The assassin was ready for the kill.
Carefully he placed his smooth L96A1 rifle on the roof of the building 300 meters away from a certain building. The wind softly touched his scarred face and strands of blond hair fell on his face. It brought the faint smell of burnt wood. He breathed in the smell; it reminded him of his childhood back on the farm.
Nevertheless, he had come a long way; from a farm boy to one of the most feared hitman in the world.
The building he was facing was very old. It seems the white paint has been scraped off. Graffiti signs were everywhere, teenagers used to hang out here a lot. His employers made sure they’d keep away today.
The assassin pressed his cigarette against the floor, and took out another one. He shook his sleeve and a lighter fell into his hands. Slowly as if he had all the time in the world he lit it and inhaled on it deeply. For his amusement he tried to puff out the smoke in large circles but as usual he failed to do so.
Everything happened so quickly after that.
Out of the corner of his blue eyes he saw a car - the same Rolls Royce model the target would use - appear. Swiftly, he set up the cross hairs at the door. Slowly, he adjusted the elevation of the cross-hairs and waited. A filthy figure appeared, a prisoner from a federal prison, taking place in this simple model.
As he was taught he began to regulate his breathing. The moment before the kill was both the hardest, and the most enjoyable. It was at that moment he enjoys the kill or doesn’t do it at all. Slowly he walked down the red carpet flanked by huge bodyguards.
Then just before his head met the middle of the cross hairs, he released the trigger. At that moment he felt like the ruler; to take a life with a simple touch.
The bullet sped across the three hundred-meter distance burying itself above the cervical curve severing the spine. The man was dead before he hit the ground.
The young assassin rose, smiling coldly as if he merely hurt him.
‘Bravo. Bravo, your skills have, indeed, sharpened as they say, I did not believe that you were that good but I see I was indeed wrong.’
He turned around to face the French man.
The speaker was strongly built like a wrestler and had cold, black, beetle eyes. On his head was a tattoo shaped like a Cobra underneath the hair. It was they who hired him. Cobra.
That name sent chills down the spines of Presidents. The FBI, SAS, and MI6 had trouble catching those guys. They were the exact meaning of professional. Cobra. Corruption. Oblivion. Rage. That was what they were all about. Destruction.
‘Why are you here?’ The assassin asked coldly ‘We both know that you mean business.’
The man’s clean-shaven face broke into a smile. It wasn’t the smile would warm your heart; it was the one that drove a stake through it.
‘I heard rumors that you ahh chickened out as they say today,’ He leaned a little to the left ‘A very interesting rifle you have there, do you mind?’
‘Yes I mind, I don’t want your filthy hands touching my rifle. By the way I haven’t chickened out, now get the hell out of my face. All I want now is go back home have a nice bath and soak my hair. Now as I said – ’
Suddenly, the French man was grabbing him by the hair brandishing a Commando knife. Slowly like a butcher slitting the throat of an animal, he cut off a lock of hair. ‘Speaking of hair, you’re wife’s does smell extremely nice, and she is exceptionally gorgeous. Your son is very brave he stabbed me in the leg,’ he winced ‘very painful.’
The assassin’s heart was beating faster than ever. All color drained out of his face, and began to stutter ‘B-but how? The bodyguards? The alarm s-system?’
‘All are dead,and the system was disabled but your wife and son are still alive. Shaken but very much alive. This was a little demonstration of our power. You better perfect your skills, because sharpening it isn’t good enough.’
He let go of his hair.
‘Let us get back to business and don’t make things personal, aye?’
The French man threw a suitcase at the assassin’s feet. ‘Your million dollar as we promised, good bye and take care of you and your family.’ The stunned assassin didn’t touch the suitcase. He promised he would open it right after he killed the target. Then he’d kill his employers.
Miles away, a woman was watching him snap up the suitcase and leave. ‘He’s perfect, skillful yet disposable. Just the way I like them.’
Two miles away from the White House, the heads of Cobra were just having their meeting.
The greatest criminals in the whole world, the kind of criminals that plan and never get caught first launched cobra. It first started for it’s own purposes. Now it works like a mercenary group. Today all twelve of the founders were there as usual but there was another man; a customer. Beside the customer were two large beefy men here to escort him.
At the head of the table sat a man named Zorn the leader of Cobra. ‘Welcome back my family, tonight we have a special guest who offered eighty million dollars for a small task that we yet need to know.’ He informed them.
All of them looked towards a small beady-eyed man. ‘My name is –’
‘We need not to know your name, all here must be secret.’ Every eye looked carefully at the leader.
He was a tall, broad man. Once he thought of becoming a wrestler but he was quickly drawn to the world of criminals instead. His white skin was unblemished and his nails were cut and manicured. Underneath the military cut was a tattoo of a striking Cobra. All of the winced when they met his eyes; he simply radiated power and fear.
‘Well, yes, the task is very simple, I need you to start World War Three.’ He muttered. This small mutter was met by silence.
A woman leaned forward ‘Simple? You are a very modest man.’
Suddenly the man smiled ‘I provide the task, you provide the means, I was told that you were the very best. Don’t let me doubt that.’
She grimaced and forced a smile ‘Of course, we shall do what we can, are there any other simple requests?’
‘Now that you mention it, yes,’ the man leant back confidently ‘The United States of America, Russia, The United Kingdom must fall.’
A man stood up abruptly and began to yell ‘Are you barking mad, lad? You’re talking about very powerful nations here, this is impossible!’
Zorn slowly stood up, ‘Sit down Cuthbert and restrain yourself.’ Cuthbert grabbed his chair furiously and slammed himself down. The leader took a deep breath ‘We already had a plan going that would give us power, it would certainly assist your plan in a way, don’t worry, it shall be done.’
The customer brought up a briefcase and passed it to Zorn ‘Since you will go through so much trouble let’s make it a hundred million. Fifty now, and fifty when the job is done.’
‘Of course Mr. whatever your name is if you try to trick me –’
‘Are you questioning my honor, monsieur?’ Zorn hissed. He stood up with a silenced gun in his hand. ‘You question a man who trained with the best Special Forces in the world. I am a man who quickly rose through the ranks of the French army and I even trained with the Russians. To me honor is everything.’
In a matter of a second his gun went up and shot one of the customer’s escorts right between the eyes. ‘Another thing you must know, I am a very short-tempered man.’ He informed him.
He first swiped the briefcase with a bomb and a metal detector taking no chances. When nothing came up on the detector he opened to see lots of hundred bills neatly placed within it. Immediately he snapped the briefcase close and nodded towards the door and someone showed the man out.
The same man who retorted before began to protest once more. ‘This is impossible! We can’t start a war.’
All around the table, people nodded.
‘Not just any war, he’s talking about a major one, World War Three which must be started by a lot of things, not just one big event.’
Zorn smiled coldly.
‘Of course Cobra can’t start a war…’
‘However a president can…’
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