In Too Deep(114)

Mark, who I thought had been sleeping but had been lying quietly on his side of our bed, turned and looked at me with concern in his eyes. "If it's any consolation, I know how you feel."

I thought back to the first time he'd told me about what his job was, and how he'd killed seventy-six people so far. He had told me that for every single one of them, he had nightmares and regrets. It was one of the things that had helped me realize that despite the bloodiness of his profession, I felt that Mark was, in his heart, still a decent man; someone I could love. Now I was to join the brotherhood, it seemed. It was what I chose to do, but I had to admit I was scared that I was moving a little too fast, getting in over my head. "Does it get any easier?"

"For some of the men I used to call coworkers, yes," Mark said quietly, sitting up next to me. "They were the scary ones, and the ones that we knew once they reached a certain level, they couldn't be trusted any more. They were the ones who came to not only tolerate but even enjoy or need the violence and the blood. They were the ones we sometimes had to take out because they'd gone fully over the edge."

"Did you ever...?" I asked fearfully. Mark nodded his head.

"Number forty-seven. His name was Bob, probably not his real name, but he also worked for the Confederation. I had to hunt him down and put him out after he'd taken out not just his target, but the target's entire family just because he wanted to."

I shivered and leaned into Mark, who held me close. We lay back down on the bed, and for the first time all night I felt some comfort. Having his arms around me reassured me that I was still normal for feeling the way I did. "How many more will we need to kill?"

Mark shook his head. "Not as many as you fear, I think. The bigger weapon will be the use of information, spying, and media exposure. If we do those right, it'll be much cleaner. But yes, some will have to die."

I decided to change the subject, all the talk of killing started to bring me down a little. "How is it you get any rest beforehand? You don't sound exhausted or blurry in the least. I thought you were asleep."

"Meditation," Mark said, squeezing me in his arms and kissing my neck. "And one other thing, at least with this idea."

"What's that?"

Mark kissed the top of my head, and I could hear him inhale the scent of my hair deeply. "I think of you. The rest is easy."





* * *



Sophie





We got to the warehouse just after six in the morning. While I didn't think I'd be able to eat or drink anything, Mark insisted we have something on hand, so after leaving Mount Zion, we stopped at a convenience store to pick up some easy to digest groceries.

Mark didn't allow us to get anything with caffeine in it or anything overly greasy or dense. This, of course, eliminated about seventy percent of the store, and another fifteen percent was eliminated because it was cat food, motor oil, playing cards and the like. Still, we were able to find some juices, light fruits and packages of sliced chicken breasts that filled our needs. "I know you're cruising on nerves now," Mark said as we entered the warehouse, "but that's going to fade. You're going to start feeling hungry and thirsty eventually."

He was right, and by ten, I'd already drank one of the bottles of fruit juice. I kept glancing at the clock on the wall, while Mark made sure our video feed of the outside was clear. He'd installed obscure video cameras around the building to monitor everything. He'd even set up cameras on the inside of the building just in case the Russians tried something unexpected.

Around noon we were as set up as we could be. "The tough part is going to be if this delivery is legit," Mark said. "I wish I could just say Hey, are you the two Russian hitmen and shoot them, but we're going to need to be sure. It's one thing killing bad men, but it's something else entirely killing an innocent. I've went this long without doing that, and I'm not about to start now. Let's hope they are stupid and show guns outside."

We went down to the first floor, and I set up the M-14, which was my responsibility. Mark had originally thought to use the rifle himself, but he wanted me as far away as possible. By having me set up in a dim corner of the warehouse under some netting that from the outside looked like a pile of boxes, I could be safe. Or at least, as safe as I could be.

The beauty of the M-14 lies in its relative heaviness. The thick steel barrel and the wooden stock gave the rifle a lot of stability. Once I set the front part of the stock on the foam block I was using as a rest, it would fire straight and true. Since I only had to shoot less than a hundred feet, worrying about drop or anything like that was moot. Which was good, because while Mark had taught me about it, I was still a novice when it came to stuff like that.

I just had to aim at the belt line, hope that I could keep my nerve, and let the rifle take care of the rest. I took a quick view through the peep sight towards the cargo door, and nodded. If the delivery came when we asked, the interior of the warehouse would be in mostly darkness while the cargo door would be in relative shade. I wouldn't be blinded by glare.

"I'm ready," I said, coming out from behind the concealed position. "How're you looking?"

Mark's role was much simpler, but also much more dangerous. Answering the door, he carried with him a Desert Eagle pistol with Teflon coated armor piercing rounds. If he had to answer the door, he'd have the pistol with him next to his thigh underneath a long jacket. We were hoping, however, that we could use the intercom system attached to the door to bring them in without it.