✔ᵉⁿᵍˡⁱˢʰ Ghost Story - American Assassin✔

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Driving through the dense woods of Williamsburg, Virginia, Nathalie flipped through a one hundred and eighty page folder that had been given to her when she got into the car, looking out the windshield from the back seat where she was sitting. There seemed to be no end to the forest, and if there was, there was no sign of it yet.

"What do I need to know about Mr. Hurley?" asked Nathalie after she had read through the two-sided, one hundred and eighty pages and already had a vague picture of the man, "Anything special?"

"You've read all the documents," replied a man in his late fifties next to Nathalie, continuing to look out the window, "that should tell you everything."

"But I want to know from you," Nathalie replied monotonously, opening the page with Hurley's records and going through his entire career again, "It is not of interest what is in the files, but the person as such and this case, the man behind it, is of interest. Everything else is irrelevant. Files provide information on how someone is to be judged for the time being, but nothing more. Texts do not provide accurate insight when it comes to making a prognosis. You know Hurley, so who is he?"

"A war veteran. Former Navy commander. He's been running this program and training candidates for years," the older man began, already carefully considering his choice of words, "He doesn't even want to know about the best of the best. He says there are enough of them. He is only interested in the best of the best. The one percent. And of those, the one percent, there were enough who didn't pass his program. You'll have fun with him."

"More interesting are his current candidates, otherwise you wouldn't send me to him," with all that Nathalie had been allowed to read in the last few hours, she came to the conclusion that it wasn't going to be easy, "Anyway, Mr. Hurley won't be too pleased, even if you two are friends."

If this man had any friends at all, it was not a good thing.

•••

When they arrived at 'The Farm', they might have thought they were expected. On the upper porch stood a man in a baseball cap with a tan dog at his side, looking exactly in the direction from which they had just left the forest. The man was also drinking from a cup with a look on his face that betrayed that this meeting was only tolerated. There was no trace of enthusiasm.

This must be Mr. Hurley, Nathalie thought and took a first look at the area. A house, a container and trees. Lots of trees. Secluded and isolated from any civilization.

"You're Mister Hurley, if I'm not mistaken," Nathalie looked up at the porch where she had gotten out, closed the car door and walked around the car, shielding her eyes from the sun to better see the man inside, "Pleased to meet you. Your resume is amazing."

"At least you're not from the CIA," what a warm welcome Hurley gave Nathalie, which was why she knew it wasn't going to be easy with him, "Homeland or FBI?"

"Nothing of the sort, sir, Private Security Unit," Nathalie replied amiably, watching Hurley continue to drink from his cup and waiting for her to continue, "I'm here to find out that you and/or your people are not or will not be a threat. Some parties are quite reassured and see your whole concept as a problem factor."

"Then I'm going to go with a government independent security firm," Hurley snorted and nodded to the car, "Pure waste of time, but then it's your time that's being wasted. Not mine. Say hello to Declan in the car when you come back for her stuff."

Bull's-eye. The pure bull's-eye. Stan Hurley was exactly the kind of man you didn't want to get into trouble with. So the days ahead could come. What a joy.

•••

From the trunk, Nathalie quickly retrieved her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and waited until the car was gone and Hurley had come down to her. Before she was told where she would be staying for the next few days, Hurley just told her to change into some kind of shed and then come around to the back of the house. Even though Hurley wasn't in the Navy anymore and Nathalie certainly wasn't one of his candidates, it still sounded different.

In the training room, where Nathalie stood with Hurley a little later, it was so dark at first that you could barely see a meter away, until Hurley pressed a button, after which it became at least bright enough to clearly see further than his next step. A dull, cold light illuminated the room, and what could be seen was an empty room that was already dark on its own.

"Get dressed," Hurley ordered, throwing Nathalie a black vest and then handing her a pair of glasses, "Maybe you're capable of more than just squeezing your ass into too-tight pants. You can't help it, though, because it's become the norm to turn sports into some kind of fashion show. Pay attention to what you're about to see. How good are you with weapons?"

"Semi-good," Nathalie Hurley, unsure of what was coming, took off her pistol and slid her glasses onto her nose, whereupon images of dozens of people immediately played back one after the other, "I guess it doesn't get any faster than that, does it?"

What followed were human holograms in the training room. Find the people shown, turn them off, done. Well, with one big catch.

Nathalie walked deliberately through the group of holograms with her gun raised; she fired when she spotted one of the humans from the beginning and was violently electrocuted at the same moment. Hurley's voice rang in her ear, telling her that it was the wrong person she'd just shot, and that was why she'd gotten the shock. Lousy asshole, but she kept it to herself because she didn't want to feel that way again.

From now on, Nathalie was shocked again and again, and from a certain point on, her arm and the hand in which she held the gun began to cramp with each new electric shock. This 'game' or training simulation was pure torture.

•••

At the end of this ordeal, Nathalie lay on her side on the floor of the gym, her left arm stretched over her head, resting on her upper arm; the other arm, a hand's breadth from her face, barely able to move, probably more unable. Eleven minutes and forty-seven seconds read the red numbers on the wall. Not quite twelve minutes. Pure hell. Again and again, her muscles began to contract, tense, and then relax, only to do it all over again with the next breath. Shakily, but barely audibly, she inhaled and exhaled quietly. The reason why her breathing was too calm was probably only because her lungs could not, could no longer, work so quickly.

There was no question (anymore) why even the best of the best, whatever they were, couldn't make it through Stan Hurley's training. Someone like Nathalie, without any combat training for field operations, would never get into this program in the first place and would be guaranteed not to pass, so from there she didn't even want to know, let alone experience, what had to happen to elite soldiers for them to fail, if not to say, it's over for me.

How long Nathalie lay motionless on the cold floor could not even be guessed, because she had lost the sense of time long ago. Even when Hurley approached her and told her she was done and could finally get up, she didn't move an inch. Not one. She stared straight ahead, trying to make her body stop shaking, but it was no use. The electric shocks had been painful, but bearable, and not where one would say they were unbearable. For example, she was not in pain like after a broken bone, but the repeated shocks had caused her to lose control of her body. Great job, Hurley, great job. Just leave me alone and shut up, was Nathalie's thought, but talking was out of the question, at least for the moment.