or corrupt them. If we pay a lot of money to right person at the right time, they can be easily bribed.

The two men in suits headed inside, what was claimed to be one of the tallest building in the state, owned by the government; owned or bribed or even procured by blackmailing, well, who cares?

One of the men in suits was a man pushing towards his late forties, peppered hair and mild wrinkles on his face. He was holding a black legal case firmly along with a file, stacked with a bunch of documents and bonds enclosed with a confidential seal on it.

A long blue tag wobbling around his neck revealed his name as Dylan Rhodes on the top of which was a picture of him with a suit and tie, probably taken years back.

Dylan Rhodes was in fact a big name in business. The Rhodes Enterprises was one of the America's largest leading defence contractors running since 68', leading suppliers of military grade weapons and pistols, ammunitions, bullet proof Kevlar vests, spy toys and other things that goes beyond imagination.

'You always are one skeptic son-of-a-bitch.' Rhodes claimed.

The man along with Rhodes, who called himself as Turner, threw a quick smile at him, 'Yeah, what can I say? Being skeptic when needed is exactly what we're getting paid for, isn't it?'

Jeffrey Turner was a former employee of the TCG – Tasking and co – ordination group, a military intelligence body that specializes in special kinds of surveillance and interrogation. Unlike any other federal bodies, interrogation is always a risky business.

Pointing a gun on the suspects head and scaring him like shit was like eating a piece of cake but interrogating one and extracting info outta his head is one shitty job.

It requires an intense training that includes brilliant negotiating skills, open – minded, understanding the suspect by standing in his position and think what he thinks and the list goes on.

But the most important thing is that, everything that comes out of an Interrogator's mouth is just another clear cut Lie. That one's for sure.

Lie. Lie. Lie. Always a Lie.

To be precise, you get to do way cooler shit than anyone else in the military of an equal rank.

Turner continued, 'And besides, this case is a huge package, wouldn't miss it for the world.'

'So, is that what you think it is? Is that all? A package, you say?'

'Ahh, as long as I'm getting paid for this, yeah that's what I'm calling it. It's a case for you, but just a package for me, a package with good money.'

Turner and Rhodes kept walking in the long walkway inside the building that directly led them to the elevator. Turner's dark and soft wavy hair rhythmically jumped up and down as he strode towards the elevator with fast paces.

He looked younger for his age and he had more than a good physique for an interrogator. The thick rimmed geeky glasses and the gigantic silver dial Rolex Submariner watch in his wrist made him look more like a modern – day spy.

As they moved past the reception desk, Turner noticed the man sitting at that desk, constantly keeping a fixed gaze on them, looking up and down for a very long uncomfortable moment. Turner couldn't help but think he was sizing them up by the clothes they wore, as if they were nothing more to him but a couple of walking wallets.

What's wrong with people these days? He thought. Apparently everything was wrong with them or was it one of the things that every normal people do? The word "Normal" always seems to be unusual or even so strange for Turner, because he was not like most people.

He was not normal. He was something different, something people scare about. It's normal that people usually sense the presence of danger or a threat about the things that they clearly don't understand. It's a psychology, but for Turner, more preferably, a science about people, that he studied over the years.

Rhodes pressed the button on the elevator pad and patiently waited for it as it was slowly descending down from the forty – fifth floor.

In an attempt to kill time he decided to start a very normal conversation with Turner.

'So, Turner? What made you choose TCG?' he asked.

Turner immediately grinned at Rhodes and turned back.

Click. Click. Click.

Thirtieth floor and still descending slowly.

'So you're not gonna answer. Is it?'

'Trust me; you don't wanna know the answer for that question Mr. Rhodes.' He said.

He looked up at him with a rather-not-pleased-face, and said 'No! You Trust me. I do wanna know. I've hired you to finish the task in hand, so it's only fair that I know at least little about you.' He said.

'Ok.'

'Ok what?'

'Okay. I'll answer your question.' Turned sighed.

Dylan was staring at Turner waiting for an answer, but he didn't have the faintest idea that the answer would be such a dumb one.

'The people around you, friends and family think that you are literally James – Fucking – Bond. We get to do cooler shit than anyone else.' He paused and looked at Rhodes, 'Isn't that awesome?'

The immediate reaction of Dylan was like. "What the hell?"

As Dylan stared at him in full amazement the elevator made the final Click. The door opened and they got inside the elevator and Dylan hit the fiftieth floor.

The fiftieth floor's button was separated from the rest of the floor's button that were arranged in a rectangular grid, and it was marked in a distinguished and bright red color, which was weird, Turner thought.

And for a fact, he also knew that Fiftieth floor was not in any of the building's blue prints or floor plans.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .