Huntsman

Home sweet home

I just arrived at my loft, when the bell rang.

'Yes?'

A voice went through the intercom, 'CIA.'

I sighted. This wasn't good.

'Mr. Anderson?'

'Yeah?'

'Open the door.'

That wasn't a question. Most people would think that I would say to piss off.  But the reality is that when the CIA wants something from a war veteran, you'd better open the door.

They were with two. One looked like Homer Simpson. The other one was calm and simply nodded. Don't ask me how, but veterans recognize each other. This one has seen blood.

'I just arrived back home.'

'Lucky you', Homer said, 'now you don't have to pack. You're coming with us.'

If I had a doughnut, I would let him choke on it.

The two haven't said anything in the car. I was used to long rides, while the boys were thinking about home, praying their prayers or simply would chew on some gum. Damn, I realized I missed the chewing gum.

Once we arrived at the headquarters in Washington, we were sent to the biggest desks. Not good.

Director Finman was short and had the eyes of an owl, but was known for his intelligence. He was always two steps ahead of everyone.

'Corporal.' Finman said.

'Director.'

He nodded at my two companions. They left as they have never existed.

'My apologies.' Finman said, 'Just back from Afghan and then being summoned...'

'Get to the point, director.'

Finman was clearly surprised. In the army, I wouldn't interrupt my superior like that. But he didn't serve the army. And I was not an agent of the agency.

'I heard you're a good sniper.'

'The best.'

'Good.' Finman pulled a file out his desk and gave it to me, 'But are you good enough to kill the president?'