Catcher

A 15 Minute Story

Having ducked under the water and swum quickly to the edge of the pool as soon as he’d seen the guns, Catcher was now relatively well concealed on the edge the men had taken, but he couldn’t hold his breath forever. He turned his body to face the wall and crouched, before pushing up quickly and forcefully. He grabbed the man closest to him by the shoulders and let gravity pull them both back quickly into the water. They splashed around in the water for a moment before a sudden silence came over the surface; Catcher had broken his target’s neck. He pulled the combat knife from his opponent’s boot, and pushed the body aside, throwing the blade into another gunman’s throat before he’d realised what was going on, then lunging forwards and pulling the third man’s feet out from under him. He hit the ground with a crunch, his jaw broken on the swimming pool’s hard tile floor. Catcher was out of the water and on top of him now, slamming his face into the floor until he was rendered unconscious. He stood up and walked calmly over to the chair, where he picked up his phone and dialled the number. She picked up immediately; ‘You’d better come in.’

He went in.

‘Well done Catcher,’ she said in a mildly patronising tone.

‘Thank you ma’am.’

‘Of course we don’t know much, since the man you did leave alive is currently unable to talk.’

‘Yes ma’am. Bit of an oversight there. Sorry. I had things on my mind.’

‘I’m sure. Anyway, what we have found should give you enough to go on until we can coax him into writing down what he knows.’

‘And what’s that, exactly?’

‘The three men who tried to kill you all had identical tattoos. They’re the mark of a terrorist cell operating out of the United States, of all places; their aim is to institute total anarchy. Surprisingly, they’re quite well organised and have been connected with a lot of the world’s top assassins.’

‘I see. Do you have a name?’

She gave him not just a name, but an address: NOMAD’s last known base of operations. He slid them into his jacket pocket, where they remained when he was stabbed with a Polonium pin as he boarded the number 22 bus thirty minutes later. He died slowly and in agony, never knowing who killed him, and never solving the mystery of NOMAD.