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Killer No.13 – Vincent de Paul

Killer No.13

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‘One Shot, One Kill.’ Sniper motto. That’s what they taught us anyway. That was once upon a time. A life long gone. Another lifetime.

It was at the Kenya Army School of Infantry. The training was vigorous, and dangerous.

First, I trained as a Recon Ranger, then Special Forces sniper. I was Killer No.13. Lucky thirteen, enhe!
Turned to a razor-sharp weapon, killing machine.

Then was enrolled for a secret hit squad that never existed, and it doesn’t exist. Our missions were TOP SECRET. We eliminated the highest value targets that could be threat to national and regional, make that international, security.

The only problem was that the pay was paltry. You know how the government, especially the forces, is mean.

Solution? I went freelance. In the mansions of powers that be I am respected, and honoured, and a solution to all problems – both political and religious.

The Dark Night of My Heart

In the rain of falling bombs, I crawled for cover beneath a body of a fallen brother, his blood the water I desperately needed.

“Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar!” The cries were more of a benediction than a declaration. The attackers were everywhere, killing the already dead who lay singly or in piles, pitiful fragments of humanity.

Most Wanted

“How much does a judge cost?” my father asked me. “That depends,” I said. “Well, seems like that’s all justice is about in this republic.” “What are you not telling

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