Thirty-One
The Bishop sat in his still cottage feeling uneasy about the contract on Cristal. He couldn’t talk anyone out of it. It was sealed. They wanted her dead within a week, and it was already going on day two. He’d never had any problems carrying out any contracts in the past. Over the years, whoever they said kill, he killed. No hesitation and no regret on his part. His victims were just contracts—almost like business deals.
He sat in the dark, shirtless, and in a pair of cargo shorts, the Desert Eagle with the suppressor around the barrel in his hand.
He’d given Cristal a call over two hours ago. She was about two and a half hours away. He wasn’t in any rush to kill her.
He was still conflicted with the choice though. She was like a daughter to him.
He didn’t have kids. It was his one mistake.
But his loyalty was to GHOST Protocol. He was allowed to live a cushy life, retired in a way, but calling the shots behind the doors; assigning murders instead of doing them.
How should I go about this? he asked himself.
He was ready to make it clean and painless for Cristal. She would come inside, in the dark, he would then take her out from the shadows, a bullet to the back of her head, and she wouldn’t even see it coming. He had done it plenty of times before. He wouldn’t have to worry about the body or the blood. He could dispose of it himself or call a cleaner to handle it.
As he waited for Cristal’s arrival, he was flooded with memories of her. She was someone to talk to, someone he had grown close to. She loved his paintings, and she was one of the best killers he’d ever seen. Her mistake was her literature. Writing about what they had done and how they’d done it was a death wish. He had one of her books with him but chose not to read it.
He was against her writing about hit men, political corruption, and secret agencies, almost like a Tom Clancy novel. But it was understandable to him. He had his artwork and she had her writing.
The Bishop, seated in complete silence, waited for over three hours and then he heard the cab pulling up to his place. He stood up and walked toward the window, peeping through his blinds. He saw Cristal get out of the cab and pay the driver before coming his way.
A deep breath came out of him.
He could hear her coming up the short steps and looming closer to the front door. Gun still in his hand, he waited calmly. The front door opened up, and she walked inside. He had her dead in sight—one bullet and it was over with.
Cristal turned around and locked eyes with The Bishop. She saw the gun and didn’t flinch. “They sent you, huh?” she said calmly.
He didn’t say anything, the Desert Eagle aimed at her head.
Cristal stared at him and simply waited for the bang! But it never came.
He lowered the gun. He couldn’t find it in his cold heart to kill her.
“They green-lit your murder. You have less than a week to disappear,” he told her.
She wasn’t shocked to hear it.
The Bishop walked farther into the living room and reached for her novel placed in the chair. He tossed it at her and said, “No more stories.”
She didn’t say anything.
“The Commission met with GHOST Protocol, and they will hunt you down and kill you. It was an unfortunate tragedy, what happened to your family. That was an unsanctioned hit. The man responsible for is dead. But they still want you dead.”
“And go where?”
“Far from here, Cristal. It is no longer safe for you, probably, nowhere in this country.”
“But Daniel—”
“The contract is for your life only, not his. He’ll be fine.”
“But what about you, Bishop, when your agency finds out that you didn’t fulfill the contract?”
“Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. It’s my decision. I can live with it. But you need to leave right now.”
The Bishop went into another room, and Cristal followed behind him. He pulled open a dresser drawer in the bedroom and removed a small bag. Now was the beginning of her vanishing point.
“You’ll need a new passport. Destroy every passport the agency gave you. You won’t be able to use them.”
He handed her a disposable cell phone and a phone number. “I have an outside connect for you that you can trust. Everything and everyone else will be compromised. You do not trust anyone. Understand? No one! Assume that everyone is a threat to you.”
Cristal nodded.
The Bishop went on to counsel her on what to do.
“When you leave town, don’t go to any place you’ve talked about or stated a desire to visit. Don’t run to any place predictable. Don’t hide in a city or town you’ve been to, or where you’re known to have family. The agencies are smart; they’re trained to track people anywhere, and they have access to surveillance cameras, people, things, law enforcement. Don’t underestimate these people.”
The Bishop moved around his cottage hastily, gathering more items for her.
“And most important, stay away from Mexico,” he stated. “They have informants and agents scattered all through Mexico. It’s easy to drive into that country, and everyone heads there if they have a bounty on their heads. Drop your old habits, change up your diet, alter your buying habits. Throw away your old self. If you’re a smoker, stop. If you don’t smoke, start. If you enjoy meat and hot and spicy foods, stop purchasing those items and change to vegan. If you frequent bars, stop. Patterns are predictable. Break them.
“When you get the chance, clip someone’s wallet that looks like you. Don’t kill them, or take the identity of someone who’s already dead. GHOST Protocol looks for those algorithms in their complex computer programs. If someone is murdered and years later their information hits the system again applying for a job or renting an apartment, maybe take out a mortgage, they flag the name. And never get too comfortable in one place for too long. No small towns, you’ll stand out too much and the people are too nosey and ask too many questions.”
Cristal was grateful for his help. She found herself standing at the front door and hesitant to leave his place.
The Bishop stood closely by her and looked in her eyes. “You’re smart, and you’re a strong girl. Leave tonight. Don’t come back.”
She knew once she walked out that door she would never see him again. Cristal and The Bishop weren’t ones to get emotional, but their look at each other said it all. There was a bizarre love and understanding between them.
He handed Cristal his car keys to the Wrangler.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Just stay alive,” were his last words to her.
She turned around and left. No looking back.