William Dietz - Hitman - Enemy Within

“Get down!” she shouted. “There’s a man on the-”

But the warning came too late, as the shooter squeezed the trigger and sent a bullet spinning toward his target. The man nearest to Marla was in the process of turning toward her when the bullet slammed into his torso and threw him down. Then, before anyone could react, another rifle shot was heard and a second man fell.

Marla felt as if she were wading through quicksand as she turned back toward the door, and threw herself into the darkness that lay beyond. There was a loud clang, followed by a report, as a third bullet flattened itself against steel. That was the moment when she realized the truth.

What had been a sanctuary had been transformed into a trap.

A slender, nearly emaciated corporal was in charge of the surviving policemen. Not only was he angry about having lost one of his men, but the whore’s repeated attempts to exert control infuriated him more.

So when the shooting began, he led his men past the cowering children to the building’s back door.

Then, knowing how important good leadership can be, he exited first.

Agent 47 was within fifty feet of the maintenance building by that time, and was just about to check the seemingly unguarded back door when it unexpectedly flew open. And, having prepared himself for close-in fighting, he already had the 12-gauge shotgun in his hands.

As the police rushed the assassin, the pump gun made its characteristic boom-clack, over and over again, as the weapon jumped, and the double-aught buck tore the men apart. Blood sprayed the concrete, the doorway, and inside the building.

Marla was back down on the main floor by that time, and any thoughts she had of charging through the open door were put to rest when she saw blood come spraying in through the portal. So she and the rest of Al-Fulani’s bodyguards opened up on the exit with automatic weapons. That forced the shooter to withdraw-thumbing shells into the shotgun’s receiver as he backed away.

It was Agent 47.

Just as the threat faded Marla heard the roar of an engine. The vehicle sounded like a maddened beast as it came across the taxiway, and a Mog crashed into the huge double doors that guarded the interior, slamming them aside. That was followed by the sound of screeching tires, as the driver stood on the brakes, and a cacophony of screams as terrified children ran in every direction.

Marla might have rallied her surviving troops at that point, but a big fender struck the Puissance Treize agent a glancing blow and threw her into one of the parked vehicles.

That knocked the security chief unconscious.

Agent 47 was forced to step on the dead corporal’s chest in order to enter through the back door.

Four of Al-Fulani’s bodyguards had the presence of mind to respond, but both of the Silverballers were out by that time, and 47 fired them in quick succession. The hapless guards were forced to perform a macabre dance as the heavy.45 caliber slugs slammed into them.

Then more shots were heard—only muffled this time—as the remaining bodyguards attempted to escape via a side door, only to be met by bullets from the sharp-eyed Numo.

Satisfied that the situation was under control, 47 took the time required to reload both handguns before going in search of Al-Fulani.

The agent found the Moroccan cowering in a storage room, where he was shaking like a leaf and had recently shit his lovely silk pajamas.

“Good morning,” the assassin said politely, as the terrified businessman stared up at him. “My name is Taylor, and I have some questions to ask you.”

There weren’t any historians present to record the moment, but the airfield at Quadi Doum had fallen for the second time, and vultures were circling above.

Diana had flown to Rome for a three-day vacation and was asleep in her suite at the St. Regis Grand when the men in black came to get her.

The door was double-locked, of course, yet that was a minimal obstacle to the men who gathered outside her door. They picked the lock with ease, positioned themselves with weapons drawn, and prepared to enter.

But when the lead assailant turned the doorknob and put his shoulder to the wood, the only reaction was the strident beep, beep, beep, generated by the wedge-shaped miniature alarm Diana had pushed in under the door.

It took less than ten seconds to shove a long, thin pry bar in under the barrier and dislodge the wedge. Nonetheless, Diana was already firing by the time the door slammed open.

The first agent through the door took a 9 mm round right between the eyes and went down as if pole-axed from above. The man immediately behind him was more fortunate in that he was wearing body armor, and took two bullets to the chest without sustaining serious injury.

But as the impact took the second operative down Mr. Nu fired a Taser X26, which shot two probes at Diana. Both struck their target and delivered a shock powerful enough to bring her still-twitching body down.

“Get everyone into the bedroom,” Nu ordered tersely. “I’ll take care of the hotel’s security people.” There was a mad scramble as Diana was laid out on her rumpled bed, the dead agent was dumped into her bathtub, and the man who had taken two 9 mm blows to the chest was led over to an easy chair that occupied one corner of the ornate bedroom.

By that time Mr. Nu had shed his suit coat, removed his tie, and mussed his hair. With the improvised disguise in place he stepped out into the hall and was waiting there when two of the hotel’s plainclothes security people stepped off the elevator.

“I heard three loud firecrackers go off,” Nu complained belligerently. “Do you have children staying on this floor? My wife and I expect some peace and quiet for the kind of money we’re paying. Especially at the St. Regis.”

Both security people quickly turned apologetic and promised to conduct a complete investigation. They even went so far as to knock on neighboring doors so that other cranky guests could abuse them. Then, having been unable to pinpoint the exact nature or the origin of the firecracker-like noises, the two were forced to withdraw.

Mr. Nu reentered Diana’s suite and returned to her bedroom. Like most of the heterosexual men who had met her, the executive had often wondered what Diana would look like without any clothes on. And now he knew. The fact that her wrists and ankles were secured to the bedposts made the tableau all the more interesting.

Though still recovering from the effects of being tasered, the controller was clearly conscious and, judging from the look in her eyes, extremely angry. Her full—and apparently natural—breasts were somewhat flattened thanks to her supine position. Not her nipples though, which were pink and fully erect.

From there Nu allowed his eyes to travel down along the flat plane of her stomach to the intersection between her legs. Most of her pubic hair had been removed, and based on the small triangle of white skin he saw there, it was clear that the controller had a preference for thongs. Diana’s hips were a bit narrow for a woman, or so it seemed to Nu, but her shapely legs more than made up for what he saw as a shortcoming.

“Are you finished yet?” the controller inquired contemptuously. “Perhaps you’d like a cigarette.”

Mr. Nu smiled thinly as he sat next to her on the bed.

“My dear, dear, Diana. You sound so very brave! But as you know better than most, it’s hard to talk tough once the cutting begins. We’ll use the surgical cautery, of course. That was one of your innovations, as I recall. And a good one, too! Because the cautery seals the blood vessels off even as it slices through them. That prevents blood loss, and prolongs the subject’s life. And then there’s the rather distinctive burning odor, which adds yet another dimension to the process.