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Assassin’s Funeral |
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| Written by Chris | |
| Tuesday, 18 December 2007 | |
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Mrs. Pollan was a stay-at home mom. She had never had children, nor wanted them for fear that they would miss their father, who was often away on week or two week long business trips. She had met her husband shortly after graduating college, and apparently so had he. Eventually they were married and he accepted a job as a computer programmer for the government. Soon, he was asked to travel to various institutions in the country to work. However, the nature of these places was a mystery, as he explained: “Mrs. Pollan?” a voice asked after knocking. Mrs. Pollan strolled towards the front door, and pulled it open. “Can I help you?” She asked a plainly attired man that seemed to compliment the lightless night. “I don’t want to impose myself, but I think it’s best if we have a seat,” the man stated in a wary tone. “Alright,” Mrs. Pollan returned in a wary tone. She swung the door open and allowed her guest inside; she led him to the sitting room. “Mrs. Pollan, your husband was killed in an automobile accident,” the man said in a straight voice upon seeing his hostess take a chair. He said it in a voice that made it seem as if this was his profession, for all Mrs. Pollan knew, it may very well have been his profession. Her husband received insurance from his government job, so she never really what exactly the details were for their insurance. “Where…….” Mrs. Pollan whispered eerily. “Pulling out of an exit in front of his office in one of our branches,” the man replied, unshifting, unchanging. “How.....” fluttered Mrs. Pollan’s voice. “A piece of metal severed the spinal chord, there was nothing any paramedic could do, it was painless and quick,” he replied, unmoving, unemotionally. He sat there for a time, an unmoving time. Slowly Mrs. Pollan pushed herself off her chair and shuffled into the kitchen. Shortly after, the sounds of tea were heard. “Would you like any Mr….” “No, no thank you, we can arrange… everything, if you want, it’s in your plan. We’ll be in touch in two days. If you need anything call, and, I believe grief counseling is provided in the plan, so any help we can be, just let us know,” the man stated in a monotone. He moseyed out the door, amidst all the grief. “Mrs. Pollan?” the voice asked. “Hello,” she answered. After a brief introduction: “Well, the funeral dates we’ve arranged are…” he rattled off a short list of possibilities, to despondent Mrs. Pollan. “Oh, I say the one in the middle, so… so everyone can fly in,” she replied, not intently listening. “Ok the funeral’s completely covered including all catering costs, minister…” the man began listing all the possibilities. She picked a simple remembrance for her husband. As she sat, half listening, she began to wonder who her husband would have wanted at his funeral. While she sat, she began to speculate on who her husband’s co-workers were; she had never really been formally introduced to any of them. So, as a result, she had little idea which, if any, of them would want to attend. By the end of the conversation the date was set and the details furnished. Their families flew in, grief-stricken. She had asked her husband’s boss to invite the department members. She rapidly received a response that around 15 would be attending. On the day of the funeral, Mrs. Pollan stood alone in her black veil, with occasional expressions of sorrow passed to her by various people. One of her husband’s co-workers introduced himself and expressed his sorrow and returned to the group of co-workers, all adorned in similar black attire. Unbeknownst to her was the discussion they were having. “Why can’t we tell her?” a women, hurriedly and quietly questioned. “It goes against policy and would put her danger, what she doesn’t know, especially in this business, won’t hurt her,” a man snapped. If Mrs. Pollan had noticed him, she would have immediately recognized him as the man who had bore the news. “Well, she’s obviously loyal, I don’t think she’d betray her husband’s work. I mean, she wouldn’t want to undo it all,” a familiar voice replied. To Mrs. Pollan, it would have been the agent who had helped arrange the funeral’s intricacies.
“I agree, she wouldn’t want that to happen to her husband. I worked with him all these long years, “We’re not telling her and that’s final. For Christ’s sake, the CIA won’t even know about half of this for another 20 years! You’re proposing we tell an untrained, unknown person! Absurd!” he spat. Mrs. Pollan glanced over and saw her husband’s co-workers, enthralled in a conversation. She glanced away and directed her eyes towards her feet, as she shuffled forward to stand beside her husband for the last time. OPERATION SILENT SHOT
WILLIAM POLLAN, SPECIAL OPERATIVE, KIA. Copyright 2007 Chris |
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