This story has nothing to do with my Berk Renner universe. This is just a short I wrote as a writing exercise. I hope you enjoy it.

Joe shot up from the bed when the door to the hotel room swung open. Men dressed in baklavas carrying Uzi’s stormed in. Joseph’s years of martial arts training kicked in and quickly got to his feet. He trained most of his adult life, but never thought he would use it to defend himself. Well, he hoped he would never have to use it to defend himself. It was surreal, nothing like his training.

He disarmed the first two men with a flurry of punches. He struck the man’s chest several times. He forced all his strength into the man’s chest shoving him backwards. He pinned the second attacker against the wall with the first attacker’s body. He closed in on the third and final attacker. Once he was close enough, Joseph used an armbar to force the attacker to drop his Uzi. Joseph had the third attacker in a neck triangle, cutting off the flow of blood to his brain. He passed out before knowing what happened. The first man through the door was back on his feet and advancing fast. Joe picked up the submachine gun and squeezed the trigger like they trained him. Three projectiles struck the man in the chest, sending the assailant to the floor.

That felt like real rounds.

Something in Joe told him to check on the guy he shot. He had expected to see splats of paint from the mil-sim, but all he saw were three holes in his shirt. He crept in close to the man and notice three black spots inside the holes.

“Is he wearing a bulletproof vest? Why would he wear one of those?” Then it all hit him. “Did I shoot a man?” Those times he went for firearms training, all in secrecy. He shot live rounds and mil-sim. But the mil sim were high velocity paint balls shot out of real guns. His contact said they wanted to give Joe the best opportunity to learn real world experience. He didn’t think it would lead to actually shooting a man. Joe removed the magazine from each Uzi, then wiped them down with his shirt.

What was he going to do? Joseph wanted a little excitement. He never thought he would actually shoot another person. He had been training for more than a year and every time his instructor insisted on safety first. He had been training while he waited his call to action. Now it was his turn, and it was more exciting than he had expected. Being a tax accountant was no longer enjoyable to him. He tried playing games online like Call of Duty, but never found real fulfilment in those. Joseph stumbled across an ad that piqued his curiosity. He was scrolling his social media when it popped in his feed. 

The ad read, looking for adventure? Something different from the nine to five? Click here. Which he did. What he found was exactly what he thought he was looking for. He thought it was one of those real-life scavenger hunts, but with spies and fake guns.

Joe’s quick mind processed everything he had gone through over the past year and a half. He realized he wasn’t playing a game, and neither were those with the guns. Something was very wrong.

The op, as they called it, was a “routine drop,” the handler said as he gave Joe a brown envelope. It was like all those spy movies his dad watched. This is what Joe had been waiting for. The twenty thousand dollars to be trained by some of the world’s top spies was well worth it. But now he seemed to play on an entirely different level.

Joe, as instructed, should anything “go down” called the number given to him by his handler. The phone number filled his brain, but dialing it tripped him up. Slow is steady and steady is fast, he told himself as his hands shook. Adrenaline coursed through his body. 

A man answered after the first ring and said, “Code!”

“Code? Somebody is really trying to kill me. I killed one of them.”

“Code!”

What in the world was that code? Joe impatiently pushed the button on the elevator. “Ok, I remember it.” He typed 269491599 into the phone.

“Code authenticated. Where are you right now?”

“The hotel. But listen to me. I shot a man with live rounds.”

“You’re not using the elevator, are you?” asked the voice.

“Yes. Why.”

“Do you remember your training? There are cameras in the lobby. If they see you exiting the elevator, they can track you.” 

“Right! Did you hear me? I shot a man. This isn’t a game. I may have killed someone.” 

“Calm down.” The voice was calm. Joe wasn’t expecting that. “You have trained for this.”

“Right. What should I do?”

He heard a long exhale on the other end of the call. Then the handler said, “Rely on your training.”

“Right. I should get to the roof and see if I can get to another roof and exit through their lobby.” Joe got off the elevator one floor down from his. He then entered the stairwell then sprinted to the seventh and final floor. Without direct access to the roof, Joe found a window at the end of the hallway. He made sure the hallway was clear, then opened the window and scanned the ground.

“What am I doing?” he asked himself, his heart racing. Remember, slow is steady and steady is fast. Joe’s legs shook and ached as he stepped onto the twelve inch wide ledge. Look straight ahead. He inched along until he came to a drainpipe. He slowly wrapped his hands around it and tugged. Hand over hand, the amateur spy pulled himself up two stories. The pipe shifted as he reached for the ledge of the roof. He grabbed it with one hand. Joe looked down the drain and spotted one of his attackers climbing out the window.

The man was moving faster and with more confidence than Joe was able. Joe’s heart rate increased, and his hands started sweating. Despite his fear, Joe did something he thought he would never do. He grabbed the pipe with both hands and placed his feet against the wall. With all his weight leaning back he pushed off the wall. The bolt popped, and the pipe pulled away from the building. Somehow, he grabbed the ledge and pulled himself over. The masked men were halfway up the drainpipe when Joe put his foot on over the ledge and finished the pipe. He refused to watch his attackers as they fell to the ground with a thud. He had never heard a body hit the ground from forty feet in the air, but he could tell what it was the instant they did.

Joe checked his watch. Five minutes since the first attack. With bodies splayed on the ground, the police would be on scene any minute. As if he didn’t have a good enough reason to get off the roof and away from the hotel, now he did. 

Joe backed up to the ledge, said a prayer, then sprinted across the rooftop. He timed his steps perfectly as his speed continued to increase. Joe leapt the eight-foot span to the roof of the neighboring hotel. He landed with a thud and a pop and his body collapsed into a rolling ball. The thud he figured would happen when a hundred ninety pound man lands on a gravel roof. The pop. That wasn’t good. He let out a guttural scream and quickly wrapped his arms around his left knee. 

The amateur spy knew immediately he blew his knee out of joint. Joe felt the pressure of being attacked by the man he should have shot already. Not to mention the police, who will be on scene within minutes. Joe planted his foot against the raised ledge and slammed his right hand into it.

POP.

Joe swore again as he hobbled to the fire escape. Adrenaline pumped blood faster through his body. He used the railings as a slide and stepped on every third metal step until he was on the ground in an alley. 

Joe’s breathing slowed as he walked further away from the attack. He had to get to the safe-house. His safe-house was really his vacation home. His handler said for the mission it would be his safe-house. As he hobbled to his car Joe realized he had a bigger problem. Before he could get to his vacation house, he needed to get to his car. To get to the parking lot he would have to pass the body on the ground. Joe forced himself to stop limping and walked pass the crowd gathered around the body. He got into his car and drove away.

Joe adjusted the rearview mirror so he could see himself. His face covered in sweat and his hair was a mess, he tried to calm down. He ran his hand through his hair while he waited for a red light to turn green. Satisfied with his appearance he said, “An hour and half til I get home. I can do ninety minutes.”

He turned his fully restored Land Rover Defender Series 2 onto the driveway. The upgraded suspension absorbed the potholes as designed. He pulled it into the garage attached to the thousand square foot single story cabin. If he drank, it’s usually when he has company, which is why he had some of the best bourbon on hand. 

He poured about three ounces into his glass, twice as much as usual. He let out a long exhale. He finally had some time to process everything that had happened over the past year and a half. It started to make sense. The fake identity, the hidden cash and handgun. What he thought of at the time was a Jason Bourne knock-off, was reallypreparing him for a moment like this.

Confusion swirled around his head, but one thing was obvious. He couldn’t stay anywhere familiar. He still didn’t know who to trust. Joe loaded his Land Rover with food, clothes and a couple hundred extra rounds of nine-millimeter. He made sure to grab all the frozen vegetables he had. On his way out the door he did a pocket check to make sure he had everything he needed. He swore he looked like he was doing the Maka Rana, but it saved him many times, like now. He was missing his cell phone. He stuck his personal phone in his right jeans pocket and the burner is his left.

With his new identity, a hand full of cash and his gun, Joe found a no tell motel. The time at the motel should give him time to recover. His leg throbbed. Joe grabbed a bag of frozen peas from the freezer then popped three pain reliever pills. He winced when he set the bag of peas on his knee. Joe closed his eyes as the pain killers kicked in and the adrenaline was leaving his body. 

He woke to the sound of a phone vibrating next to his head and his chest heaving. Both cell phones were laying next to his pillow. One was his personal phone, and the second was a burner. He woke his phone up to check the date and realized he had been asleep for nearly twelve hours. It was the longest he could remember sleeping. He turned off his personal phone then grabbed his Glock. Joe made sure he was alone, then checked the screen of the burner phone. It was his handler. 

Joe decided he wasn’t going to sit around and let his life get turned upside down. He had been training for a year and decided he was going to bring the fight to those who tried to kill him. He figured he had nothing to lose.

“I assume you’re calling because you’ve decided to take my offer. I’m not going to let them get away with trying to kill me.”

“We understand you want revenge…”

Joe interrupted him, “What have you got for me?” 

“Are you sure you what to do this? To go after these people? They’re not amateurs.”

“I want their names.”

“I’m only doing this because they struck first. They broke the deal.”

“What was the deal?” asked Joe.

“You were to drop off the code to a Swiss bank account. Two million dollars was being held there. In return for the money, they were to give us the name of a Russian mole within the agency.”

“So, was this the Chinese? The ones you were paying.”

Several seconds passed. The man he knows as Hannibal finally said, “They made it look like it was the Chinese, but it was actually Iran.”

“Why Iran? What do they have to do with this?”

“Remember, I’m only telling you because they struck first. This is for your ears only.”

“Understood. Now get to the point.”

“Iran is still mad about an incident back in the eighties.”

Joe wanted to ask what the incident was, but figured it didn’t matter. It was before his time and didn’t involve him, but this did. They tried to kill him to get revenge for something he had nothing to do with. It just got personal, and he was about to even the score.

“How do I find the one who organized this?”

Hannibal finally gave him the name of an Iranian Guard general and his last known location.

“Montreal, Canada.”

Perfect, thought Joe. The drive from where Joe was recovering is less than three hours.

“Once I do this, you won’t hear from me again. I am out of the spy business for good.” 

“Until we need you again.”

Joe wanted to reply to Hannibal but couldn’t justify it. He was in a lot of pain, but had to admit he liked the action. He hit the end button and closed his eyes until his bladder reminded him hadn’t used the bathroom for hours. After taking care of business he slept for another two hours. When he woke, Joe’s leg was feeling marginally better than when he fell asleep, but he decided he needed to get moving. Thankfully, Joe was familiar with Montreal. Whenever he got bored at the lake house, Joe would drive to the city for a change in pace. He knew the hotel the Iranian general was staying at well and didn’t want to waste any more time.

First, he was concerned the Iranians might send more attackers, but doubtful. They knew where he was the first time, no way they could know his current location. Second, another attack would be sloppier than the first, and finally, he wanted to get his revenge and get it now.

Joe wrapped Duct Tape around a bag of frozen carrots around his knee, then got into his car. After passing through the Customs and Border Patrol gates, the drive was uneventful. He used the time to think about what happened to him and his future. Was he willing to leave his cushy job for something that could get him killed on a daily basis? Is that the life he wanted? And what about when he got married? How would his wife handle it? He decided he was going to let God handle it. If He wanted Joe to become a CIA Operative, then he would do so. Now he was struggling with the thought of God wanting him to kill. What if there were innocent people nearby? What if the general really was innocent and Joe killed him? How would God like that? And the big one, revenge. He was taking revenge in his own hands.

The amateur assassin passed a sign that read Montreal forty-five miles. He changed his thinking to the mission. He would have to hit the ground running. He knew where the general would stay, but for how long he didn’t know. He would have to move at a moment’s notice and there was a good chance they knew what he looked like. He checked into one of the lesser known motels in Montreal. It was the kind of place you pay per hour. He paid for two hours and used every minute to rest and to get his head right.

When his time was up at the hotel Joe eased into the back of a cab. The smell of bodily fluid hit him. He would have gotten right back out if he didn’t think the cabbie would remember the guy who refused to use his service. No, he would endure the smell by rolling down the window. He sat on the smallest sliver of the seat he could. Joe decided on the cab because he wanted to save his knee as much as possible. He figured it was the fastest way to get where he was going while staying anonymous. If he took an Uber, there would be a digital record. If he took the train, it could take too long. No, it would have to be a cab. He told the cabbie to drop him off a block from the Little Italy section of Montreal. He popped two pain relievers when he was two blocks from the Fairmont Queen Elizabeth hotel.

Because he had stayed at the Queen Elizabeth Joe was familiar with the layout. He turned down a small alleyway used for delivery. A small produce truck was backed up to the delivery dock with its rear doors opened. 

Confident he could blend in as one of the delivery people, dressed in jeans and a tee shirt. He grabbed a box of produce and walked past one of the kitchen staff. He left the lettuce on a stainless steel table and strolled right out a door to the side of the kitchen. Just like John Kimball in The Fugitive.

Joe found the maintenance room, grabbed the elevator out-of-order sign. He then rode the elevator to the top floor. He pulled the elevator’s lock button to off, attached the sign on the elevator doors, then got into the second elevator.

If the information Hannibal gave him was correct, the general will travel with just one other individual, his personal assistant. Of course, that could have all changed, but he couldn’t wait. The general’s arrogance will be his downfall.

Joe popped open the elevator access roof hatch just as it started moving downward. He watched a young woman step in. The elevator went up two flights, and the woman got out and an old man got in, then back down to the first floor. He checked his watch. It was 9:02. Then the elevator squeaked to life. Joe counted five floors as they flashed passed him, then it stopped. This is it.

The doors clanked as they opened. Two men spoke Arabic as they stepped in. The doors shut and Joe’s heart raced. Doubt filled him. It’s now or never, he told himself. You won’t get a second chance. Once I do this, my life will never be the same. He cracked open the rescue door enough to see the general’s assistant. He was talking to someone out of Joe’s sight. Joe understood this could be his only chance for revenge. He slid the door up enough for the suppressor and fired three rounds into the chest of the general’s assistant. The body of the assistant fell, and Joe swung the door up completely. He lined up his target and fired three rounds without emotion, then closed the roof door.

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