Note:-The following is a work of pure fiction. Keeping in mind the backdrop of the story certain dialogues have been written in German in order to maintain the essence of the story. The translation is given by the words enclosed in parenthesis.

Prologue

The gunshots sounded like a bomber emptying its belly onto the earth below. Each gunshot pounded his ear again and again since the last twenty years. The sight of seeing loved ones fall dead in front of you is heart rendering. He has witnessed death in its closet possible manner. His mother ran into the house quickly, picked him up with all the energy left in her and pushed him up into the attic. But the glass of the window which the attic faced was not sufficient to hold the bullet, it struck its target, as soon as he got onto the attic his mother fell dead. But amid all the pandemonium he managed to see his mother’s killer’s forearm and a serpent’s tattoo on it and the sniper disappeared the very next moment.

Berlin, Two days before the end of the war, 1945

The war which saw scores of mammoth destruction was drawing to a close. Hitler was dead, some said he shot himself, the others said he poisoned himself to death. The Russians and the Americans were everywhere on the streets of Berlin. Germany fell.

David Dietmar, a young Russian marksman was there too. Germany was there for taking, she was free to be looted and wrecked. The young Russian marksman was a well known personality among his cadres, he was known to one of the best sharpshooters in the war. A dozen assassinations earned him the nickname of ‘Carlos’.

Same Night, on the streets of Berlin

The Russians were searching for the valueable leftovers house by house. Carlos was there too. He had his Mosin-Nagant with him all the time along with a sidearm, a TT-33 in his holster. The streets were dark, wrecked, deserted in short what was left was just rubble, just rubble everywhere. They were scorning house after house and street after street. Shortly after midnight, they decided to call it a day, just then one of the patrol members saw a dim oil lamp burning at far-off building.

The three men looked at each other, the moon was shining at its maximum capacity, this enabled them to clearly see each other, their eyes and hands synchronised with each other and moved forward without disturbing the silence of the night. One of them pointed his forefinger to mansion while the other was keeping an eye on the surroundings. They did not want die at the end of the war, surviving the ordeal. They did not want their lives to end in an irony.

They moved forward, one step at a time. Carlos led the group slowly yet steadily. The entire path welcomed them with the dead gazing towards the sky into a world totally unknown. They were all poisoned to death, all of them dead in one shot. They kept moving forward unknowing what lied in front of them.

After six gruesome minutes they reached the mansion. All of it was in dark except for a small corner deep in the ground floor. The light, an oil lamp was burning in its minimal possible flame. Three of them stormed the building through the front door. The two others stayed behind Carlos. They made their way to the room where the light was burning. They had guns pointed to a young six year old.

Dressed in a knee long shorts and a tattered shirt, he was terrified at the sight of guns. His face was marked with scars, hunger and fright. Blood was dripping from his right palm and two bodies of a man and a woman lied next to him. Both shot in the head, at point blank.

Carlos and his men lowered their guns. The sight of the kid was heart rendering.

“Name?” spoke out Carlos in the softest possible manner.

“Gabriel”, said the boy, quivering with a stammer in his voice.

“Ihr vollen name?” asked Carlos

(Your full name?)

“Gabriel Evron”, said the kid

“Jew?? Speak English?” asked Carlos looking at the kid right into his eyes trying to soothe his fears.

“I speak English, yes I am a Jew” replied Gabriel.

“Who are they?” asked Carlos pointing to the two dead bodies on the floor.

“My parents”, he said with tears rolling out of eyes and the eyes glued to them and continued, “The Americans killed them, they killed my brother. They killed my entire my family.”

“How did you survive?”

“I was hiding in the attic”, he said pointing to a concealed attic close to the roof.

Carlos turned back to his men, they spoke in Russian and he turned to Gabriel and asked, “Wanna come with us kid?”

The kid trembling with fear looked into the eyes of Carlos and then looked at his dead parents.

He didn’t utter a word. He just nodded his head.

 “Okay, let’s move out”, said Carlos, and started to move out. Gabriel’s eyes were still red, full with tears. He turned his head towards his dead parents and glanced at them for the last time and started following Carlos and his men.

Christmas Eve twenty years later

He looked through the rifle telescope his right hand moved towards the head of the rifle, he pulled the lock ‘taach…’ it got unlocked. His right forefinger moved towards the trigger, it clasped the trigger, the curved design of the trigger made it easy to hold it firmly. He adjusted the scope to make its crosshairs to produce a perfect ninety degree angle. He then pulled the trigger. The atmosphere around was silenced the by the cacophony of the gun shot, the birds began to fly leaving the trees deserted. The rifle recoiled and the bullet left the barrel to hit its target. Within seconds the pumpkin placed at two hundred metres from his position got ripped into pieces. It was a bull’s eye. The bullet did hit its target. Smile came on his face.

“Gabriel that… I reckon was your best shot”, said Carlos, now fifty he showed signs of aging. His hair was now grey and grew bald as the time progressed. His eyes were weak and his hands weren’t so firm too.

Gabriel lowered his rifle and turned behind to face Carlos.

“Dad, don’t you think you should retire?” questioned Gabriel quizzically.

“Not so soon,” spat the reply came in an equivocal tone from Carlos and continued “you still need to learn a lot.”

 “Yeah, yeah I know I know…”

“Remember son our world is governed by rules to which we have to abide if not we are dead men. It’s a world of secrets intricate and deadly. There are people who would go to any extent”, he gave a pithy pause and continued “just to keep them concealed.” said Carlos turning towards the mirror meeting Gabriel in the eye.

Carlos slowly sank his back into the ebony chair at couple paces from the mirror and Gabriel held his back to the wall and adapted himself to a casual standing position.

Two Days Later, KGB Headquarters, Somewhere in Moscow

The dome was nearly a twenty feet above their heads. Ten men sat in an elliptical formation on proportionate number of rosewood and ebony chairs. The table, elliptical in shape and made of the finest available mahogany wood with carvings which are next only to the Queen’s desk in London was completely flooded with papers all of which were the same and placed in front of each and every person present, Carlos was there and so was Gabriel. 

The room was lit by the chandeliers hanging from the domed ceiling. The walls of the quaintly lit room were brought to life by the paintings of eminent artists of the time.

The front page had the symbol of KGB imprinted on it with a white backdrop. The quorum was being presided by the head of the organisation, Alexander Asimov. Asimov seventy years old got up from his seat and started moving. He held the set of papers in his hands the wrinkled skin on them would deceit anyone. They were firm, rock steady. He flipped open the booklet. The first page consisted of a picture probably taken in a long shot, blurred, grayscale image of a man with goggles covering his eyes, his forehand and the rest of his face was covered by a black cloth as though it were a veil leaving only the traces of his cheeks left unconcealed.

“The man you see in the picture in front of you needs no introduction,” Asimov started without any emphasis on formalities. It was a routine banal he had been doing this for years now. He continued “the man here is Gary Pierce or popularly known as the ‘Serpent’ the CIA operative from Atlanta, Virginia. He has been under our scanner for years. But so far this is the only available recent photograph of his. The person who shot the picture was found dead in his apartment three days later.” He completed locus of the table once and turned his back to the magnanimous teak framed window facing towards Kremlin.

He again faced the table and its occupants and continued “Gary Pierce was last spotted in London six months back and is still believed to be there. He has been accused of smuggling Soviet arms into eastern Italy and southern France and has been under surveillance since then. But he has successfully eluded our men and vanished into thin air without a trace. Last month however, he was spotted in London.”

He flipped over to the next page. The others followed him. The next page contained yet another picture with a backdrop of pub with its billboard written in English of a black man with a shiny bald head and cigar in his mouth spewing its smoke into the ambience. The photography probably shot from a close range was bright, lucid and crisp.

“The man you see here is Juninho, a Brazilian by birth and now a resident of New York. He has been associated with the Serpent”, Asimov turned to the page. It was the last page in the booklet. It too contained a photographer. The photograph was the best of the lot, a close up shot perfectly zoomed in of a man draped in a black three piece. His eagle eyes covered with sunglasses and his left hand the butt of the pistol while his right abutted the left. Asimov continued “this final picture you see is of Alex Gonzales, a Spaniard. Alex now settled in New York as a businessman is actually the final accomplice of Gary. He is a charlatan in the form of a businessman. He is an international arms smuggler. All three of them work as a team.”

He closed the booklet and dropped it on the table and stared into the eyes of the men present there.

He gathered up his breath again and started, “You men have a job,” a brief pause followed and he turned towards the window again and in a raised tone he continued, “Eliminate them. All of them.”

“Carlos,” Asimov turned towards Dietmar and continued “I want you on this. The others will provide you with the necessary leads and information as and when required. You’ll be catching the next flight to London which is due to departure in the next three hours. You’ll get the necessary papers and fake passport which will be given to you at the airport by one of our men.”

Two Days Later, Gabriel’s Home, Sometime after Midnight

The gunshots sounded like a bomber emptying its belly onto the earth below. Each gunshot pounded his ear again and again since the last twenty years. The sight of seeing loved ones fall dead in front of you is heart rendering. He has witnessed death in its closet possible manner. His mother ran into the house quickly, picked him up with all the energy left in her and pushed him up into the attic. But the glass of the window which the attic faced was not sufficient to hold the bullet, it struck its target, as soon as he got onto the attic his mother fell dead. But amid all the pandemonium he managed to see his mother’s killer’s forearm and a serpent’s tattoo on it and the sniper disappeared the very next moment. Gabriel couldn’t take it anymore. He woke up in a blistering manner. His body was drenched in sweat. He turned on the light and got up from his bed.

Just then his phone started ringing. Gabriel was worried. The only other person who knew the number was Dietmar. He paced towards the phone and picked it up, “Hello.”

“Gab…I’m sorry my son”, Dietmar’s voice was breathless, his gasps for air could be heard clearly, he continued “I guess my race has been run over. Serpent has compromised.” He was hurrying through his words and Gabriel understood the situation. They had only few minutes or rather only few seconds of to talk forever. This could be their last conversation. “Its all ov………….”

The next thing that Gabriel could hear was a gunshot fired from point blank range. Its cacophony was crystal clear. The line went dead. The phone slipped from Gabriel’s hand without his consciousness. He took a few paces backwards until his back touched the wall behind, he sank down to his knees and looked towards the roof above to see the wings of the ceiling fan leaving a trail behind, tears rolled out of his eyes involuntarily.

Next Morning, At KGB Headquarters

The previous night’s incident shook the entire team. Asimov was worried, he lost his best man. The room held a dejected look, grim and inconsolable. Asimov moved heavily towards Gabriel and patted his shoulders. Gabriel turned over, their eyes met. It was self explanatory. Gabriel was now assigned to finish some unfinished business.

Asimov facing the rest spoke for the first time since the meeting began, “From tomorrow you’ll be trained by our best. You’ll face the assault and the obstacle courses and the finest of the covert ops. This is just the making.”

The following two months Gabriel was put through rigorous training through the assault and obstacle courses. He was trained to climb high rise walls, pole vaulting, crossing barbed fences, escape through captivity, to use his holster to its optimum best. He was also trained to stay tight lipped, to keep his emotions in check. In short he was taught to play the game of stealth in its best possible modus operandi. He was trained to become a professional.

Three Months Later in London

Gabriel arrived in London. His objective was quite clear; eliminate the target and his accomplices. He lodged himself in a cheap motel close to the Waterloo subway. His was tired after a tedious journey. He opened his backpack and laid the required papers on the desk next to him. The room looked over to a local pub. He glanced towards the photograph of Juninho. The billboards matched, the window would provide perfect shot. His hand went into the pocket of his trousers, out came a piece of crumpled papyrus scribbled in an uncontrolled, wavered and forced handwriting indicating a certain time of the day.

He pulled a box in the shape of a guitar out. He pulled out the components one after another. He assembled the pieces one by one inch by inch. After all the pieces of the jigsaw came together, the rifle stood facing the pub on a tripod. The Mosin-Nagant was presenting death to its victim. He tied one end of a string to the trigger and the end of it to a motor shaft of a pedestal fan. He glanced at the clock, packed his bag and checked out of the motel. He waited for half an hour. The tower clock struck the hour bell. It was already late in the night the roads wore an abandoned look. He started moving towards the pub door pacing his steps in cool casual manner. Juninho came out of the door, stuck to a hooker’s hand he paid her the due amount and she changed her path.

Gabriel waited for the hooker to clear the street into the dark.  He now raced through his foot steps. He advanced in a brisk fashion towards Juninho, who already drunk and on a high trotted towards his vintage Ford unaware of the Gabriel’s presence. Juninho opened the door and was just about to sit in driver’s seat. Gabriel came forward with a cigarette stump in his mouth enquiring for a match. Juninho looked into breast pocket for a match taking his eyes of the stranger. In a blitzkrieg manner Gabriel reached for his TT-33 assembled with a silencer and shot Juninho at point blank ad immediately after the shot he placed a bit of paper with a telephone written on it in Juninho’s upper pocket. Gabriel moved into the dark and after a few seconds a loud gunshot broke the silence of the night. Juninho laid dead the second shot came from the Mosin-Nagant placed in the motel room. By then Gabriel vanished without a trace. The gunshot shook the pub owner who came out with a worrisome look on his face and went back in to call Gary ‘the Serpent’ Pierce.

Gabriel reached the safe house. He sat near the telephone constantly glancing at the clock hung on the wall to his left. After a patient wait of two hours his phone rang.

He lifted the receiver and started speaking, “I hope you got your gift.”

The man on the other end of the line began, “Yes. What do you want?”

 “You” The answer was too simple than expected

“Interesting, you kill one of my men and now you want me. You want me, you’ve to get me. Meet me in the morning tomorrow at Trafalgar Square, 2nd Street.”

“No. I call the shots now. Meet me Rosnil Church, 4th Street, King’s Cross.” And Gabriel hung up the call. After that he made as series of calls routed to several confidential lines.

Next Morning, Rosnil Church, 4th Street, King’s Cross

Gary walked into the deserted church, the entrance pavement was concealed by dead leaves and twigs that laid undisturbed for years. He went into the inside of the medieval church and sat in one of the chairs. The picturesque church was well lit by candles held by the chandeliers hanging from the roof. Few minutes later Gabriel walked in from Gary’s behind. Gary wore a half sleeve shirt, the light in the room was sufficient enough to show his forearms and the tattoo on one of them. Gabriel was awestruck the tattoo was the same he saw on the sniper’s arm twenty years ago, he found him.

“Everything happens in threes”, said Gary turning towards with laughing hysterically Gabriel who was yet to regain himself.

Gary left Gabriel dumb folded again when by showing his face for the first time to an outsider. Gary ‘the Serpent’ Pierce was none other than David ‘Carlos’ Dietmar.

“What son, astonished to see a dead man alive” questioned Gary quizzically and continued “I must thank you for making my work easy. You really helped a lot by killing Juninho. Remember that night when I called you. The gunshot that followed at the end, it was Alex who died we killed him. Now did a good thing again by walking straight into my trap. What do you think, am I a fool to come alone?” continuing his hysterical laugh.

Gabriel raised his arm and the conversation was cut short, he spoke, “All your men must be dead by this time. You can take a look,&rdqu