The Assassin's Betrayal by Mark Allen

Author:Mark Allen [Allen, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Unknown
Published: 2016-02-06T00:00:00+00:00

When he arrived at the abandoned church a short time later, Malakai spotted Father Thomas’ car. As usual, his handler had beaten him to the meet. Malakai didn’t know why, but it was pretty obvious that the ex-priest liked to spend time alone in the church. Rays from the setting sun slotted down and shimmered off the stained glass windows as Malakai slipped inside, silent as a ghost. He didn’t consciously avoid making noise; stealth was just part of who he was, as natural as breathing.

Father Thomas stood at the end of the aisle, gazing up at the crucifix and the crucified Christ impaled upon it, seemingly lost in trance-like thought and completely oblivious to Malakai’s presence. Malakai walked down the aisle, still not making any noise, and though he could not see his handler’s face, he sensed pain emanating from the ex-priest. Not random or generic, but a specific pain—the agony of something precious forever lost. As Malakai edged closer, he heard Father Thomas say, ever so softly as he stared up at the cross, “Fuck You.” The way he said it, there was no doubt that the “you” came with a capital “Y” attached to the front of it. Strangely, however, the obscenity was imbued with a hint of reverence as well. To Malakai’s ears, it sounded like the “Fuck You” came from a deep, dark place where hate and love waged war with no clear victor emerging.

Or maybe he was just hearing things.

Malakai stopped right behind the ex-priest and said, “Sounds like you and God got some shit to work out.”

Father Thomas nearly jumped out of his skin. He whirled around and glared at Malakai. “What the hell is wrong with you, sneaking up on me like that? I could’ve killed you.”

Malakai laughed. “You kill me? That’s just crazy talk. You ever kill anyone?”

“None of your damn business.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Malakai gestured at the crucifix. “Any particular reason you’re dropping f-bombs on Jesus?”

Father Thomas shrugged. “Just pissed how my life turned out. I should be leading a flock, not juggling killers.”

“If you don’t like your life, change it,” Malakai said, the same advice he had given Shiomi just this morning. “Go back to being a priest.”

“I can’t,” Father Thomas said. “The Church won’t let me.” He hesitated, then added, “I did something a priest should never do. At the time it felt right, but now…” His voice trailed off.

“Now you’re not so sure?” Malakai finished.

Another shrug from Father Thomas. “Sometimes I’m sure, sometimes I’m not. What I do know is this—what I did, I did out of love. If I had to live that part of my life over again, I’m not sure I would do anything different, right or wrong.”

“What’d you do?”

“That’s none of your damn business either.”

“Sounds like you need therapy.”

“Or a bullet in the head.” When Malakai gave him a look, he hastily added, “Relax, I’m joking. I’m Catholic, remember? For me, suicide is a one-way ride on a fast train to Hell.

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