Guiltless

Chapter 6

25 August 2006

*The Pianist*

"Yes, father. I understand perfectly." I answer and then hang up the call. Those bastards! They dare to double-cross us? And how the hell did they even think that I am disposable once they were done with me?

It wasn't hard to identify the boy, even though his disguise was almost perfect. I hadn't even initially taken note of him while I scanned everyone in sight for a sign. But just as I had given up, I had seen what I sought in the glass of the windows next to the piano. Those eyes that darted around the place and had tagged the guards in an almost inconspicuous manner told me far more than he perhaps realized.

For a moment, I wondered who dared to strip away someone's right to his childhood. There was no doubting the fact that this boy had been in training for a very long time now, perhaps as soon as he could walk. I had wanted to make contact in the ballroom itself but that pesky Russian just wasn't willing to take his eyes off me.

But the anger fades soon enough as I re-evaluate my own situation as well. Being the 'shadow' was all I had ever learned. Blending in the masses was my specialty. If I ever had to stand out, I would make a fool of myself.

The cold night has me hurrying down the streets to the 'safehouse' and I'm so lost in these thoughts that I stumble and almost fall. Cursing in Russian, I scold myself for losing myself in thoughts while on a mission. There is no safe ground here. Be on your guard.

The training soon kicks in and all these distracting thoughts are packed away in some remote corner of my mind, where they would stay until I'm safe enough. I smirk as I turn around a random alleyway. I walk to the wall at the dead-end and take cover behind a nearby dumpster. I don't bother looking for who else may have followed me for the small puddle near the entrance of the alley, that nearly ruined my new shoes, while my eyes scan the windows and the roofs that can still see me.

I'm being followed. I have no doubt about that. What is also true that by being undetected for so long, this person has proved himself a worthy opponent. And so, I search for a slip that people make while I reach for the firearm hidden in my shoes.

A part of me recalls that boy taking note of the odd shape of my shoes and would've probably dismissed them as hidden knives. I smile while still searching as I take off my shoes and break the removable heel to bring out the upper half of a small handgun. Assembling the two halves that I hid in my shoes takes less than a moment and I am prepared for a small fight should I be caught unaware. There's no way I am gonna fall to you bastards, but if I have to, I will take you down.

There! I quickly take note of the small rustling that sounds just above me. I readjust my body so that while the location of the sound is in front of me, I won't be taken by surprise from the sides. There's no way he'll fall for the height trick for more than a few seconds. I need to get him before he gets me.

People think that fighting at a position of lower altitude is a disadvantage. What they don't realize that with the right camouflage, even the oddest of locations can help you turn invisible to a professional eye. The spot where I hid made it sure that unless the tracker exposed himself as well, he wouldn't have even a small chance of spotting me.

I keep my eyes peeled for even the smallest of hints, knowing that any sound I make would have to be the only sound I make. Looking around in my black coat, I pull out two coins and wrap them carefully in black cloth that should be invisible in this dark night. Then, careful not to make a noise, I throw them into the darkest part of the alley.

The instant the coins strike the ground, the sniper above takes a silenced shot and gives away his location. Without wasting even a millisecond, I lean out from my cover and spotting the light of a nearby streetlamp glint off the gun's lens, fire one bullet. There's no chance it could've hit the shooter but the stifled scream tells me that I just got rid of his aiming hand. Quickly darting out of my cover, I make a run for the street once again.