jason ryback bullet point for blogI had no choice. All I could do was trudge down one narrow street after another with my hands planted in my pockets. After feeling around my trouser pockets, they switched to the pockets in my coat, hoping to find something sharp I could use as a weapon, but I didn’t even have my keys in there. Why didn’t I get Six to give me a gun?

A chilly sensation crawled up my spine. They were still following me, whoever they were. I just couldn’t see them and I couldn’t lose them – even when I picked up the pace.

I made my way to dimly lit open space dominated by the dark shape of the cathedral looming over me. Our second meeting place.

But no sign of Six.


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The background noise grew as I wandered down a street with a few bars and restaurants. A young couple headed out and walked past me, hand in hand. I didn’t recognise them. They weren’t on the bus. But once I couldn’t see them, I felt both pairs of eyes burning into my back.

My heart pounded. It took everything to not run, but to wander as casually as before. Suddenly it wasn’t just the couple I’d passed on the street. There were more of them. I kept moving. I turned a couple of corners, but I could feel more eyes on me, following me. They were stalking me like prey.

I couldn’t see anyone. There were no footsteps running up behind me. But I knew I wasn’t being paranoid.

They were still watching me. What were they waiting for?


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The time we were supposed to meet had passed about ten minutes ago. I’d been hding there for about fifteen minutes. I could still hear Six’s instructions in my head as clearly as if he was saying them right then.

“Don’t just linger there like some weird stalker. Doesn’t matter how careful you are, someone will see you eventually and you’ll stick in their memory as the strange, creepy stalker guy.”

Pulling the penknife I’d found in the cottage from my inside coat pocket, I scratched a symbol in the brickwork to show I’d been there and had moved on. Then I set off, heading for our second meeting point. Deep down, I knew something was wrong.

A Nightly Stroll

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I left the hotel alone, passing the receptionist who had started the night shift well after we had checked in. He didn’t know who I was. I wandered out the door and paused on the street, looking casually left and right like a tourist out for a nightly stroll.

Following the route we had planned, I wandered down some quiet streets, aiming for centre. The only noise was when I passed a few bars who were still open for business.

Our meeting point was by the river. I stood, hidden in the shadows, jumping every time I thought I caught sight of movement in the darkness.

But nothing happened.

Six did not show.

Walther PPS

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Six loaded the magazine and aimed down the sights. Wielding it looked like second nature for him. It fitted his hands perfectly and was light and small enough for him to carry it around undetected.

“Walther PPS,” he said suddenly, holding it up for me to see. “9mm rounds. Light enough for me and adapted for concealed carry. Automated trigger safety so I don’t accidentally blow my privates off.”

“Always good,” I grin.

“This one’s been modified to fit my hands and so I can use a silencer. Most professionals use something bigger, but then most of them are bigger and older than me. I like it. I guess if I’m still doing this when I’m older, I’ll probably grow out of it eventually.”

“So they gave you that?”

“That’s right. Done every job with this – or three other identical ones I have hidden around the place.”

“You mean like a go bag?”

“Three of them,” Six said. “I’ll need to visit one of them when we’re in London.” He got up and took a glance through the curtains. “We’re clear. We should go.”

Trained as Snipers

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“We were all taught to shoot from distance. We were all trained as snipers,” Six explained, concentrating on the task of cleaning his gun. “The way you were loooking out, any of us could have done it. I could. Seven could have taken you down with a handgun with one shot.”

“What did I do wrong?”

“You have to look quicker. And take everything in. Start where the danger’s most likely to come from. Rooftops and windows opposite, then the street below. And all before they have time to get a shot away.”

Six finished cleaning his gun and put it back together really quickly. “Where did you get the gun?” I asked him.

At The Window

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It was nearly time. I stood at the window, peaking through a gap in the curtains every so often, my gaze sweeping the street below. A couple of streetlamps cast a dim golden glow over the cobblestones. It was very quiet. There was no one around.

“If there was a sniper out there, they could have killed you a hundred times over,” Six said casually.

He had cleared everything off the coffee table, taken his gun apart and was now giving it a thorough cleaning.

I backed away from the window.

“What do you mean?” I uttered. “There’s a sniper out there?”

“Could be,” Six shrugged. “Anyone I know could have shot you from the rooftop opposite and you wouldn’t have even seen them.”

Nobody Missed Him

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“No one out there is missing him?” I texted. “No parents looking for him?”

Then Silas replied to my text.

“No one. I have no idea who he is. Same goes for the three on the bus we can’t identify. They could be anyone.”

I examined the pictures again. The three Silas couldn’t identify were the couple on a walking holiday and the young woman traveling alone.

“Could any of them be after you?” I asked Six.

“I don’t recognise any of them,” he shrugged. “But they could be. We were always told the organisation we worked for was much bigger than us, that they had people everywhere. Sometimes it was used like a kind of a threat. You know, try running away and we’ll find you.”

Then, like it was just something on his to do list, Six pulled a gun from his coat and began taking it apart.

A Dangerous Question

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My next question was a more dangerous one, but I couldn’t help myself. It had to be asked.

“So who else out there would know about you?”

Six’s jaw set. He scowled.

“Seven. Nine. Eight.”

“But there must be someone else out there from your old life. Family? Parents?”

“I don’t know,” Six shrugged.

“Wouldn’t your parents have missed you when you disappeared and joined your employers?”

“No,” Six said shortly.

A text arrived on my phone.

“I’ve eliminated seven of them,” Silas texted. “Three of them have no digital footprint at all, no presence on social media – not even a single photograph. The same three hiding in every photo you took.”

Once Six was busy studying the photos again, a second text arrived: “Had a good look around for your friend Six. There was nothing. No missing persons or anything. If someone out there is missing him, they’ve never said so.”

Past Identities

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There was no point getting too relaxed or comfortable. We weren’t going to be in the hotel very long. I had to take my chance.

“So who else have you had to be?” I ventured.

Six looked up sharply – as he usually did when I started the questions about his past. “Kids,” he shrugged. “Kids other kids like. Kids grownups like. Kids who they like and trust and are happy to invite into the home or play outside on the street without thinking they’re about to break into their house. Kids who seem so unthreatening, that the target just lets their guard down, reveals something about themselves they wouldn’t tell another grownup. Kids who can disappear to the loo and no one questions if that’s really where they’re going.”

“You did all that?”

Six nodded.

“I thought your speciality was finding people.”

“That wasn’t all I did. But to find someone, you have to understand them. and that means getting in with friends and family sometimes. Doesn’t matter who it is, someone else out there always knows something.”