Dream of: 11 September 1999 (2) "Assassin"

Another person and I were hiking through a barren desolate area of Mexico, trying to reach a small town out in the middle of nowhere. We both had recently been recruited against our wills into some kind of intelligence organization. Although I had initially resisted the recruitment, I had finally accepted my lot, and was now ready to do as I was ordered. Now I had been ordered to travel to this small town in Mexico.

Part of the time we walked, part ran. I was wearing heavy hiking books, and wondered, especially when I was running, whether I should have worn tennis shoes. But it was too late now to do anything but trudge on.

For a long time our view seemed to be blocked by foliage along the path, but suddenly we came out on a clearing, and I could see mountain ridges off to my left, with steep sheer cliffs. The sight was spectacular. I knew places like this existed in Mexico, but I had forgotten them. Truly I needed to spend more time down here. The beauty of it all even sparked tears in my eyes.

When we reached the little Mexican town, we made our way to a small hotel and went straight to our waiting room. My companion and I lounged around, knowing we would receive further instructions. I only knew that our job would have something to do with a fellow named Pedro, a young Mexican man whom I had met before. I was under the impression that Pedro was in the employ of the same organization for whom I was working.

Thus when my final orders came through to me, I was surprised when I realized what I would have to do. A man who was my superior stepped into the room. He was perhaps 50 years old, a muscular sinewy man with a steely face and hard white teeth. Looking dismayed by the disorder of the room, he picked up a beer can, threw it in the trash and made some disdainful comment about the beer bottles in the room. He obviously had a very low opinion of my companion and me.

He quickly gave me my orders – I was to kill Pedro. I was momentarily set back. But I quickly accepted my orders. After all, I was now – an assassin. This was my role, and I accepted it. I not only accepted it, I felt purpose in it.

My superior obviously didn't care what I thought. I was just someone who had to carry out his orders. He clearly held little but contempt for my companion and me, and even referred to us as "losers."

But I didn't care much what he thought. I had a job to do and I would do it. I walked over to my dog, a black and white fellow standing in the corner of the room, grabbed him affectionately with my hands on both sides of his neck, and as if talking to the dog, but really addressing my superior, crooned, "You're talking to a winner, baby."

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