Chapter 2 – First Strike by Red Wolf

Did you all enjoyed the Chapter 1 of this original novel by Red Wolf?

As this is a very short novel, there will be 1 chapter per day until the end of the novel. We hope that you will continue reading the novel and share you feedback. This would be the best form of encouragement for this young author whom I understand is working on his 2nd novel.

Chapter 2:

As soon as he had finished his breakfast and paid the bill, McCain continued on his morning walk, blending in with the crowd as much as possible. As he brushed past the daily morning traffic on the sidewalks, McCain felt a presence, staring down on him, as if waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He quickly dodged that glaring shadow, turning left and into a small corridor. It was shaded, with brick walls leading to a large circle. Here, he could choose how to lose that stalking figure behind him.

East would lead home.

North lead to the business district.

And the western path was blocked off.

He headed to the east, back home.

And as he maneuvered his way around the crowds, McCain decided to turn his jumper inside-out. Now, the jumper was black with red on the inside. It was slightly uncomfortable, but it would throw whoever was stalking him off. Now he could slow his pace down and blend in, taking the time to walk down the familiar streets like any commoner here.

© 2021 TINKERBELLSAN tinkerbellsan.wordpress.com ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Written for tinkerbellsan.wordpress.com with permission from the Author, Red Wolf. If you are not reading this from tinkerbellsan.wordpress.com, then this original novel has been posted without the permission of the author.

But he didn’t notice a small puddle of water that he had stepped into, back at the alleyway junction.

The two women caught up to the corridor and looked around in frustration.

“Where the fuck is he?” one of the ladies hissed, clenching her phone. She hadn’t yet taken out her headphones.

“He went back. East of here.” her companion pointed to a trail of water droplets, staining the cobblestone path. The first agent used her phone and scanned the droplets.

“Heat signature confirmed.” she affirmed. “We’ve got him back on our watch.”

McCain found his way home and quickly locked the door, closing all the windows and making sure nobody had seen his fluster from outside. He took a deep breath of relief and sat down, returning his jumper to its original colour scheme and turning on his 32-inch plasma screen television. He aimlessly scrolled through the channels, chancing upon an old movie from the 1960s’.

The Manchurian Candidate. Adapted from a 1957 novel, twice. It was apparently related to sleeper agents and conspiracies. McCain never truly appreciated psychological neo-noir thrillers, but he somehow appreciated the novel and its remakes.

McCain left the screen running and headed to the kitchen, taking out a carton of milk from the fridge and making himself a nice, cold glass. He then used his Nespresso coffee machine and near-instantaneously whipped up a nice cappuccino, the aroma wafting around the bottom half of his enclave. He sat back down and closed his eyes, allowing the coffee to enter his nose and make its way to his digestive system.

It wasn’t long, however, before the whispers returned. McCain opened his eyes and found himself staring at strange numbers once again. He couldn’t handle the input; he shut the TV off and retired to his room. Perhaps some shut-eye could help him ward off the strange happenings.

Time, twenty-four minutes to eleven in the morning.

Which was twenty-four minutes to two in the afternoon.

The frigid, cold air was common for the tall, nervous man in the beige overcoat. He wore a similarly shaded feodora and pants, with black, leather shoes and large glasses. Frantically looking around to make sure nobody was eying him, or his suitcase, the nerve-racked man shot into an alley and through a green door, hastily clambering up three flights of stairs before reaching an old mahogany door. The floorboards were warped, and the wallpaper was dreadful.

He should never have come here, but his life depended on it.

The man knocked three times and was quickly received by a blond lady in a t-shirt, leather jacket, black jeans and high heels.

“You have the package?” she asked.

“Yes, I do.” the man whimpered, looking behind him to ensure complete privacy.

He was pulled in, the door shut and locked. The lady took the suitcase and dropped it on the coffee table.

“My superiors want me to have you sent to the embassy here.” the lady hisses, storming into her room to pack her things. “I’m the woman in charge of your transportation.”

The guest nervously sat down and took a good view, although he thought it was anything but.

“My government will stop at no ends to eliminate me.” the man sadly confessed. “They will kill anyone who stands in their way; even an ambassador.”

The woman sighed, having emerged with her luggage.

“Then we can’t hold back either.”

She handed the man a gun, an RSh-12 revolver. The visitor quietly slipped it into his coat.

“We leave in thirty minutes.” she instructed before going to the bathroom and taking out a plastic bag. There were new clothes, a wig and a new passport. “Lose the old clothes. Wear these.”

The stranger hastily complied, rushing into the bedroom to get changed. The lady took out a thick cell phone and typed in a message.

“Asset has arrived at the safehouse.” the message read. “Am currently preparing for transport to embassy.”

She watched the message get transferred, before she took out a hammer and smashed the device.

Original Novel by Red Wolf

Chapter 2 – First Strike by Red Wolf

Author: mhryu

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