Death of a Salesman
Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, not mine! But they can have my pocket lint for them!
Author Notes: My thanks to my beta reader for the quick look-see. Warning, character death.
Clayton Webb drew his Glock and opened the door quietly. He had received intel on Sadiq's location--and he was close, very close. He crept into the sleeping mansion and climbed the back staircase, wincing every time a board creaked underneath his Italian leather clad foot. Soundlessly, he walked toward the master bedroom. Unfortunately, his toe caught on a seam in the carpet and he tripped, falling with a loud thud onto the ground. He smacked his head against a heavy piece of furniture and passed out.
Webb woke to a gun pressed to his side. He was tied to a chair, and bright lights shining in his face. "Welcome back, Mr. Webb," a slightly familiar voice said.
He looked around and caught sight of his former prey. "Sadiq," he growled.
"Mr. Webb, the *last* time you had the pleasure of my hospitality, you escaped to destroy my arsenal. This time, you shall not be so lucky." Webb started to answer, but before he could, Sadiq shot him in the side. He moaned as blood trickled out from the wound in his side.
Sadiq cocked the gun again. Webb barely had time to notice that it was a 9mm Beretta before Sadiq raised the weapon to his temple and pulled the trigger. Sadiq motioned to his men. "Take out this trash and dump it in the jungle… oh, and make sure that the US government knows about Mr. Webb's unfortunate demise."
Webb's body was discovered by some villagers a few days later, and he was later buried in an unmarked grave because he had no identification on him--he was just another gringo who'd ended up on the wrong side of a gun. The CIA denied his existence. Clayton Webb had been employed by the State Department, not the CIA. Within a month, the rest of the world had forgotten about him; he *had* been a spook, after all.
Ok, so Mac's comment about going out with Webb hacked me off. He deserves it. Really.