Frank’s grip on the wheel tightened; he was being followed. Damn! How could he have been so stupid? He should have seen the signs much earlier.
He reached for his phone as a loud bang went off. The car fishtailing, he hit the brakes and sped up almost simultaneously. Another shot reverberated through his vehicle, this time the bullet shattering the rear window and exiting through the windshield.
Ducking and spitting bits of glass out his mouth, Frank maneuvered his ride off the road and into the grassy fields, as the near fatal shot made contact. He slumped forward, blood oozing from his neck.
His car shuddered to a halt and the men in the SUV were instantly upon him, dragging him out by the collar.
“Where is it?” barked the scar-faced man, viciously pressing the gun to Frank’s forehead.
Frank smiled weakly, it was too late. Scarface discerned just that.
Frank closed his eyes, at peace when the bullet entered his brain. He had managed to email the file. Tomorrow, the whole world know that the President ordered the strike on the civilian aircraft that killed 226 passengers, including his wife and unborn child.
Written for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner