The Proscenium Conspiracy (Roger Murphy Part 1)

Chapter 1

The shadowy figure emerged from his hiding place and blended into the winter’s freezing murky darkness. His quarry was just ahead. The evasive behavior of the quarry told the hunter something. The quarry was afraid. In addition to the fear running rampant, the quarry knew a hunter stalked him. “I will bring this to an end, very shortly,” the hunter mumbled to himself. “My long wait for you is finally coming to an end.” The shadowy hunter shivered then braced himself from the penetrating cold, as he grew more impatient. He disregarded his training, his experience and his gut feeling, in closing the gap, to nearly within striking distance. The prey ducked quickly around a corner, into a darkened, deserted alley. The sounds of quickened footsteps on the dry snow made the sound of tearing Velcro fasteners apart. Those sounds had barely been distinguishable, muffled in the blizzard, now beginning to howl like a freight train. Although unseen in the swirling snow it had been obvious to the hunter’s trained hearing, the prey had taken flight. The hunter chased toward the unseen fleeing subject with every ounce of energy he possessed, trying to make up for the widened chasm between them. His lungs felt like bursting from breathing the freezing air. The two men ran to the end of an alley piled with debris and snow.
Trapped, the prey turned to face his pursuer, “Who are you? What do you want?” he yelled in an indignant tone, surprising for his perilous situation.
“Your control has sent me,” the figure replied in his hushed voice, barely above a whisper.
The man’s eyes couldn’t hide his surprise, yet he regained his composure quickly, “Then you have made a terrible mistake. I’m not who you must think. I am with the government.”
“I have made no mistake. My orders are to watch your eyes when I tell you what comes next, to watch your eyes as they lose life, and to watch you die up close,” suddenly the shadow man sprang onto his victim, using one slashing motion with a long, thin blade knife. The blade struck at and across his throat, ripping a long trail of destruction, instantly causing the man to collapse. The precision delivered slash came with practice. It was a slash that would allow the victim to live for a precious few seconds.
“The New World Order once embraced you as one of its own. You became a traitor, Pavel. That’s why you’ve been killed,” the shadow man whispered.
Pavel held his throat as blood seeped between his fingers then his body slumped to the ground. The horrified look in the eyes of the quarry told the shadowy figure the message meant something. Then the hand that held the throat dropped away.
The killer bent over, examining the dead man’s wrist for the mark, a final validation of the victim’s identity. Pavel’s death had completed his mission.