Dead Men’s Path 7
“In the end, it is not that which we crave for or that which we plan to do that will come to be,” Eden said, looking at the faces of people who had come out to hear him speak. The campaign speech, discarded, lay on the table beside his hand.
“In the end, it is what we do, the hopes we inspire, the people we help. That is what will stay. That, my friends, is the true nature of service.”
The cameras flashed and the crowd erupted into one big, pulsating round of applause, swallowing everyone in it. Even his father, he could see, was clapping. The man was obviously awed by his oratory prowess, but that would not make him stop quarrelling with him at every turn. He had chosen for himself a speech that spoke out his belief, the same belief his father found something inherently wrong with. But there he was clapping, a true politician. He espied Eva standing with the crowd of onlookers, cheering him on. He smiled and waved. She waved back.
“That is the story and testimony of Eden Watford.”
More cheers from the crowd. He walked down from the podium, straight into the crowd and started shaking hands with everyone. The mayor of Memphis who had recently almost been indicted in a corruption case, came forward for a handshake. He obliged hesitantly. His eye locked with his father’s. There was worry there, worry and concern. But it only lasted a moment, before it was replaced by political professionalism, the cloak his father wore everyday.
It took all of four minutes for Jack to get to Hikinfield’s house. Newman had sent him the SOS. Thankfully he was in the neighbourhood. He observed the burnt car, flinching, before he moved slowly into the house. He was trying to move quickly and quietly at the same time, it was a trick every field agent had to learn if they wanted to survive outside there and come home to tell the story.
I don’t see no one here.
There’s no one here too.
The bathroom. Check.
The voices came from the left side of the house. He pushed his feet. There were two gunmen by the sound of it. His gun was out. But there was a little trouble. He had failed a drill, he had not removed the safety pin. Doing so in the quietness of this place would attract the killers’ attention. He crept close to them and turned around the wall to stare at the the bathroom. Both had their guns pointed at Hikinfield. In on fluid movement, he dropped the safety pin and fired into the first body he could target. The assailants shot blindly, missing the former congressman completely. The first one fell down still gripping his gun, while the other turned with his gun into a barrage of bullets from Jack’s pistol. He moved the barrel to the gunman on the ground as he tried to raise his gun. Bullets were coughed out of the gun in quick succession and they hit the gunman square in the chest.
“Jesus, Jesus…” Hikinfield muttered.
Jack grinned. “I believe your old friends came to pay a visit.”
An SUV drove out of the former congressman’s house a minute later, taking the congressman along with it. That was the last time the congressman was seem around the place, having probably gone into hiding to stay away from the gun triggers of his passionate friends in the government. Two FBI agents were found dead at the crime scene. The two culprits who had rigged their car to explode were found dead in the the house opposite the destroyed car. Nothing was found on the bodies. Their finger prints were useless; they had been burned out.
TO BE CONTINUED