The Major

Tuesday morning after the breakfast routine, he was ready. He was going to take all the weapons along but the Beretta would probably be his choice, it would be quick and easier than a knife or cheese wire, and he wouldn’t have to wrestle with the guy. He could muffle the sound with a towel wrap or a pillow around the muzzle. At 10am dressed in his beach shorts, a bright orange tee shirt, and with an addition of a baseball cap and dark glasses he was pretty loud and noticeable, he headed down to the “El Torro Hotel” with his black bag and beach towel draped over it... Picking up a hotel promotional leaflet he sat down in the foyer and waited on his prey. His hands were sweaty and his heart racing, but he was fired up and ready to do the job. Shortly after he sat down, the family appeared and made their way down to the beach sun beds again as they had the day before. Pete had a coffee while he waited for them to settle, before initiating his plan. At 11am after pulling his cap down low over his sunglasses, he went to the reception desk in the hotel. Speaking with a German twang in his voice, he asked the girl if she could pass on a very urgent letter to Mr Gary Davis who was staying at the hotel. The receptionist obliged and accepted it from him. She called one of the waiters over, gave some instructions to him in Spanish, and then passed on the envelope that Pete had handed to her. Pete sat and watched the waiter go down to the beach and find the man on a sun lounger, leaning down to speak to him as he passed the note over. Inside the envelope, the note just said, ‘need to speak with you urgently in private, go to your room and call this number.’ The number was one that Pete made up and he was worried that the man would ignore the note, but he saw him say something to his wife then start walking back to the hotel. Pete moved into position and watched the man go to the lift, as soon as he pressed the button the doors opened and he walked in, closely followed by Pete. ‘What floor?’ asked the man. ‘Zwei bitte…entschuldigung…two pleeze,’ Pete said in a drawn out German accent. ‘Same as me,’ the guy replied. ‘Sind Sie Deutsch?’ (are you German?) ‘Yah ich komme aus Berlin…Konnen Sie Deutsch?’ ( yes, I come from Berlin…do you speak German?) ‘Ein Bisschen.’ ( a little) ‘It sound gude to mee.’ said Pete, purposely accentuating the words. ‘Well I’m not very good, but I like to try.’ A loud ping indicated their arrival at the second floor stop. As they stepped out of the lift, the guy said ‘Auf Wiedersehen.’ (good bye) Pete said ‘Weidersehen’ (bye) Pete checked it was clear of people before he followed the man towards his room. He reached in the bag and grasped the Beretta pulling it out and prodding the man in his back as they reached the doorway of 206. ‘Open the door quickly!’ he said. The man was surprised but did as he was told, Pete pushing him through the door as he opened it, then closed it behind himself using his foot. ‘Wha…what do you want?’ said the frightened man. ‘I can give you money if that’s what your after, it’s in the safe, there!’ he pointed at the wardrobe where the safe was. Pete wanted this over and done quickly, the longer he waited he was more likely to get caught or maybe bottle out. But a robbery would be a good cover. ‘Okay, open the safe…and be quick about it!’ ‘Your not German!’ the guy said. ‘How observant...now move it!’ said Pete. Again the man complied, holding out all his money from the safe. Pete put the money into his bag, then instructed the man, ‘Lie on the bed face down!’ Again he did as he was told, but was shaking violently. Pete stepped in close, picked up a pillow from the bed and put it over the mans head, he then jammed the gun into it and fired once into the back of his head. Then he moved the pillow to the centre of his back and shot him through the heart. It was quick. Painless. The pillow did not completely suppress the noise, so Pete stood to listen for any outside commotion or movement. There was nothing, apart from the distant screams of laughter and fun coming from the pool area down below. The man lay motionless on the blood splattered sheets. One clean hole in the back of his head, and one in the centre of his bare back, but Pete knew his face would have blown away and his heart would be in shreds. He retrieved the spent cartridge shell casings, then he put the gun and casings back in the bag. He moved to the door, and used a towel to wipe the doorknob and open the door. After checking that the passageway was clear he stepped out, dropping the towel inside the room as he did so, letting the door close on its own behind him. He waited what seemed forever for the lift doors to open, then hurriedly stepped inside and pressed the button for the lobby. On the way down he adjusted the baseball cap low over his dark glasses so that his face was almost totally obscured. He walked out of the hotel door that led onto the beach, looking across he could see the mans wife and daughter were still on their sunbeds, he then made off along the beach away from the hotel reserved sunbeds. When he was fifty metres away he stopped to take off his shirt and baseball cap, then, stowing them in his bag with the weapons and money, he zipped it up hooked it over his shoulder then strolled along in the surf, feeling the fresh cool water splashing up his shins. He reached down and cupped some sea water in his hand then splashed it on his face, it felt good. He stopped at the first beach bar he came to and necked down a large brandy, then sat down with a lager under an umbrella smoking one cigarette after another. That was when it hit home. He had just assassinated a man in cold blood. ‘For what? Was this a job he wanted to do? It was only his second assignment for the organization, and already he was killing for money. He had become a mercenary. What would they want him to do next?’ He thought. As he sat with another large brandy and lager chaser, it was then that he heard the sirens approaching. Looking back along the beach, he could make out a lot of people moving about on the beach front side of the hotel. Then he could hear the sirens a lot closer, someone had obviously found him. All he hoped, was that it was a maid or someone else that found him, and not his wife or daughter that had seen the remains of their beloved lying in his bloody mess in that hotel bedroom. He now felt sick at the thought, and made his way back to his hotel room in a daze, oblivious of the police cars that were swarming into the area and sealing off streets, even though they wouldn’t even know the circumstances of how the man was killed yet. It’s a Spanish thing to put out road blocks and stop suspicious looking people in cars at any time. In his hotel room sitting on the edge of the bed for a moment, he was still imagining the horror of walking in to find your loved one with his head half blown away. Then he raced to the bathroom and threw up.