Hitman: Enemy Within (23 page)

“Yes, I do.”

“Then go to work on it,” came the instructions. “Bullets will go right through that metal siding. I want you to drive them out into the open. Try not to shoot Al-Fulani however. That’s a no-no.”

It was an extremely cold-blooded order, because there were children inside the maintenance building, and it was clear that the man namedTaylor didn’t care. But Numo had children, lots of them, and wasn’t about to shoot someone else’s.

That didn’t apply to the adults on the roof, however, so he said, “Will do,” and chose the first person to kill.

Marla could already feel the sun’s warm promise as she opened the door and stepped out onto the metal roof. Soon—within an hour or so—the surface would be too hot to stand on. She knew that the man on the tower had been forced down onto the ground. But as she turned to take a quick look around, the
Puissance Treize
agent spotted movement up on the water tower!

“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 isTaylor , 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.

Chapter Fifteen

ROME,ITALY

Diana had flown toRome 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.

“Take this nipple, for example,” Nu said, as he took the nub between a thumb and forefinger. “You would be able to watch us cut it off, feel the excruciating pain, and smell your burning flesh all at the same time! Who knows? Maybe we could pop the little morsel into your mouth so you could taste it, too. Or,”

the executive added thoughtfully, “you could simply tell me the truth.”

“About
what
?”Diana demanded. “And get your hands off me.”

“About your relationship with the
Puissance Treize,
” Nu answered gently, as he continued to squeeze, harder now.

Diana winced.

“I don’t have a relationship with the
Puissance Treize.
”

“Ah, but I think you do,” the executive corrected her. “How else can you explain the one million dollars that was deposited into your checking account four days ago, the two-million-dollarNew York condominium deeded over to you three days ago, and the three million dollars’ worth of United States Treasury bonds that appeared in your portfolio the day before yesterday? We pay you well,
very
well, but how can you account for an extra six million in less than a year?Especially from a
Puissance Treize
front company?”

Mr. Nu had squeezed all of the blood out of the nipple by thattime, and try as she might, Diana couldn’t conceal the pain. Her face was drawn as she spoke through gritted teeth.

“It’s a trick. Can’t you see that? The
Puissance Treize
is trying to protect the real traitor. So he or she can continue to sell us out! And besides, if I were the person you’re lookingfor, do you think I would be so stupid as to take payments from a front company? Don’t insult me that way.”

Nu released the nipple and put his hand on her stomach. The controller’s skin was soft and warm. His index finger drew circles around her navel.

“Six million is a lot to spend on a red herring.”

“Not if the business you’re trying to hijack grosses over a billion a year,” Diana countered tightly.

“There is that,” the executive allowed smoothly. “Which is why you’re still alive.The Chairman has something of a soft spot for you, and rather than destroy something so beautiful, perhaps without cause, he wants to wait until all of the facts are in. Agent 47 said he was close to catching up with Al-Fulani the last time he phoned in a report. So, who knows? Maybe our enterprising friend will come up with the real traitor.

“But if he doesn’t, your immediate future will be somewhat painful.”

The comment didn’t call for a response, and the controller kept her mouth shut as Nu stood and turned toward the nearest agent; a skinny man who found it difficult to take his eyes off Diana’s naked body.

“Get something to cover her,” the executive instructed. “Then pack her things, take care of checkout, and get her to the airport. The Chairman wants her back aboard the
Danjou
by tonight.” He turned back to Diana.

“The rest will be up to Agent 47.”

Aristotle Thorakis was at his home inSintra,Portugal , when the phone rang. It was just after two in the morning, but he was still up, going over the company’s quarterly financial reports, when Mr. Nu came on the line. The shipping magnate was careful to hide the glee he felt as the executive told him about Diana’s detention, and the very real possibility that the controller had been the source of the devastating leaks. It wasn’t until the phone was safely on the hook that he felt it was safe to utter a celebratory “Yes!” and pump his right fist up and down.

He wanted to call Pierre Douay at that point, and thank the Frenchman for protecting him, but knew better than to do so. There was a very good chance that The Agency was still monitoring his phone calls. So, having no one to share the good news with, Thorakis was forced to celebrate alone. The Scotch was expensive, smooth, and very good.

Chapter Sixteen

QUADIDOUM,CHAD

It was warm on the roof, very warm, by the time Al-Fulani was assisted up the stairs and out onto the hot metal surface. Two bodies lay where they had fallen, and the air around them was thick with flies, as the Moroccan was led over to one of the camp chairs originally brought along for his comfort. The businessman was still dressed in his red silk pajamas, but they were badlysoiled, and offered little protection from the scorching heat.

Once Al-Fulani was seated, Numo secured him to the chair with several feet of duct tape, which made a scritching sound as it came off the roll.

“That looks good,” Agent 47 said approvingly.“Now for the umbrella.”

The mention of an umbrella caused the Moroccan’s spirits to rise, but they subsequently fell when the blue-and-white-striped sunscreen was set up a full fifteen feet away, and six of the older children were invited to sit in the shade. The Dinkas were equipped with bottles of spring water, too—all taken from Al-Fulani’s private larder. The girl, Kola, who had been raped the night before, couldn’t stop sobbing. They sat there for a while, Al-Fulani, the assassin, and the children, and the silence was maddening. The heat seeped into his every pore, but he withstood it, and refused to give in. Finally his captor stood, and walked over to the group of slaves.

“Here,” the assassin said without emotion, as he issued each child a knife. “Keep these handy.”

Al-Fulani’s face paled as he saw the knives, understood their purpose, and quickly lost his resolve. Before long, he began to blubber.