Armageddon Rise Of The New World Order by Anthony Santora

close the distance and throw his daggers… Deshad looked up and smiled as a third more personal option appeared. Deshad split his legs and hoisted his 5’09” 175 pound frame up the walls. At the top of the hallway near the ceiling Deshad was completely cloaked in shadow. If someone were there to film the acrobatic feat that happened next few would think it real. Deshad braced his arms and legs on the walls until his back skimmed the ceiling. He then silently crawled forward alternately bracing one limb then another hoping the sweat purfusing from his face would not alert the guards until he had finally moved the length of the hallway to stop directly above his prey. The guards saw a flutter, then the glow of steel daggers that slid into their throats; their screams were muffled by the blood that flowed from their mouth and neck. Deshad smiled as he reversed his hands from a downward stab to a standard grip lowering his opponents to the floor silently while withdrawing his daggers and wiping the blood off on their shirts. Deshad quickly picked the lock on the bedroom door then entered to find Volkov lying on the bed. He was wearing a wrinkled pinstripe suit and lying above the covers with his phone next to him. It was obvious to Deshad that the man had been working to try and fix the decent in his ranks, unfortunately for the Russian Deshad didn’t care. Deshad pulled his pistol and put the silenced tip to Volkov's head. Volkov's eyes opened, he went to scream but saw Deshad’s pistol pointed at him with one hand and with the other Deshad was making a shhh motion. Volkov recognized the assassin and tried to talk his way out of certain death.
    “I, vill fix dis, I can pay. I ave lands and…and” Volkov cut his begging short as Deshad pulled the hammer back on the pistol. Deshad motioned for Volkov to move from the bed, with a pistol to his head he didn’t argue. As they stood up Deshad stepped back and placed his pistol in its holster. At first Volkov thought… hoped that this was a warning, then Deshad put his hands wide and softly spoke.
    “You are going to die tonight, will it be an honorable death or a cowardly one.”
    It took a moment for the offer to register, Volkov had the assassin by five inches and well over a hundred pounds but he knew he had no chance so he dropped to his knees and begged.
    “Please, please don’t kill me, I ave money…a family…I vill pay you then I vill run and hide.”
    Deshad moved around to stand behind Volkoff he then bent over and whispered in his ear… Volkov's eyes grew wide as he heard the true name of Deshad, he began to turn and look Deshad in the eyes then he realized … he wasn’t turning on his own power. The last thing Nikola Vladimir Volkov ever heard was the sound of his own neck break, the last thing he ever saw was a shadow fly by the window.
     
                              *    *    *          
     
    Wednesday November 24 th
    The trip from D.C. to New Orleans was not as smooth as Nathan had hoped. He was stopped by three checkpoints where the National Guard was turning people in the opposite direction as well as four state troopers through Georgia and Alabama for going 130 in a 95. Thankfully Nathan’s badge got his through without many questions. Nathan crossed Lake Pontchartrain and drove through the 50 ft steel levee built for the barrage of hurricanes the gulf coast sees every year. Nathan took a breath and then spoke to himself. “Home, where it’s still 90 degrees in November, where you can gain 15 pounds in a week and where the Saints haven’t won a super bowl in 17 years.” Nathan wished he was coming home under better circumstances.
    Nathan’s parents actually lived in an outskirt of New Orleans, a small piece of wood and swamp just south of La Place.
    Nathan pulled off of a dirt road and on to the gravel drive of his old home at 3:08 am. Nathan noticed his brother’s jeep packed full of the gear he asked him