Rash Decision

    There were two people in the world that Eli hated: Hap and Jasmine. Both were high ranking officials in the C.I.A; one a Liaison to special operations, the other a public relations officer. Their illustrious titles were of no consequence to their devilish priorities.

     His most recent discussion with Lewis hap (the man he despised) had left him angry. He told Hap that if he didn’t stop the under the table dealings, Eli himself would go public with the information. He thought he had been fair: Hap gets to keep his image and position, Eli gets to rest with the knowledge that foreign countries were not receiving the latest intel about America’s high priority missions. The argument became heated. Hap threatened Eli with various fates ranging from death, to fates worse than death.

   Aside from Hap, recently Eli had been faced with the problem of a Jasmine who had been paid to cover up a serious crime within the agency. The problem was, Eli wasn’t sure what the crime was. All he had access to was a phone call that he had caught over the airways and analyzed: Talks of “being backed into a corner again”, and “prevented from getting rid of the evidence.” Elsa Jasmine had been on one end of the call. The  other caller had access to high enough security to block all traces and locks onto his location. He had to get out in the open with Hap, and he had to get to the bottom of this mysterious crime.

     The lies had pushed Eli to his limit. But he believed that it was his duty to try and resolve this unrest. It was a disgrace to the agency. He laughed for making such an old fashioned sentiment. There was hardly anyone who believed in the integrity of the C.I.A anymore. He had to come to terms with the fact that he was trapped. There was no way he could get out of this with clean hands. He had to do something rash. Something impossible. Something that bespeaks of a desperate soul.

     Eli had a knack for getting in trouble he couldn’t get out of. He had a knack for becoming an enemy. He decided that he had to use that knack right now. He strapped on his Glock 9mm pistol and took the elevator to the 8^th floor. He shot the man that he believed most deserved it, and walked away. He then took the elevator to the 2^nd floor and repeated the act on another despicable human being. He went back to his office, sat down, and pondered what he had just done. “A well done job,” he said. “A well done job.”