Saturday, January 15, 2011

She will lead us. (c) 2011 Jeremy Gosnell

She will lead us

© 2011 Jeremy Gosnell

Inspired by: Artist: Tiesto

Album: Magikal Journey

Song: Again (featuring B.T.)

Crimson’s eyes opened. As he looked around the bedroom he rubbed his temples, easing the pounding headache away. Reaching over to the night stand he found a bottle of aspirin. Click, the lid popped and two small white pills slid down his throat. He gagged forcing them down into his stomach.

“Fuck.” He muttered sitting up on the bed.

The light switched on. It had been fourteen days since Crimson had arrived back to his apartment. His previous assignment had taken him to Prague and lasted much longer than expected. Walking over to a small coffee table Crimson picked up his smart phone. There was a message from Susanne, the woman who lived in the apartment across the hall from his.


When you are back in town let me know. I would love to get dinner one night.


Crimson had created a pleasant fiction that he fed to Susanne and anyone that he met. He told them he was an international business man that specialized in corporate real estate. This of course explained his mysterious lapses in time when suddenly he would be away for weeks without justification. He chalked the lapses up to unexpected business ventures.

In reality Crimson escorted high profile targets to safety. Typically these individuals had a team of assassins, organized criminals, or governments after them trying to end their lives. Eleven years with the Navy Seals and nine years as an undercover operative with the CIA had taught Crimson all he needed to know about keeping people alive. He had been tortured, maimed and beaten finally betrayed by his own government. It was this betrayal that made him a private contractor and his account was full and business was steady. To outsiders he was Jonathan Marks an outstanding international real estate agent. In reality he was Crimson Matthews a stone cold killer who could keep the American president alive as he walked through an Al Qaeda stronghold.

As he traversed through the bedroom into the joining office Crimson heard a loud beep coming from his laptop. It was a video phone call. Logging on he saw a bald, elderly man sitting prepared to have a video conference with him.

“Crimson?” A shaky voice resonated over the computer speakers.

“Yes Martin.” Crimson replied.

“I have an assignment perfect for you.”

“Sorry, but I have a thirty day furlough after each assignment. I just got back in last evening.” Crimson was angry the agency would contact before his furlough was up.

“The commission on this particular assignment is high.” The man at the other end smiled.

“How high?” Crimson asked.

“Eight percent.” The elderly man continued to grin.

“Eight percent of what, stop fucking around.” Crimson’s temper was short.

“Eight percent of two hundred million dollars.”

“You’re fucking lying.” Crimson had never heard of such a lucrative assignment.

“You know I do not lie Matthews.” The old man lit a cigarette at the other end of the video feed.

“Who is the client?”

“A thirty-two year old woman, Valarie Wesson.”

“Where is she going and why does she need an escort?” Crimson was worried.

“She is going to the top of mount Bleriot, why she needs an escort I do not know, though the funds have already been transferred and cleared.”

“You are telling me that you will pay me eight percent of two hundred million dollars to get some woman to a mountain top eight miles from my apartment.”


“I’m in.”

The winter air cut through the night like a ship working its way through calm seas. Crimson stared down at his watch. Valerie was supposed to arrive at ten thirty and it was a quarter past eleven. Suddenly a black Nissan approached. Crimson reached behind the driver’s seat grabbing a small MP5 machine gun. A light illuminated in the approaching car and a short woman walked out as the vehicle sped off. She was roughly five feet seven inches. As she approached Crimson’s headlights he profiled her. Dark bangs raced around her forehead and a gentle face and easy stride welcomed her as she approached. Walking closer Crimson noticed her arms were covered in tattoos so complex and intricate he could not decipher what they meant. In one instance Crimson suddenly realized that this woman was the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

The passenger door opened as the mysterious traveler stepped into the car.

“Before we leave three questions; who is chasing you? How well are they armed? Do they know you are with me?” Crimson asked.

“The devil is chasing me, he needs no weapons and he knows everything.” The young woman replied.

“Stop fucking around.” Crimson demanded.

The dark haired woman simply smiled.

Just as Crimson turned the ignition he suddenly realized the car would not start.

“Fuck.” He yelled.

“Crimson Matthews, the warrior who has become a whore,” a voice filled Crimson’s head.

The driver’s side door swung open, a powerful force controlling it.

Looking outside Crimson noticed a well-dressed man standing beside the car. His black suit was perfectly tailored and a purple shirt and tie were tucked beneath the deep shadowy confines of his ensemble coat.

“I am so sorry you have gotten caught up in our little truffle.” The man said a deep English accent making his words difficult to understand.

“There is no need to make this worse, simply turn the young lady over to my care and you can go about your way. I will make certain you are paid double what the agency has offered you. Fair enough my friend?” The man asked.

Crimson laughed.

“Is that yes.” The man replied.

“No, it isn’t” Crimson said, switching the safety off on his MP5.

“Mr. Matthews if you do not turn that girl over to my care I will personally make sure that your entire family, including you, perishes and rots for all eternity. Now you can be difficult or you can turn that young woman over and make twice what you would to protect her. I can assure you protecting her will result in your ultimate demise.”

“I hope you are good at dodging bullets.” Crimson said throwing his MP5 in front of the man, the trigger pulled down. The weapon refused to fire.

“Guns they make human men so fucking irresponsible. Did you really think that would do anything against my ultimate power?”

“Holy shit.” Crimson didn’t understand.

“Would you like to make a deal Mr. Matthews? If you can tell me what man’s most powerful virtue is I will let you take this young woman and not bother you again? If your answer is incorrect then I will take your life and the young woman will come with me. Do we have a deal?”

Crimson thought about the proposal. This man had power and as a former Navy Seal and CIA operative Crimson’s strength was in his weapons, without them he was nothing.

“We have a deal.” He replied.

“What is man’s greatest strength?” The mysterious being asked.

Crimson remembered the many battles. Death, killing; watching children as they were escorted out of hospitals that had been accidently bombed. The promise of freedom in the wake of utter destruction; the moment that he realized his work was for naught. Life only to kill was a life of emptiness and bleak dismay.

“Love.” Crimson replied. “Love is man’s greatest strength.”

“Love,” The suited man looked shock. “A warrior wishes to answer love. Are you sure that is what you mean to say?”

“Yes.” Crimson replied.

The suited man extended his hand. Crimson shook it.

“Farewell Crimson Matthews.” He said quickly walking into the darkness.

As he left an intense purple light rose over the horizon.

“Who are you?” Crimson asked looking back at the intensely beautiful woman in the passenger seat.

She reached over grabbing his neck, kissing him keenly.

The kiss ended.

“God.” She replied stepping into the purple light.

She was gone and Crimson was alone.

I am awake. The world is clear. He thought as the deep full moon lighted the mountain side around him.

The end.

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