He’d just returned from a job in Bordeaux, France, which had inspired him to pick up his brush upon returning. He was tired and jetlag was not his friend. He sifted through his messages, mostly junk of course. He opened one and saw it was a job offer. He clicked and opened the file. It was a job in Dallas. Target was a female, and the photo was blurred.
“Great, so out of thousands of women, and I’m supposed to take out a blur.” He grumbled under his breath.
He wrote back, declining, he needed more information other than a blurred picture. That was a good way to get caught and also kill an innocent. Not only that, he never went on a job without good intel.
“Sorry, picture too grainy. Can’t do it without more intel.” He sent.
He deleted the message and sifted through more. His computer chimed and he checked the message. It was the prospective customer and the Dallas hit. He opened it.
“She will be in Dallas in two weeks. She is stalking Michael Davisson. If you track him, you can track her. I offer $50,000.”
Haiden sat back and scrubbed his fingers through his long black hair. He gritted his teeth; his hair was filthy. Traveling always left him grimy. This guy was serious and was offering serious coin.
He wrote back, “Cannot guarantee completion.”
He heard the ping, he was starting to get pissed off. He looked at the message, who was this Lawbreaker? This guy had a burr up his ass for sure. He read the message.
“Will send non-refundable deposit $20,000. If you can complete task, you get the remainder.”
Shit, what the hell, a free $20,000 payday with a might hit. He sat back and looked at the screen. Screw it, he’d take the job, and follow someone around in the off chance he saw the woman. He wrote back and accepted the hit.
“Send all intel you have. Will keep you informed.” He shrugged again and got up and went to take a shower, wondering why this woman was up Lawbreaker’s ass.
Maybe a jealous wife? Lawbreaker said the woman was stalking the guy. Maybe she was a crazy? No telling. But, for $20,000, he’d take a look.
Ϫ
Imani was following her target down Portobello Road; the scent of fish and chips permeated the evening. There had to be hundreds of tourists around her. She had decided to dress as one of her nom de plumes, Zack Flint. She wore black rimmed glasses, a thin black mustache, with brown eyebrow pencil drawn sideburns. She also had a mole pasted on her chin along with a rub on black tattoo of a small spider on her neck. She didn’t have a wig on, and she wore a loose brown sweater and jeans.
She had her ever-present leather satchel. She had it slung across her chest. She watched as her target moved through the streets, looking in windows and moving along with the crowd. She was moving slowly closer and at times, the man turned to look around him. She didn’t know if he felt her presence, but she kept her face placid and disinterested in everything around her. She knew that the evening low lights helped her cover as well. She was just another soul, walking along the Road.
With careful fingers, she drew out the hypodermic needle, she normally used the twenty-two-gauge needle since it was thin enough but tough enough to penetrate, allowing a fast delivery. Her weapon of choice for this was succinylcholine. Succinylcholine was a neuromuscular relaxant. She’d taken several bottles on her way out of the navy.
It was used during a tracheal intubation, and was also used during surgery on a patient. In small amounts, very safe, in larger, it would kill within minutes, and left no trace in the blood or body chemistry. The only indicator was the needle entrance, which might be overlooked. Her small gauged needle usually left little evidence of an injection.
She had an ampoule labeled insulin and it was the prescription for Zack Flint. She also had a glucose meter on her. It was all a part of the façade. This way, she was able to transport her weapon of choice. With each of her nom de plumes, she ensured the covers were complete with addresses and back histories. They would not stand up to in depth scrutiny, but they would with normal questioning. Nobu was at the other end, monitoring, and should she get in trouble, he could troubleshoot and help her out.
She carefully uncapped the needle, this was the most dangerous part. If she were bumped, she could easily inject herself and she’d be dead in minutes. She dropped her hand, cupping the syringe carefully, bringing her hand in front of her body. She looked into windows, keeping her target in her peripheral. She was about three feet from him, and slowed down. She drew her hand down, and flipped the needle point down, as she took a step closer, she brought her hand forward, in a smooth low arc. As she did so, she began to pivot into the opposite direction.
She was nearly turned, as though she were going to look into a store window when the needle went smoothly into her target’s ass. The plunger shot the deadly toxin into the man’s body. She was now looking at the window, as though she’d been standing there for a bit, when the man turned and looked around. She watched as he rubbed his rump, looking around. She turned her back, walking in the direction she’d come. When
