Third Saturday Fiction

Chapter 2. A High Price to Pay, from the novel The Killer

By Jackie Sims

[Sequel to “A killer is born”]

The thing about taking out a high-profile target on your first kill is you now have a reputation to uphold. Each kill has to be equal or higher. Sarah’s services were in demand and she and Afshan lived up to the rep they had started. Unfortunately, most of her targets had been middle-management types—the ones who carried out the orders. However, with her fourteen clean kills, she had earned the respect of the rebel commanders.
    That was why she was happy to take on the job of killing a cabinet minister.
    They were the ones who pass the orders down but never get their hands dirty. Those orders had taken a heavy toll on the rebel forces and she was being paid $5,000 to put a stop to at least one of them.

Afshan was born in Uganda. Her parents fled to Kenya after their village was burnt to the ground, and most of the people killed. She attended school for six more years with Kenyan children and then took a job as a nurse trainee at a Christian hospital. They offered to send her to England for training if she would spend a year in the aid stations they had scattered across North Africa. She accepted their offer and for the first six months on the job, they stationed her at six different locations. The last one was in Tanzania on the border with Rwanda. This was where the Tanzania soldiers raped her.
    Someone at the aid station had told them she was a Ugandan. The war between the two countries was over, but to some a war is never over. The soldiers that raped Afshan said if she were still there when they came the next day, they would kill her. That was when she fled to Rwanda and met Sarah.
    Now as she walked down the streets of Nahuru she felt at ease. It wasn’t a large city, about 25 or 26 thousand people, but it was a city and they were jungle people. Afshan easily passed for a Kenyan, and if something went wrong, she could hide among the people. However, Sarah would have no place to hide—she already had a price on her head. That was one of the other down sides to killing a high-end target—you had to share the spotlight with them. After the kill, your names remained linked forever. The Rebels had even given her a nickname, “She Cat.” In the cat family, the female is the most dangerous and when in the jungle, the last thing a man wanted to do come upon a she cat.
    Afshan caught a taxi, “Take me to Christopher’s Church. It’s off Nakuru Sigor Rd. Do you know how to get there?”
    “I can get there, don’t you worry none about that!”
    Afshan sat back, watched the city go pass, and tried to let her mind go numb for a few minutes. The buildings outside the window changed from upper middle class to slums within a few blocks, and then changed again to factories. To the right of the taxi about six blocks ahead, she saw the bell tower of the church.
    “Here, this is fine. I would like to walk the rest of the way.”
    “The price is same!”
    “That’s okay. Here, keep the change.”
    She watched the taxi drive off and began her walk to the church, all the time making mental pictures of the neighbourhood. The narrow street would be their escape route. They had mapped it, but things looked different in real life. She took note of the garbage cans that staggered along the street. Some of them were at the curb while others blocked the sidewalk. On both sides of the street, cars lined the curb. Some were on blocks and were going no place soon, the others may or may not be there the next day. The pit of her stomach tightened. It’s going to be like running a maze.
    She stopped at the front door of the church and covered her head before entering. The inside was dark, cool, and empty. It was just as she had hoped. She walked to the far right side of the long, dark benches. She chose a bench close to the wall and took a seat. With her head bowed, she let her eyes roam the interior. She checked out each shadowed area. Then searched for places they could hide quickly, but still have an exit. After she had the inside mapped out in her head, Afshan slipped from the bench and rapidly moved up the stairs toward the bell tower. At the top, she moved slowly toward the opening. Sudden movements caught people’s eye—even as high as she was, a passer-by might wonder why someone was in the tower. They were in luck: the church had a cemetery that covered the area from the street to a fence. Past the fence was the four-lane highway. Afshan couldn’t help but smile at their good fortune.
    She quickly but quietly left the church and retraced her path to where the taxi had let her off. She checked her watch, and from the tower to that exact spot had taken seven minutes. Getting out of the church took most of the time. Seven minutes was a long time to vanish after a high-end kill. Police would be on every street within seconds after the gunshot. She knew Sarah wouldn’t want to park close to the church, but that was the only way to cut the time for the getaway. Even if, as Sarah feared, someone reported them running for the car, they could put some distance between them and the shooting. With enough time, they could ditch the car.
    She flagged down a cab. Before returning to the hotel, she changed taxis three different times. No one had ever followed them, but there was always the first time.
    Planning took time. One detail out of place meant they would die, so there was no fast way, no short cuts, only slow, careful moves until the end. At the end, you ran.

She gave three knocks on the door, before using her key, and was not surprised to see Sarah waiting with a Gluck 9 pointed at her. She smiled, “Glad to see I didn’t take you by surprise!”
    “Ha, that’ll be the day. I’ll get us some wine. What did you find out?”
    “I have good news and I have bad news.”
    “Let me hear the good news first, the bad will always be there.”
    “The good news is we couldn’t ask for a better perch. There’s a cemetery below the window and a straight shot down the highway. Getting in and out of the church shouldn’t be a problem.”
    “I hear the ‘but’ coming.”
    “Yeah, there’s no good place to park where we won’t be exposed going and coming. The only safe place around there would take us seven minutes to reach.”
    “Seven minutes? My God, that’s a lifetime.”
    “I know. The only thing to do”—Sarah handed her a glass of white wine, thank you—“is park close to the church and afterwards dump the car as soon as possible.”
    “Do we have time to find somewhere else? You know how I feel about our escape after a job. If the location smells bad don’t do it.”
    “Everyplace has its drawbacks. This is the first time our escape has come into question. I say we do it, there are far more good points than bad ones.”
    “I can’t say I like it, but you were there and I trust your judgment. Draw it out on paper so I can get a clear picture in my head.”
    Afshan placed her half-empty glass on the coffee table and pulled a piece of paper and pen in front of her. Taking care to add each detail, she sketched the route to and from the church and the inside, even where each pole and shadow was. Once she got to the tower, Sarah was convinced Afshan had once more chosen the right spot.

The next morning brought sunshine, but dark clouds were coming over the mountains. It would be a toss-up as to rain or no rain at the set time. The good thing, it would make their escape easier, the bad thing, it would make the shot harder.
    “What do you think, Afshan, will it rain this afternoon or not?”
    “My sister, that is in God’s hands.”
    “I’m not so sure how God feels about why we want sunshine.”
    Afshan laughed, “God feels the same no matter why or how you kill. It doesn’t matter to God whether you have sunshine or a rainstorm. We will answer for our killing one day, but I think God has some answering to do, also.”
    “Maybe you’re right, sister or maybe, it’s your bush language that makes it sound real.”
    Afshan laughed at her friend, “It doesn’t matter how a person says the truth; it is still the truth.”
    “Here is a truth for you; I’m hungry, why don’t you see about getting us something to eat while I clean my rifle. Then a quick nap and we’ll head to the church—rain or no rain!”
    Three o'clock that afternoon the two drove the back streets in an old Volvo Afshan had paid cash to a young man without title papers. It was on its last leg, but untraceable and it started every time. There is nothing worse than a dead car when you’re trying to make a getaway.
    To the left of the church was a parking area. It was for churchgoers, but when there was no church, everyone seemed to use it. They parked as close to the street as they could and got out. Sarah pulled the backpack containing the disassembled rifle onto her shoulders. She and Afshan entered the church slowly, stopping at the Holy Water and crossing themselves.
    They were alone. Not even a breeze moved within the thick walls. They hurried up the stairs as quietly as possible. At the window, Sarah laid out the parts of her rifle and began to assemble it. The convoy was due within five minutes.
    As she adjusted her sights for the shot, the first drop of rain fell. By the time, Sarah had the rifle locked in place the bottom dropped out of the sky. The thunder and lightning would cover the flash and sound, but she couldn’t see shit.
    “Afshan, the only thing I can do, is place the bullet where he normally sets. If he is on the other side of the car, I’ll have missed. So my second shot will be the driver, and we can hope, if I missed the man, the crash will do the work for us.”
    Through her scope, she could see the lights of the convoy as its vehicles took the long curve into the straightaway. She tensed as her eyes fought to see through the downpour.
    Afshan said calmly, “Four hundred yards.”
    Sarah settled in. She stopped worrying about the rain and concentrated on the spot the bullet would hit.
    “Three hundred yards!”
    If the rain would let up a little, she would have a clear shot.
    “Two hundred yards, Prepare to fire. FIRE!”
    The rifle recoiled, but she didn’t have time to look where her shot went.
    “Driver, seventy-five yards, FIRE!”
    The limo swerved first to the right, then took a hard left turn and flipped end over end down the highway. Only Afshan saw the ball of fire as the gas tank blew up. Sarah broke the rifle down and threw the backpack over her shoulders.

They didn’t speak as they headed down the stairs. Afshan opened the front door enough to peek out and scan the area. She closed the door hurriedly. “There are two policemen at our car.”
    “What the hell are we going to do now? They’ll be getting the report over their radio at any moment and this will be the first place they check!”
    Afshan took Sarah’s arm, “Come on. There’s a back door. We wait until they come in the front and then we slip out.”
    To the right of the crucifix was a fire exit. As they came even with the cross, Sarah stopped. “Afshan, help me move the bottom of this cross. I can’t be caught with the rifle.”
    After stashing the backpack behind the cross, Afshan opened the back door and heard the alert come over the police radio. At first, the police officers looked confused. They seemed to be trying to decide whether to get in their car or check the church. At last, the taller of the two made the decision.
    “Get ready, Sarah, here they come!”
    The sound of the front door was their signal, and they flew across the parking lot and into the alley across the street from the church. Sirens were beginning to fill the city as they forced themselves to step out onto the street at the opposite end of the alley.
    Sara knew the police had yet to place roadblocks leading out of the neighbourhood, but soon everything within ten blocks of the shooting would be locked down so tight a mouse couldn’t get out. Making it out on foot would be close, if even possible.
    “Afshan, we need to split up. A Kenyan and a white woman, together. It’s like holding up a big sign that reads: “Look at us!”
    “Sarah, we should never have taken this job.”
    “It’s not your fault. Shit happens. We were overdue for some trouble to come our way.”
    “Which way do you want to go, Afshan asked, east or west?”
    “I’ll head east. We’ll meet back at the hotel in one hour. If I’m not there, get out of the country fast.”
    “That goes for you too! If I get caught, I’ll hold out as long as I can, but you know everybody talks—it’s only a question of time.”
    “I’ll see you back at the hotel. Nobody is getting caught today.”
    Afshan began to walk away. After four or five steps she turned and said, “I love you, Sarah.”
    Sarah turned, but Afshan had moved so far away she would’ve needed to shout in order to be heard. It was not worth taking the risk that someone would think it strange and remember the two women shouting at each other.
    The sirens were closer and seemed to come from all directions. She turned the corner and saw a taxi parked next to a food cart. She forced calmness to rule her body, opened the back door of the taxi, and took a seat.
    “Do you speak English?”
    “Yes, I speak little. Where you go?”
    “Take me to the Grand Library. Do you know where it is?”
    “I know, no problem, lady.”
    Sarah stepped from the taxi on the other side of town and waited until it was out of sight before crossing the street to the cafe. She ordered a cup of coffee, but before the young girl returned with it, Sarah placed some money on the counter and flagged down an approaching cab.
    After changing taxis two more times, Sarah entered their hotel and finished packing their things, then began to wipe down the hotel room with handy wipes. It had been one hour and fifteen minutes since they had parted. Sarah knew she had to run. However, the thought of leaving Afshan, to be brutalized and killed, was more than Sarah could deal with. It was she who deserved to be caught, not dear, sweet Afshan. She was only a dear friend who followed Sarah out of a deep love.
    A siren outside the hotel snapped her back to reality. There was nothing, she could do to save Afshan. Any more of a delay would only get them both killed. What had Afshan said, “The truth is always the truth.” The truth she had to face was that Afshan was gone.
    She left the room and headed for the fire exit and the stairs. At the bottom was a door, which led outside. The sign said, “Do not open door, except in the case of emergencies, or an alarm will be sounded.”
    Sarah took a deep breath, pushed the handle, threw open the door, and ran down the alley. The alarm was so load she could still hear it a block away. She walked fast, but tried not to look like she was in a hurry. The streets were crowded, with everybody locked into their own little world. She was just one more person to avoid until they could get back home.
    Four blocks away, Sarah spotted a homeless woman, who was missing a foot, and sitting on the concrete, with her back against the wall. Sarah dropped Afshan’s backpack, which contained her few clothes, next to the woman. She smiled at the questioning face and hurried off.
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Copyright © 2013 by Jackie Sims

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