Confessions of an Assassin is the story of Catherine Carnegie. Although she was born to a wealthy, prestigious family from New York, her dream was all things southern. “Cat” finally obtained everything that she dreamed of since childhood. Once established in the loveliest home in Eufaula, Alabama, she meets a vaguely familiar man from her college days who changes her life. What begins as a fun diversion attending state dinners in Washington, soon immerses her in a dangerous unknown government agency. Despite attempts to withdraw from their clutches, she realizes that they are ruthless and unwilling to ever let her leave. Her assignments become more dangerous; sent to various places all over the globe. Eventually, she is given her most heart wrenching assignment in Bali, Indonesia which will change her life forever.
CHAPTER ONE: Looking Back
It all began so innocently. Looking back, it causes great sadness to think of the person I was at that time. Young, full of promise; I thought of myself as beautiful, so superior to the others. Now, I realize just how foolish, off course I had become, even in college, from the young girl in Manhattan, New York. My parents were part of “The” Carnegies. Our heritage caused great pride in all of us, even though my family was considered “the bottom of the line”. Father and mother were labeled “rebels.” Plenty of money and prestige, they were easily accepted at family functions. Yet, they were considered different. Never did they put on airs as some of the more distant family members frequented. Socially, their friends were very diverse. Those friends would not have been accepted by the rest of the family. I, on the other hand, was a snob, just like the distant others. Pure and simple if people didn’t meet my standards for beauty or style, I wasn’t interested. I surrounded myself with shallow and contemptuous people. Easy to be happy when you are told only what is expected, never the truth. To my mind, they were true friends. Believing that they would always be just that, I wrapped myself in their lies. What a foolish and shallow person I also was. This reference is not to my circle of friends. True friends, I had six of them. They remain my family. The contemptuousness to which I refer was a group. Not any group but a hallowed governmental organization to which membership was indeed rare. My inclusion caused great pride in the beginning. Later, I would see the depths to which they condescended to achieve their warped objectives. Until I die, I shall regret my frivolous notion that affiliation with them ever achieved anything more than the greatest loss of my life.
Now, I am an older woman at the proud age of fifty but I am not proud. How I wish that I had taken a different course. If only I followed the principles of my grandfather. Faith was a cornerstone for him. I possessed that faith but as I matured, I thought it “uncool.” So, I allowed my friends to direct my choices even though that small voice inside tried to give me the right direction. Many mistakes over the course of my life until I suddenly figured out that I was a mess. Then, I needed much correction just as a sailboat which erred off course for a long time. Changing my life and cleaning up my mistakes proved difficult and costly. In fact, I find it impossible to remove the baggage which I created.
The big regret of my life was allowing my country to dictate actions which were despicable. For my country, I committed the unthinkable act. It happened so slowly, getting caught in the web of lies. My life seemed glamorous; more than I ever dreamed. My actions became more and more exciting. The thrill was like a drug, I required added doses. Mounting danger simply increased the rush which I experienced. Yet, I told myself that I was noble, doing the right thing. To this day, I am not sure of one act; that treacherous thing which rids me of sleep even now. Right or wrong, I know I have received forgiveness. God has forgiven me, this I know but I can’t forgive myself. I suffer daily. Sometimes, when I am lying alone in a cold bed; I remember the life that I once possessed. The love which I shared with a man whom I never really knew; or did I? They told me I misread him. He was not the man whom I loved. That is the saddest part of my life. The part which I still grieve; the loss I unwittingly created. That loss is sometimes still unbearable. I acted without regard to his love. Superiority never allowed me to question my actions.
“Just do what you are told; act, don’t react;” brain washing created a lifestyle, a way of thought. After my loss, when regret overcame me, it proved too late. Maybe I could never prove his innocence. No proof was ever given to me of the “terrorist actions” he supposedly committed. How could I know the truth about him? I couldn’t. For the rest of my days, I question if there was a chance that he was my love. Still, my mind was wired to believe them. Had he merely used me to fulfill his objectives? The beautiful life which I treasured, which I still miss; was it really a lie? Could he have been so devious and cunning?