who handed it to him. All the while, as K studied the target, his stomach churned. He thought perhaps he was falling ill, yet somewhere inside he knew that was not the case.
Cursing, he turned from the street and entered a back alley, muttering to himself, desperate to pull himself together. Not completing the job would be a tremendous failure and he did not understand what it was to fail. It would be an entirely unacceptable outcome. Eventually, when his mind stopped racing he returned to his lookout. From what he knew of each local’s routine, the target would be there for at least three more hours until the last of the tourists or potential shoppers had gone. He decided to return later, going back to his own room to read until the time came.
Following the target two and a half hours later was easy. He expected nothing and was completely unaware of any danger. It was the second time K wondered just who this man was and why he needed to be eliminated. Inside the target’s apartment building, he waited as the old man scaled the first flight of stairs, before following silently after him. It was a long process, because his apartment was on the fifth floor and his right leg seemed to give him pain. Each step he took was agonisingly slow.
When finally he reached the top, K heard voices above him; the greeting of a wife and a young child. He hadn’t been told there would be others. He had orders to kill the man and that meant whoever could witness it, but this was not what he had planned for. A quick decision to return later was just as swiftly quashed when, in turning to leave, he was stopped in his tracks by a voice calling down the stairwell to him in Arabic.
‘ What are you doing down there?’
The man was staring over the banister. That was it then, no going back. K looked up into the eyes of the man he was about to kill. He hoped the man would see it coming, would fight back and try to kill him, too. It would make everything so much easier.
But of course he didn’t.
‘Karl! It’s you!’ the man said happily in broken English. ‘Come – I want you to meet my son, he is a little younger than you but he is smart! Learning English too – you come!’
With what felt like a lead weight inside him, K ascended the last flight of stairs to the man waiting with open arms. His tiny son’s smile was more genuine than his own had ever been and the wife – a petite cherub-like woman, with rosy red cheeks – was beaming too. K swallowed, telling himself that he didn’t care, that people were fickle, life was fickle, and if he didn’t take the life of those he was supposed to, his own would be forfeit. Still, his weapon stayed hidden. His guard remained down.
‘Come, Karl – come in,’ repeated the man. Uncertainty clouded his features.
‘I can’t. I am very sorry,’ K answered in fluent Arabic. The target’s face dropped somewhat at the change. Confused that the boy from Sweden could suddenly converse so perfectly in his native tongue.
K leapt over the banister and dropped the four flights down. Landing in a crouch, he stood and fled the building. Outside in the bitterly cold winter air, he vomited onto the pavement. Wiping bile from his chin with the back of one dirty hand, K’s first thought was that the man’s reaction had not been one of any real suspicion. If anything, he had almost seemed impressed that K could speak Arabic. Surely, someone he was supposed to kill, a man who must know there were people who wanted him dead, would be more cautious of such a thing – even of a thirteen-year old boy?
K left Lebanon with the sponsor the next day. His mission failed.
13 – Family
The day weighing on my mind had finally arrived. I’d prepared most of what was going to be our traditional Christmas dinner and Rachel brought pudding and mince pies. She and I cried over brunch, which usually saw Dad leading us in Jingle Bells and other carols.
Cursing, he turned from the street and entered a back alley, muttering to himself, desperate to pull himself together. Not completing the job would be a tremendous failure and he did not understand what it was to fail. It would be an entirely unacceptable outcome. Eventually, when his mind stopped racing he returned to his lookout. From what he knew of each local’s routine, the target would be there for at least three more hours until the last of the tourists or potential shoppers had gone. He decided to return later, going back to his own room to read until the time came.
Following the target two and a half hours later was easy. He expected nothing and was completely unaware of any danger. It was the second time K wondered just who this man was and why he needed to be eliminated. Inside the target’s apartment building, he waited as the old man scaled the first flight of stairs, before following silently after him. It was a long process, because his apartment was on the fifth floor and his right leg seemed to give him pain. Each step he took was agonisingly slow.
When finally he reached the top, K heard voices above him; the greeting of a wife and a young child. He hadn’t been told there would be others. He had orders to kill the man and that meant whoever could witness it, but this was not what he had planned for. A quick decision to return later was just as swiftly quashed when, in turning to leave, he was stopped in his tracks by a voice calling down the stairwell to him in Arabic.
‘ What are you doing down there?’
The man was staring over the banister. That was it then, no going back. K looked up into the eyes of the man he was about to kill. He hoped the man would see it coming, would fight back and try to kill him, too. It would make everything so much easier.
But of course he didn’t.
‘Karl! It’s you!’ the man said happily in broken English. ‘Come – I want you to meet my son, he is a little younger than you but he is smart! Learning English too – you come!’
With what felt like a lead weight inside him, K ascended the last flight of stairs to the man waiting with open arms. His tiny son’s smile was more genuine than his own had ever been and the wife – a petite cherub-like woman, with rosy red cheeks – was beaming too. K swallowed, telling himself that he didn’t care, that people were fickle, life was fickle, and if he didn’t take the life of those he was supposed to, his own would be forfeit. Still, his weapon stayed hidden. His guard remained down.
‘Come, Karl – come in,’ repeated the man. Uncertainty clouded his features.
‘I can’t. I am very sorry,’ K answered in fluent Arabic. The target’s face dropped somewhat at the change. Confused that the boy from Sweden could suddenly converse so perfectly in his native tongue.
K leapt over the banister and dropped the four flights down. Landing in a crouch, he stood and fled the building. Outside in the bitterly cold winter air, he vomited onto the pavement. Wiping bile from his chin with the back of one dirty hand, K’s first thought was that the man’s reaction had not been one of any real suspicion. If anything, he had almost seemed impressed that K could speak Arabic. Surely, someone he was supposed to kill, a man who must know there were people who wanted him dead, would be more cautious of such a thing – even of a thirteen-year old boy?
K left Lebanon with the sponsor the next day. His mission failed.
13 – Family
The day weighing on my mind had finally arrived. I’d prepared most of what was going to be our traditional Christmas dinner and Rachel brought pudding and mince pies. She and I cried over brunch, which usually saw Dad leading us in Jingle Bells and other carols.
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