I walk across a wood floor, past a rack of expensive-looking cookware and through a breakfast nook arranged with a small table and wicker chairs.
Within seconds I know that something is wrong.
A normal house makes noise—floors groan when you put weight on them, windows rattle in their frames, walls shift and creak.
But this house makes no noise. It is dead silent inside, like the house where I first encountered The Program as a boy.
I move quickly through the kitchen, turn the corner, and find a man in the hallway, gun drawn, watching the front door. I come at him from behind. A pincer move on his neck drops him into unconsciousness before he knows what’s happening. I take the gun from his hand before it can hit the floor, and I place it in a basket where it will be out of sight.
I move into the hallway. It’s empty, doors set at strange intervals on both sides. I try the first and find the knob does not give at all. It’s not a real doorknob, more like the handle on the outside of a locked prison cell.
I try a second door and find the same thing.
I double back to the fallen man and search his pockets until I come up with a set of keys. I retrace my path down the hall, quickening my pace.
I pause at each door, listening, but they are thick and prevent any sound from escaping. I examine the door handles for traces of skin oil. If there is a prisoner here, his cell will have been opened multiple times in the last few days. Sure enough, one doorknob is marked up more than the others. I slip the key into the lock and feel it turn with a satisfying click.
I steel myself for what will come next.
If I’m lucky, Howard will be asleep, and he will never know what happened to him.
But if he is awake?
No matter.
I will assess, and act. I will not speak or look into his eyes. It will be better for both of us that way.
I disengage the lock, and I open the door.
I see a figure sitting on a cot in front of me.
It’s Howard.
“Who are you?” a girl says.
There is someone else in the room.
I spin around and find myself looking at a terrified girl around fifteen years old. Her hair is tangled and her face is dirty. She has a black-and-blue mark around her right eye. She’s obviously been here for a while.
Howard stands, his body tense with fear.
I see two cots on opposite sides of the room, two young people in front of them, both disoriented.
Why two?
“What do you want?” Howard says.
I do not meet his eyes. I keep my vision at midlevel, just high enough to be sure he does not present a danger to me.
“Why don’t you bastards leave us alone?” Howard says.
He doesn’t recognize me.
Howard quickly moves toward the girl. He stands in front of her, blocking my path. He’s acting bravely, but I can see that his legs are shaking. Typical Howard, taking a stupid but courageous action.
I do not want to think about this. I do not want to remember Howard or the friendship we shared.
Two people. One is my target, the other a stranger.
I hear the front door opening. Voices outside. The men in front of the house are talking to the firemen, assuring them there is no emergency, and trying to sort out the situation. It’s likely that another man is searching the woods, checking for what might have set off the perimeter alarm.
How much time before they realize someone called in a false alarm to the fire department? How much time before they rush back into the house with guns drawn, ready to take on whatever threat has appeared in their midst?
I focus back on the room.
One target has become two. I should take them both out now. Quickly. Without any more thought. It’s preferable not to have collateral damage on a mission, but it happens.
This is not collateral damage. It’s Howard. He’s my friend.
I look up for the first time and meet Howard’s eyes. He’s looking back at me without recognition.
He rubs his eyes, trying to focus. It seems like he’s under the influence of some kind of drug, maybe given to him as part of the interrogation.
“What do you want?” he says.
He doesn’t know who I am, yet he steps in front of the girl, foolishly risking his life to protect her when he can’t even protect himself.
Mike sent me on this mission to kill Howard and secure my place in The Program.
I look at Howard and I know I can’t kill him. I could never have killed him.
“I have to get you out of here,” I say.
“I don’t know you,” he says.
“You can’t remember right now, but we’re friends.”
“He was in the black room,” the girl says to me.
“The black room?”
“That’s where they question us. It takes a while to get normal after.”
She seems awake and clear, unlike Howard.
“Who are you?” I ask the girl.
“I’m Tanya.”
“Are you a friend of Howard’s?”
“Sort of. We’re both prisoners.”
I look into her eyes. It feels like she’s telling the truth. But she is not my mission. I can’t help her.
“Let’s go, Howard,” I say.
I extend my hand, but he doesn’t take it.
“What about Tanya?” he says.
“I don’t know Tanya. I only know you.”
I don’t know her, and I don’t trust her.
But I won’t say that to Howard.
“We can’t leave her here,” Howard says.
Tanya stands in the corner, her face defiant, like she couldn’t care less whether we take her or not. She’s trying to act tough, but I can see it’s a bluff because her lower lip is quivering.
More noise from the front of the house. Agitated voices of the men standing near the front door, probably waiting until the fire trucks are out of sight.
“We have to go now,” I say.
“I’m not leaving without her,” Howard says.
I hear the front door close. I’m out of options.
“Both of you,” I whisper, “follow me.”
Howard gestures to Tanya and they come forward. I take the lead, pushing the two of them out of the room, then guiding them quickly back through the kitchen to the door where I entered.
Without a word, the three of us slip out of the house.