Ian stopped his car at the main gates of Sayle's compound. The papers hidden under his shirt crackled as he leaned forwards to roll down his window to speak with the guard on duty. He kept both hands in plain sight on the steering wheel. They hadn't padded him down any of the other times he had left the compound, and he was counting on them not bothering this time either.

The papers didn't say much; Sayle was smart enough not to have anything too damning written down, but it would be enough for Mr Blunt and his team of sharks to buy enough time for a proper investigation. Ian's part would be over.

"A little late for a trip to the village, Mr Rider," the guard said drily, suspicion clear on his face. His name was Eric, and he always bragged about his two children during lunch. Ian hoped he wouldn't have to kill him to get through the gates. Everyone had been tenser these last few days, and he fought to keep his expression sheepish and tired.

"Family emergency," Ian said, keeping it simple. "I'll be back before morning."

The guard glanced at the back seat.

"Any electronics?"

No employees had been allowed to bring their own phone or computer, and they weren't allowed to take the ones they had been issued with them. As an extra security precaution, none of them had access to the internet.

"Left them in my room." It was the truth. He couldn't risk it, should the guard insist on a search or Sayle have a way to scan the car. After what Ian had discovered, he was now certain it would be a death sentence.

The guard gave him a long look, before finally pushing the button to open the electronic gates and waving him past.

"Whatever. It's on your head, Rider."

Ian unhurriedly followed the twisting road from the compound. If he took the corners around the hills a little sharper than usual, it was only because he was concerned for his 'urgent family emergency.'

He skirted the edge of the small fishing village, Port Tallon, then turned unto the main road and stomped on the accelerator. His silver BMW shot forwards as if eager to stretch its mechanical muscles, motor purring. Making an exception to his otherwise strict adherence to traffic laws, he broke the speed limit and then some. During these kinds of missions, laws were only suggestions anyway. The department would smooth things over with the police, should anyone spot him.

A few miles later, Ian leaned back in his seat, starting to believe he might have gotten away after all. After so many years, he should have known better than to relax his guard, even slightly, but years of lucky escapes can make you sloppy, and Ian had had a long, tiring week. He had no way of knowing that Sayle had recently hired extra security much more competent than Eric and his colleagues. It was one small slip in concentration, yet in the field, it was more than enough.

Something large appeared on the road, illuminated by the headlights. For a second Ian thought it was a deer, and he instinctively slammed the breaks and jerked his wheel to the side, trying to swerve around it.

He realised his mistake too late; it wasn't a deer standing on the road, but red barriers like those placed around roadwork. Only, there had been no signs or emergency lights to warn him beforehand …

Maybe if Ian had kept going and taken his chances with the barrier instead of swerving and slowing down, he would have survived.

High calibre projectiles, usually reserved for taking out tanks in war zones, tore through the bullet-proof windows like tissue paper and showered him in shards of glass. Ian didn't notice when a bullet took out a front wheel and he lost all control of the car.

The world spun.

A sharp pain pierced his chest, and Ian's last thoughts was an explicit curse in Russian and a fleeting stab of regret towards his nephew.

Then nothing.


The silver BMW slid to a stand-still a few hundred meters from the barriers. A man reached through the shattered window with a gloved hand and retrieved the papers hidden underneath the dead driver's shirt. Two bullets had torn through them, and blood had soaked the edges enough that large parts had become illegible. The man ignored it and calmly slid them into his bag pack. He left the place without a backwards glance.

The police would find no traces of him nor the papers when they arrived eight minutes later.


Themes: non-graphic violence and death