Chapter 3: The Fate of Traitor
Frank sat in a chair while Mark stood nearby. They stared at the body, unsure if it was murder or suicide. Frank was tense; another mission lost.
Two guns lay on the table: Frank’s pistol and the Lifesaver. The note still rested on the chest of the dead man.
Mark found a sack hidden in the darkness. He stepped closer, knelt, and ran his finger along the sack's coarse surface. “A sack of rice,” he whispered. “We should take it with us.”
“You’re still worried about food,” Frank said firmly, looking at the heart-shaped locket in his hand, “while I fail again.”
Mark knelt beside the dead body. “So, is it murder or suicide?” He touched the body. “It must have happened recently.” He carefully held the blood-soaked note and turned it over. On the back, it read: “Sorry, IFA.”
“And this is all because of you,” Frank said, putting the locket inside his suit.
“Because of me?” Mark was stunned.
“You wasted our time with all that pointless talk on the street.”
Maybe, Mark thought. “But we were already late.”
Frank snatched the note from Mark's hands, still angry about Mark's talk of his lover. He held the note and turned it over, reading aloud in a low voice. “I’ve seen the world fall to terror. I’ve watched hope fade. I’ve watched everyone I loved die right in front of me. But I was happy with my family. My wife and my sister. They gave me a reason to keep going. But now both’re gone. One after another. What else is left?” He squinted at the writing, struggling to make out some words before continuing. “I could have saved the world, but I didn’t. Shame on me. I can’t live with this pain. It’s hollowing me from the inside. So, I had to do it. Goodbye, all of you.”
“Another man with no hope,” Mark sighed.
Frank didn’t answer. Something was stirring inside him. He stood slowly, eyes locked on the body. “As far as I know, he didn’t have a wife.”
Mark looked confused. “What do you mean?”
“It can’t be a suicide,” Frank said, staring at the dead body. He looked at Mark. “He’s near.”
“Who?”
Frank didn’t answer. He grabbed his pistol and stepped out of the room. “Grab the damn Lifesaver.”
Mark walked over to the table and picked up his gun.
The room was dark. Shadows covered everything except the dead body. Mark turned toward the door just as he heard footsteps behind him. He froze. The hair on his neck rose.
“Frank?” he called out.
A man lunged from the shadows and grabbed him from behind, pressing a gun to his neck.
Out in the hallway, Frank spun around, gun raised. He stared, eyes wide. “Johnny?” he whispered.
Johnny, the man Frank used to whisper about? Mark wondered. The man's face was pale, his voice worn and shaky. “Let me walk out of here, Frank. I’m not going to hurt him.”
“You think I trust you, bastard?” Frank shouted. “You insane bastard! You killed Patrick!”
“No,” John said. “I didn’t.”
“You should have died of that virus, I always wished.”
Mark stood frozen, sweat running down his face. He turned his head slowly toward Frank. “Frankie…” he whispered.
Frank narrowed his eyes. “First, you killed Maria, and now her brother. Who’s next, Traitor. Me or him?”
“No one will die here, Frank.” John said.
Frank ignored Mark, desperate to take down John. “Confess your crime. Confess you killed Maria and her brother.”
John sniffed. “Frankie…” But Frank cut him off.
“I won’t hear anything but this.” He shoved his hand forward, his voice rising. “Confess if you want a quick and easy death.”
Mark’s throat was still pointed with a gun, but he managed to say, “The world’s falling apart, Frank. We need every man we’ve got—even if he’s an enemy. Even if he’s a traitor.”
John tilted his head in a surprise, looking at Mark, and then toward Frank with regret. After, he slowly lowered the gun, pushing Mark ahead.
Mark chocked as he fell to the floor.
John threw the gun aside like it was nothing.
“You bloody asshole,” Frank shouted, “you create a fake suicide note and thought we would believe that.”
“That was a suicide,” John insisted.
“Yes, it was suicide,” Frank said firmly, “but not his.” He raised his gun, aiming at John. He took out the red heart-shaped locket, kissed it, his face turning from anger to pity. “Maria, I love you.” And when he gazed at John, his face flared red again.
“Frank, don’t kill him. It’s not in our hand.” Mark stared at John and said again, “We are on a mission. A mission to protect.” His head turned toward Frank, “You’ll need IFA’s permission to do that.”
Frank looked at the floor like he was in doubt. He raised his head, looking at Mark. “Ok. Then let’s ask them.” He pulled out his phone, dialed the IFA, and held it to his ear.
“Mr. McMillan is dead,” he said flatly. “And I’ve found the killer. It’s the traitor—Marty. I’m awaiting your order.”
Mark couldn’t hear the words, but he could tell the voice on the other end was calm and quiet.
Frank’s eyes narrowed. “We can’t bring back the dead… but we can bring justice.” He listened, disappointed. “But he committed murder twice. He killed Maria and now McMillan.” He listened obediently and then gave a sharp grin. “I knew you’d agree with me, Master.”
Mark squinted, trying to read Frank’s expression. What were they telling him?
Frank nodded slowly. “Understood.” Then he ended the call.
He raised his gun and pointed it at John.
Mark stepped between them. “Frankie, please. He dropped his weapon. Doesn’t that count for something?”
Frank stared past him. “Your luck is strong, traitor,” he muttered. Then he lowered the gun and dropped it to the floor.
Mark exhaled in relief. “What’s the order?”
Frank turned to Mark, his voice firm. “A longer fate, I guess.”
Mark froze. Now he knew the order.
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