Each step he took caused a chill to run up his body and through his spine, the freezing of the foot deep snow chilling him to the bone as he walked the quiet Chicago streets. The Windy City had settled for the night leaving only a handful of others brave enough to move out into the negetive twenty below weather. The harsh wind tore at the exposed flesh of Mathews face as he paused for a green light to turn red so he could cross the street.
Nothing about the man was out of the ordinary, he wore a simple black suit with a white button up long sleeve shirt below, black tie matching the darkness of the rest of his suit. A silver briefcase was held carefully in his left hand at his side, a medium sized gym bag draped across his chest and hanging near his waist, leather gloves protecting his hands from the cold for the night.
The glow of the red light covered him as the street light changed to signal him to cross - which he did. He continued his walk for six more blocks, nodding the the few others he saw before reaching his destination. The old Church stood tall compared to the small low rent apartments that stood guard on either side of it. For a moment Mathew would just stand there, hazel eyes locked on the front door, his breath visible with every exhale.
He wasn't quite sure how his life had turned out the way it did. He had a priviledged childhood and had graduated his high school at the top of his class, but turned down several scholorships for top ten colleges in order to join the military as a Army Ranger. He moved up the ranks quickly, hitting Staff Sergeant within his first three years enlisted. He saw combat overseas and had helped with disaster relief several times.
When his six years finished he had gotten a letter from the Central Intelligence Agency, an offer for him to come work for them. He jumped on the occasion, still being single and craving an adventurious life. He joined the Agency and was attached to a special department that tasked individuals to do jobs just like this. The public knew nothing of their existence, his family and friends only knew he worked for the government.
With one last cold breath he pushed open the large front doors of the church and stepped inside, the warmth hitting him quickly as he closed the door behind him. He walked past the lobby into the main room, pausing for a moment to tip his fingers into the holy water and give himself the sign of the cross before stepping forward.
The gym bag was unzipped quickly and a sixty ounce bottle of clear liquid was pulled out and set above the door way on the frame, resting on a small out crop from the wood panel. Two more bottles were placed on either side of the door as well before he placed the bag down onto the wood floor, pausing for a moment to pull out a small blackFabrique National Five Seven pistol, left hand working quickly to secure a silencer to the end of the barrel, a second pistol being put into a hip holster and attached to his belt.
With the bag used he stood back up, briefcase still in hand as he walked up the center isle, head locked forward and focusing on the main alter that was put up on several steps. Pictures of Jesus Christ in various states of crusifiction lined the walls, the eyes of the saints painted on the stained glass windows looking down on him, judging his actions. He stopped at the alter, pausing only a moment to look up towards the crusified Jesus Christ statue that hung from the ceiling.
"Forgive me lord for what I am about to do. It is my job and I am just a pawn in the game. A soldier doing the deed of his General."
With that he gave the sign of the cross one last time before placing the briefcase down infront of the alter, snapping open the logs and pulling up the top. Fingers moved quickly across a keypad, an LCD screen beside it turning on, the word "Armed" displayed in simple text. The door opened behind him, he could feel the cold grab at his back, attempting to pull him back into the darkness.
He stood slowly, turning his body to face the entrance to watch as four men stepped inside, all dressed for cold weather, ski maskes, dark pull overs and thick pants. A priest moved out from the side and approached Mathew, giving a quiestionable glance down towards the open briefcase and the gun in his hand.
"My son, what is the meaning of this? This is a house of god, please take that firearm out of here." His voice sounded worried, panic even. The creases in his face seemed to harden as he watched the younger man, one of his hands moving to run through the thick grey hair that rested on his head.
"Father Battoli...?" Mathew looked towards the priest. He was a good looking man, high cheek bones, a solid jaw line and hazel eyes perfectly spaced out onto his face. His nose drooped down just barely, brown hair kept short against his skull.
The Father just looked back at Mathew, adjusting his collar carefully, shooting a glance towards the entrance, the men were just about to pass through the door way. He took a few steps back. "This isn't your fight son, put down your weapon and leave..." The four men at the door frame opened their jackets, each man drew a pistol.
The next few seconds happened in a flash. As the men stepped across the door frame Mathew raised his right hand, the slide kicking back on the well made pistol, three shell casings flying into the air. Each bottle shattered a mere heartbeat after the other, the contents spilling down onto the four men passing the frame.
Their screams filled the church as they dropped their weapons and fell to their knees, grabbing at their face, hands and upper body. Smoke rose slowly from their clothes and flesh as the sulfuric acid ate through the fabric of their jackets and shirts and grabbed onto their skin, torching the flesh.
The father turned his back and started to run, his old legs moving him as quickly as he could muster away from Mathew, the side door was just ten feet away. A shot rang out, a shot so loud that was sure one of his ear drums had just popped. His legs gave out and he collapsed down onto his knees on the ground, left hand moving instinctivly to his lower right side, warmth greeting him.
Mathew stepped forward again, the echoes of each foot step making the priests heart beat faster and faster, a beat being kept to his inpending death, counting down the seconds. He spoke again, his voice soft, low and smooth.
"Father you have disgraced your lord and your country. For this I am sorry, I truly am. I pray for your soul in the after life. Hope god has mercy on your soul, because I sure wont."
Those were the last words Father Batolli heard, his old blue eyes widening as he reached out to nothingness before his world turned dark and the sounds around him faded out to nothing. The blood pumped slowly through his body and out of the hole in the back of his head until his heart finally stopped beating.
The men at the door were starting to get back up, the acid doing as much damage as it could for the moment. Mathew walked past the dead father and out the side exit of the church and down an alleyway, putting as much distance between himself and the building. He never broke into a run, just a brisk faced pace walk. His lungs still burned from the cold air as he navigated his way through the dark alleys.
A small device was pulled out of his pocket, hazel eyes glancing down to it for only a moment before the small button was pushed on it. The ground shook as the bomb in the church exploded, blowing the windows out and catching the side apartments on fire. The steeple on the church caving in down onto itself and crashing into the body of the building, past the ground level and onto the secret rooms that were beneath it.
The snow seemed to fall harder as Mathew exited the alley and circle back around towards his car. He could already hear the sounds of sirens in the distance, but with this weather it would take them another twenty minutes just to reach the fire. He climbed into the black car, started it up and drove away, pulling his cell phone out and dialing a number that he had memorized by heart. The person on the other end picked up.
"Black Wells Communication"
"The Rosemary Account has just been closed."
"Thank You" And then the line went dead.
