User Guide

I laughed. He laughed, dabbing at
some sauce at the corner of his mouth.
“M. Chevrier, we have inconvenienced
these good people enough for one night.
Would you please step outside with me?”
“Of course, of course,” he said, waving
his hand in placation as he stood up, still
chuckling.
We strolled together from the restau-
rant, and M. Chevrier held the door for
me as we emerged from Galata Tower. I
led him to an alley, cleared it of riff-raff
with a few warning shots, then lit a
cigarette for M. Chevrier. He accepted it
with eyebrows raised in pleasant surprise.
“A Camel. My favorite brand.”
“My research is always thorough.”
He nodded. “I’d expect nothing less of
Gule Gule.” He took a long drag. “I will
triple your pay.”
I shook my head. “Unlike you,
Monsieur, I never go back on a contract,
no matter the profit margin. You
understand, surely?”
“Of course, of course.” He looked sad
as his last Camel turned to ashes. “I had
to try.”
Somewhere in the streets, someone
started screaming. He swallowed. The
first indication of fear I’d seen from him.
“I hope you’re not going to beg,” I said.
“No,” he replied, smiling. “I know
better. And what the hell. I’ve had a rich
life.”
I smiled back. “Another Camel?”
As he reached for the pack, I blew his
brains out.
The kindest killing is the one with the
least ado.
I tell you this story for several reasons.
Firstly, I do not enjoy being thought of as
a monster. I kill, yes. But never
innocents. M. Chevrier had reneged on a
contract to Templer’s Tigers, a flying
squadron who flew an honest mission for
the man, sustained blood losses and then
were cheated out of their rightful pay. He
knew the risk of such a default. It was
perhaps unfortunate for him that I was
put on his case. But that was always a
possibility. And notice, though it would’ve
been convenient
to eliminate him, I
went out of my
way not to kill the
hysterical maitre
d’, even though
he was a coward,
and threatened
my operation and
personal safety
margin. I am not
a monster, but a
merc only, and a
damned good one.
Another reason
I relate this tale
to you is to com-
memorate the bravery of M. Chevrier. Up
to the last, he was courteous, pleasant
even, and rouge or not, I will always give
a brave man a fair deal. If only all my
targets could go so cheerfully. Which
leads me to my second, more important
anecdote.
But I’m sure you first want the
explanation of why I stepped out of
retirement to bring you these stories. My
disappearance four years ago seems to
have inspired a return to the corporate
credo of old, of employers who view
mercenaries as cannon fodder, expend-
able and cheap, and undeserving of
honorable treatment. To those monied
interests who feel tempted to default on
payments for blood, I offer this tale from
my past as an example. And a warning.
It was late November of 2004, during
the first heady days of mercenaries, only
a few months after Turkey extended
“Diplomatic Forces Immunity” to any
mercs who chose to operate from within
her borders. I was one of the many
faceless hopefuls who had flocked to the
24
July 2011 • SUDDEN DEATH
“I will not go into much detail
regarding my background, for the
obvious reason that I wish my
true identity to remain unknown
even today.”
“Though I was
more qualified
by training to
kill than some
of those around
me with greater
experience, I
was unproven
to the powers
that channeled
in human lives
in Stamboul.”