William Dietz - Hitman - Enemy Within

The answer was the sedative that 47 had stolen from a local veterinarian’s office along with a variety of things meant to cover what the assassin really wanted. And, because the vet doubled as the local animal control officer, the assassin had been able to steal a dart gun as well.

Thus equipped, it was time for a dry run. This was one of the most important assignments of his career, and he wasn’t about to leave anything to chance.

Having left the Scaparelli outfit back at the hotel, Agent 47 eased his way down the hillside behind the house and bellied up to the stone wall. It was late, so most of the lights were off, and with the exception of the dog and two security guards, the entire household was clearly in bed.

The German shepherd was allowed to roam free, so it wasn’t long before the dog rounded a corner and paused to sample the night air. Agent 47 heard the animal growl deep in its throat, knew a bark would follow, and took careful aim. The air pistol could fire only one hypodermic dart at a time-which meant that the first shot would have to be dead-on. It was a lot to ask at night, especially since he was using an unfamiliar weapon.

The bark was already starting to form itself in the German shepherd’s throat when 47 squeezed the trigger. There was a soft phut as the dart flew straight and true, followed by a startled yelp as the needle entered flesh and delivered a 5:1 combination of ketamine and xylazine into the dog’s circulatory system. The animal took three staggering steps, wobbled as it tried to remain upright, and collapsed. Which was perfect.

But had anyone heard?

Agent 47 hesitated for a moment, blood pounding in his ears, before vaulting over the wall. The guards would find the dog-that was a given-but how soon? The challenge was to recover the dart and enter the house before the animal was discovered.

One of many things the operative had learned from Maria was that the security cameras went unmonitored during the day, on the theory that there was no need for electronic surveillance as long as the guards were patrolling the grounds. Was the same true at night? Agent 47 would find out soon enough as he raced across the yard to the point where the semiconscious dog lay, plucked the yellow-feather dart out of the animal’s side, and slipped it into a pocket. This small detail was crucial. With nothing else to go on, the guards would conclude that the animal was sick, and hopefully focus on him rather than search for an intruder.

Moments later a male voice was heard calling for the German shepherd and it became steadily louder. The assassin felt something heavy land in the pit of his stomach as he made for the back door. Would there be sufficient time to pick the lock? No, 47 was pretty sure that there wouldn’t be, as he put his hand on the doorknob and twisted.

The knob turned, the door opened, and he was inside!

What about the alarm? Surely Thorakis would have one. But no, the house was as quiet as a tomb, with only the ticking of a grandfather clock to break the otherwise perfect silence. This suggested that the person who was in charge of security was entirely too reliant on the human factor.

Worried lest he make noise, or track telltale dirt through what Maria claimed was a spotlessly clean house, 47 removed his shoes, tied the shoelaces together so he could hang them around his neck, and ghosted from room to room.

After a short time, confident that he knew the layout by heart, he followed the dimly lit back stairs all the way up to the unfinished attic, where-according to Maria-the senior housekeeper had occasional trysts with the shipping magnate’s chef, who was something of a ladies’ man.

Having attained his goal, Agent 47 shrugged his way out of the day pack, reloaded the air pistol, and zipped the weapon away. Maybe, if he had gauged the dosage correctly, he would be able to escape without having to sedate the dog again. Especially if the guards took the animal to a vet and left it there overnight. In the meantime there was plenty of food and water in the pack along with an MP3 player to see him through the boring hours ahead.

Moving with extreme caution, he made his way over to a jumble of boxes, and crawled behind several of them. The floor was hard, but he was used to that, and found a spot that was both comfortable and defensible.

Meanwhile, one floor below, the man Agent 47 was planning to kill was wide awake and staring at the ceiling.

Even though things were going well for him, and he had every reason to be happy, it felt as if ice-cold fingers were clutching his intestines.

Why?

There was no way to know—and the hours seemed to crawl by.

Sunlight sparkled on the surface of the bay, and a powerful speedboat carved a long white line through the blue water as it towed a bikini-clad teenager past the Jean Danjou ’s lofty stern. The young woman waved, and although Mr. Nu waved back, Diana didn’t.

Which wasn’t too surprising, given the controller’s official status as a prisoner, and the chrome bracelet that encircled one of her shapely ankles. The leg iron was connected to a stanchion by a six-foot length of stainless steel chain intended to keep the woman from diving off the ship and swimming ashore. A long pull, but a feat that Diana thought she was probably capable of.

However, the bracelet and chain were really a kindness, a way to let Diana up on the deck, rather than keep her confined in the brig below. More than that, a sign that Mr. Nu was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, even if many of The Agency’s board members were already convinced of her guilt and eager to see her punished.

But Diana found it difficult to sit at the linen-covered table and soak up the Mediterranean sun knowing that the last days of her life might be ticking away. Even though Agent 47 claimed to have knowledge of who the real turncoat was, the assassin was in Sintra, Portugal, and hadn’t been heard from since his meeting with Nu.

Was that because he had followed the wrong lead?

Because he was dead?

There was no way to know. So as Diana surveyed the harbor and took a sip of chilled wine, death was very much on her mind. The controller wanted to live, but knew that she, like every other member of the human race, was one day going to die.

The only question was: When?

A uniformed crew member approached the table. He was dressed in a short-sleeved white shirt, matching shorts, and deck shoes. As with all of the other crew members he was careful to ignore the ankle bracelet and chain.

“There’s a phone call for you, sir,” the crew member said respectfully. “Should we put it through?”

Everyone was aware that Nu coveted the hour between five and six. It was when he liked to sit on the stern and enjoy an uninterrupted cocktail. So, given the fact that the people in the control room had seen fit to send a messenger, the call was probably important. Mr. Nu sighed. “Who is it?”

“Agent 47, sir,” the crewman answered.

Diana felt her heart leap, and saw her companion’s eyebrows rise.

“Patch him through,” Nu instructed. “I’ll take the call.”

“They already have,” the messenger said expressionlessly. “He’s on line two.”

The phone was already on the table. All the executive had to do was to push the appropriate button. Diana was grateful he put the call on speaker.

“Agent 47?” Nu inquired. “I must say, it’s about time.”

The assassin kept his voice low, which led Diana to believe that he was in a position that could be compromised.

“Sorry, sir, but I’ve been busy.”

Nu glanced at Diana.

“Don’t keep me in suspense, 47. What, if anything, have you been able to learn?”