THE SHOT ALMOST HITS HIS HEAD. He immediately threw his laptop on the floor of the car, lying down on the side, on the passenger seat. Other shots were fired in the same direction, leaving his window almost destroyed. The shrapnel fell on him and scratched his skin.
Carefully, he stretched out his arm and turned the car key, to start it and try to escape, and with the other arm he tried to pull the gun out of the holster, but in the position he was in it was difficult to get it.
Suddenly, a strong hand broke what was left of the window glass, reached in and pulled the door latch open. A large, rough man appeared, with very light hair, a broad chin and thick eyebrows, pulling Martin out of the car, on that dark New York street, on the edge of the park.
With force, the stranger threw him onto the hood of the vehicle, holding his neck with one hand and with the other, punching and slapping him. Martin writhed and tried to free himself in every way, but it was useless to compete against such a giant, especially since he was a nerd and not gifted with brute strength like Gregory Evans who had passed through the army's elite force.
The man's huge hand was squeezing his neck and leaving him breathless, making the situation even more difficult. There was no option to escape; he had to kill his opponent, or he would be the one to die. It was then that he tried again to pull the gun from its holster, even though he was being hampered by the punches he was receiving. When he managed to hold it, he immediately pulled it out and released the safety, firing twice as best he could at the individual, hitting him in the right knee.
The man did not scream or show any reaction to the wound, but he let go of his neck and landed a strong blow on his hand, which knocked his weapon to the ground, and took a few steps back, feeling the wound.
Martin fell to the ground in front of the car, almost unconscious from the lack of air. He gasped in agony as he regained his balance to get up. He looked at the man who was checking the condition of his knee after ripping his dress pants, standing two meters in front of him...
It was him!
"Dwayne Cohan or Joseph Hawkes?" he asked between breaths. The huge man raised his head and looked at him in surprise.
— Now I understand why they gave me you as a priority... — he said in his deep voice.
The man's comment aroused enormous hatred in the young agent. He was that man's mission. Someone higher up had sent him, it was not an improvisation, but a real target. The man continued:
— You're smart, but you're not smart enough to keep quiet.
"Tell me," Martin replied, standing, leaning on the hood of the car, catching his breath, "did you put the bomb in the boy's backpack?"
The man laughed.
— You are facing death and still asking questions?
— If I die, at least I have to make it worth it.
— Hawkes... I've been called that before. — said the agent, throwing a piece of his pants aside and standing up straight. The darkness of the night made his face dark, like a Goliath coming from hell to bring death to the young and immature Martin. The man's answer scared him, and he concluded that his path was indeed right, and the clues were true. He realized that the confirmation of the facts was much more terrifying than the suspicion.
— Tell me! — he exclaimed angrily. — Did you kill that boy?
— It would be him or anyone else. You don't understand, I just did what I was sent to do.
— Cowards... — he replied in a monotone, grave and syllabic.
He spat his anger at such statements.
Joseph Hawkes started toward him, but Martin followed the side of the car and reached for his gun on the ground before he could be reached.
I would never defeat that man by force...
— He was a sacrifice for our country, just as I sacrificed my life for this cause. — Hawkes said, raising his hands to grab Martin.
"Sacrifice for what cause, Agent Hawkes?" Martin asked as he reached for his gun.
As he grabbed the pistol, he felt the force of Joseph Hawkes' right foot. A strong kick landed in his abdomen while he was crouched down, throwing him against the side of the vehicle. Even after being shot in the knee, the man still had great strength in that leg.
Groaning and panting as he fell to the ground, Martin only had time to defend himself from another kick coming his way. He put both arms out in front of him, and the pressure of the blow seemed like it would break his bones. When the third came, holding his breath, the agent threw himself to the side, escaping, albeit clumsily, from being hit by his tormentor.
The brute hit the bodywork of the car, which shook after receiving the blow. A sharp pain took over his knee after the impact of the kick, making him stop with his hand on his knee.
Martin felt weak after the hard blow he had received at the beginning, his vision was spinning and his balance was minimal. He would not be able to use the weapon accurately, and he did not want to risk staying there, at the risk of other enemies appearing. He threw himself into the car, which had the driver's door open, closed it and pulled the mechanical brake, then turned the key and started the engine.
Before stepping on the pedal, however, he felt the man's hands wrapping around him again and squeezing him. It was desperate! The giant growled with hatred and a desire to finish the job manually.
Martin struggled on the bench, as he tried again to reach the gun that was next to him, without even being able to look at it. A few seconds of struggle and he caught it, but when he aimed it at the man, he grabbed his hand, squeezing it to the point of almost breaking it.
Martin managed to put his feet on the pedals and start accelerating the car, leaving the enemy, who was grabbing him from the outside, in a bad situation. With the car moving, the man let go of his hand and grabbed the broken glass of the window, tearing a piece out of it. Martin turned the gun on him and fired, just as he felt the man desperately plunging the shard into his abdomen.
Finally the killer let him go, because he could no longer keep up with the car and also because the shot had grazed his chest, leaving him weakened. Martin accelerated as much as he could to get away from there. The strong metallic smell of the blood that was gushing from his stomach reached his nostrils and with each movement he made, he felt the glass cutting his wound more and more.
As he fled, he saw in the rearview mirror the huge man in the suit exhausting his strength and falling to the ground, but to consider himself victorious, he needed to survive.
Mentally, he searched for the nearest hospital and set off. The roar of the revving engine gradually diminished in his ears and the night grew denser and darker. He managed to walk almost all the way to the help he needed, but he could no longer see himself getting there, because everything went black.