The Frenchman

A glint of a gun. A shout in the air. A thwack of flesh. A slumping figure. A body in the dark water.

    **Two Days Earlier**

    Ward stepped onto a train out of the bright light of France.  His mission was of the utmost importance, and nothing could stop him. Well, maybe except for a half-pound burger. He strolled into the food car and sat down.

As Ward ordered and ate his food, he scanned the train for anything suggesting he was in danger, a flashing glance or a suspicious face perhaps. However, in all his scrutiny, he never noticed the old couple in the back sipping tea, or the dirty barman at the counter washing glasses and making coffee. 

The pristine forests of France reminded him of his home in the wilderness of Alaska. Ward thought back to the last time he saw his kids, who would now be three years older. He couldn’t wait for this damned war to be over and finally see his children again.

Drinking a black, foul smelling coffee the barman had dropped off, he felt a sudden drain in the pit of his stomach.  He tried to stand but his legs wouldn’t respond. Crashing to the floor, Ward fell into black faster than his wife divorced him. 

Ward groggily opened up to a dark ceiling. He stepped off a hard, cold bed, and discovered he was in a jail cell.  Ward looked around and found only the bed he slept on and a slimy toilet. Looking down at his body, he found he was covered in scratches and scabs that he didn’t remember getting. Ward stepped up to the bars of the cell when a voice spoke behind him.

“Good morning, Ward Grant,” the voice said in a lofty French accent, “we have been expecting you.”

    “Who in Uncle Sam’s ass are you?” Ward snarled, “Why am I here?”

    His captor chose to ignore this question and instead said, “I am Lieutenant Pierre and you have been taken in for custody for crimes against the Republic of France.”

    “What crime?” Ward bluffed, “I haven’t done anything wrong! ”.

     Instead of answering him, the Lieutenant handed him a manila folder. Ward opened the folder and nearly dropped it onto his shackled feet. It was his assignment, with details of objectives and directions. Only his commander had this folder.  

“Why were you assigned this mission?” Lieutenant Pierre barked, “Who gave it to you?”

“Like hell I would tell you,” Ward spat back.

“You’ll spill eventually.”

 As Lieutenant Pierre left the cell, he dropped a shiny metal object on the way out. Inspecting the object, Ward picked up a silver key that looked to perfectly match the key slot on the cell door. His heart racing, Ward eased the door open and to his surprise, the lock clicked! 

Man, these french are very dumb, Ward thought as he slipped away from the cell and into the winding complex. 

    Running through doors and hallways, Ward soon felt a cool breeze brushing against his skin. He pushed open another unlocked gate (his fifth today… they keep on comin’) and stepped out into the yard. Beyond the barbed wire, he could see two massive mountains and a river snaking its way down toward a valley. He sprinted down to the river bank, looking for anything that could help him escape. To his surprise, he found a convenient canoe on the water’s edge. He was very lucky today, maybe even too lucky. Ward scrambled into the canoe, picked up the paddle, and splashed away. 

    Paddling away from the prison, Ward looked all around for pursuers, despite the fact that he managed to escape. This felt like taking candy from a baby: no torture, Lieutenant Pierre dropping the key, no guards barring his path, and a conveniently placed canoe with a paddle. (Better timing then   But most importantly of all, he couldn’t remember getting these scratches and bruises, but he could definitely feel them.  At least I’m free Ward thought, but he couldn’t shake the feeling something was amiss.

Lieutenant Pierre watched the boat paddle down the river, a smile on his face. It had been so easy to trick the prisoner into thinking he could escape. Because obviously that’s what happened. The lieutenant was shocked that the prisoner was so naive.  Now, all the Lieutenant had to do was wait. He pulled out a phone and dialed a number. When the line picked up, the Lieutenant ordered, “Take the shot”

    A few hours in, Ward had seemed to go nowhere, the massive mountains still surrounding him, the valley still miles away. Ward was starting to get tired. His arms felt like noodles–mmm, noodles–and his back hurt from sitting up and paddling. He soon passed another cliff and peered at the edge, and his heart sank. That was the same cliff he had just passed an hour ago! A few minutes later, he saw a fish swim to the surface. Ward stared at the fish in shock. He had seen that fish an hour ago too! Looking around at his surroundings, he tried to identify anything else familiar. Ward looked to the far bank and almost fell out the boat. A gun! He stared at a man holding a rifle and before he could even blink, a bright red splotch appeared on his chest. Ward looked down and found his clothes covered in blood, a small dark hole punched into his heart. His strength failing –not again–Ward fell from the canoe and into the deep, dark water.

    Gasping, Ward swung his body upwards. Well, at least he tried to. Ward was tied to a table, a contraption strapped to his head. His head pounding, his eyes flaring, Ward could remember what had just happened: Escaping the prison, paddling the canoe down the river, feeling a pain in the chest, falling into the river. Ward looked up into the sharp angular face of Lieutenant Pierre, his face awash with a gloating smile. 

    “Who’s ready to talk?” Lieutenant Pierre asked.