Adios

[Aardvark]

The large hand of the antique clock settled over XII, the small pointing at III. He'd been anticipating this meeting for some time now, but was feeling ill at ease now it had arrived. As the old clock struck the third hour of the afternoon, he heard the familiar footsteps of the assassin echo through his spacious abode. One of the reasons he'd picked this villa. The acoustics were perfect. Even a terrible singer would hear himself a tenor in these halls. In his head he counted down. Three times he had met with this man. Three times, each time he was told the fourth would be the last. He would never see this man again after this. But he didn't mind. He only had one more job left for him.

 

The assassin carried himself at ease as he strode in. He nodded politely at each guard as he passed, satisfied with the knowledge that he could kill every single one before they'd even found their triggers. They never tried to search him, they knew he was no threat. His long coat billowed as he passed, despite the stillness of the air. He was proud of his ability to manage this under all situations. It was all part of The Look. The Look everyone tried to accomplish. Few ever succeeded without the help of Hollywood magic.

 

The General rose to offer his hand, but took no offense when it was ignored. Three times this had happened. Some habits were hard to break. He watched the Assassin take a seat in the black leather chair he gave guests. Returning to his seat, he cut a cigar and was about to light it when the Assassin reached into his coat, exposed the grip of a pistol and asked a simple,

 

"Do you mind?"

 

"Not at all, my friend." replied the General, lighting up. This man always amused him. A man who quite literally had all the time in the universe, but would never waste a second of it. As the General smoked, the Assassin proceeded to dismantle and clean his pistol. Another thing that amused the General about him was his weapons. He had access to the most advanced weaponry ever to be invented, yet he used bullet weapons. As always, he shook his head at this thought.

 

"My friend, you know why I summoned you." Not an accurate statement, the General knew. Upon first making contact with this remarkable individual, he had been informed of the exact dates and times all their meetings would take place. He'd been surprised, at first, when each date coincided with the discovery of a threat to his power. Since then it had merely amused him.

 

"Of course I do, but you know I have to hear it from you." The Assassin never looked up from his work, meticulously scraping carbon build up from the various rails and ridges in the weapon.

 

"Very well, very well. It appears I have a rival to my position. Even in this corrupt democracy, my position is still dictated by the masses, more or less. They are unsatisfied with how I'm doing things, they vote in blood." The General remembered the bloody coup that had led to his ascension roughly a decade ago. That was the last revolt he ever wanted to see.

 

"Your system works, I take it?" A toothbrush had appeared from nowhere and was being used to sweep out loose bits of carbon.

 

"Indeed, my friend, indeed. No matter how well paid my guns are, they can't stand up against the great unwashed, united. Which is where you come in." The click of the pistol's hammer being pulled back sent a shiver down the General's spine. He was unable to shake it until the hammer was detached from the weapon. Even though he knew this man could still easily kill him with his bare hands, the pistol still filled him with unease.

 

"And who do I kill this time?" He couldn't tell if the Assassin was apathetic or just plain bored. A pipe cleaner was being used to clean out the barrel at this point.

 

"Hey, kill, discredit, kidnap and dump on an island, I care not the method. Just get rid of this man. People call him Carlos. A name so common in these parts, I'm sure it is nothing more than an alias." An oiled cloth was being applied to the internals of the weapon. He respected a man who respected a weapon enough to take this much care. And feared one who could manage it so quickly, yet thoroughly.

 

"I'll take the first choice, thanks Bob." Neither smiled at this attempt at humour, but the General winced when the cover was slid back on with a loud click.

 

"Very well. Everything about him you will find in this file I have provided you with." Once more a lie. The Assassin already knew everything about the contract. Timetravellers were a difficult lot to deal with. The General was glad he only had to deal with the one.

 

"Carlos, real name Chad Schmitt. Born of Brazilian and German lineage, emigrated here, blah blah blah," The Assassin began to recite. "Can be found at some scumpit in the middle of the jungle, lots of guards, the usual."

 

"Yes, I see you know the type quite well." He watched as the killer began to give each round a light brush with the oiled cloth, before clicking them back into the magazine.

 

"Too well, old timer. How much?" Matters of money with this man also amused the General. He imagined the only thing of value to a timetraveller would be gold, but this one worked for cash. He would've disbelieved the man's claim to timetravel, had he not seen the time vessel with his own eyes. Through dark shades provided to protect his eyes from the intense energy emissions from the machine.

 

"Standard rates apply, half now, half upon return." He held his composure as the Assassin aimed the pistol at his forehead. He shuddered as he heard the weapon click. This man knew how to unsettle him. And seemed to enjoy doing it.

 

"Signed, sealed and will be delivered. Where's the cash?"

 

The General lowered his head under the desk, momentarily forgetting which side the briefcase was on. Seeing it to his left, he gripped the handle and hefted the case onto the desk. The Assassin opened the case and visually scanned the contents.

 

"Perfect, as usual." He closed the case, then slapped the magazine into the pistol. "Oh, just one more thing. Adios"

 

Before any of the guards could react, the weapon was cocked, leveled at the General's chest and emptied. None of them went for their weapons. They all watched the black coated killer holster his weapon, take the briefcase and walk out of the villa, as easily as he'd entered. With their paymaster dead, none were paid enough to throw their lives away for some petty notion of hot blooded vengeance. Besides, they had more important things to worry about. News of this would travel fast, even if they tried to hide it. And they knew that when peasants with pitchforks were looting this place, they'd rather be elsewhere.

 

The Assassin drove for the first time in a while. A machine capable of transversing the dimensions of time and space never really gets used for road travel. It was a change from the usual instantaneous journeys up and down the timeline. He drove into the deep jungle, passed hundreds of armed revolutionaries and to a scummy little pit in the middle of nowhere. There he retrieved another suitcase from a man named Chad, known as Carlos. A man whom would be found dead in ten years, scattered over a wide area, for reasons unknown to all who lived in this time.