Hitman: Enemy Within (31 page)

Meanwhile it seemed safe to assume that the opposition would be armed with a pistol, some sort of submachine gun, and a sniper’s rifle. Not to mention night-vision goggles. Of course, The Agency’s satellite—plus Diana’s ability to keep him advised of the German’s movements—would help to compensate for that.

“So, what did he choose?” 47 wanted to know.“The highest tower—or the rock pile above the ruins?”

“The rock pile,” the controller answered clinically.

“That’s what I would choose,” the operative said thoughtfully. “You can see just about everything from the tower, but there’s no way out, and our friend will want an escape route.”

“He isn’t your friend,” Diana said sternly. “Are you ready to move?”

There were hundreds of nooks and crannies in the ruins. The space 47 had chosen was vaguely rectangular in shape, barely high enough to stand in, and equipped with a dirt floor.

“I will be soon,” the agent said, as he aimed a stream of urine into a corner. A moment later, he said,

“Okay, here I go. Keep me informed.”

“I will,” Diana promised him. “Be careful out there—and don’t forget to zip it up.”

The sun had set hours earlier, and it had turned cold. But the
Puissance Treize
assassin had anticipated that problem, and was dressed appropriately. And he could still see, thanks to the ambient light and the night-vision goggles he wore. The device worked better when he didn’t look directly at the lights of Sintra. So the German did the best he could to avoid that, while continually scanning the area around him. It was a monotonous task that caused him tomiss Holm even more. With her at his side, there had been no need to worry about the possibility that someone would sneak up on him from behind.But Holm was dead, and he was about to do battle with her killer.

Or was he? There was no sign of the assassin so far. Was the other man scared? Or had the postcard been a ruse? A trick intended to sideline the opposition while the enemy operative made an attack on Thorakis?

Suddenly that seemed all too possible, and Pruter was considering a strategic withdrawal when he saw an image appear downslope from him. It was there for a fraction of a second, then gone, as if someone were working his way uphill using the ruins as cover. Pruter removed the goggles, picked up the German Blaser 93 LRS2 rifle, and looked through its night-vision scope.

The target had disappeared, but the counter-assassin was a patient man, and was willing to wait. Agent 47 paused, eyed the open stretch of walkway that lay ahead, and hoped that the
Puissance
Treize
agent was busy sipping hot cocoa. Then, knowing he couldn’t put the task off forever, the assassin launchedhimself out into the open. There was a loud
spang
as a 7.62 mm bullet bounced off a paver, and disappeared into the night.

Not only was the German paying attention—he was a good shot!

Agent 47 heard another slug
ping
off the crenellated wall to his right as he took cover behind some stone blocks. It was dark all around him, and it would have been easy to lose his way, except for one thing: Having visited the ruins prior to sending the photos to Pruter, the operative had not only carried out a general reconnaissance, but surreptitiously sprayed night-glow paint along some of the paths. So all he had to do was follow the blobs to one of two wires.Which, like the paint, batteries, and a few other odds and ends, had been purchased at the local hardware store.

“He’s still in the same place,” Diana put in helpfully. “And I don’t see anyone else in the area.”

Thus reassured, Agent 47 continued to follow the glowing green dots to the point where the number one remote was hidden. His movements resulted in a flurry of silenced shots, one of which came so close that rock chips sprayed the side of his face as he scurried along the path. Then he was there, rolling in under the protection of a stone wall, as bullets continued to
ping, whine,
and
spang
all around him. The expenditure of that much ammo seemed nonsensical at first, until 47

realized what his opponent was up to, and the potential danger involved. The
Puissance Treize
agent was hoping to bounce a slug into him, just like a bank shot in a game of pool. And even if that strategy failed, the fusillade was bound to exact a psychological toll.

So Agent 47 forced himself to concentrate as his fingers probed the crevices to either side of a glowing dot. Once he had located the hidden switch it was time to pull the .40 caliber pistol, and pray. Even as the thought crossed his mind, he realized the Supreme Being was very unlikely to take sides in a battle between hired killers, so he decided he would have to rely on skill, and an element of luck. With that, the assassin pressed the button, an electrical charge ran up the wire, and delivered a spark to the container of petrol hidden among the rocks. The results were even more spectacular than what 47

had hoped for. There was a dull
thump,
followed bya sudden gout of flame that shot upward to light the surrounding area with a ghastly glow. Though completely untouched by the fire, his opponent was lit from behind as he stood to get a better look at the surrounding area.

Agent 47 was on his feet by then, with the FN clutched in both hands, firing uphill. A series of sharp reports were heard, the pistol jumped, and empty casings arced through the air. Pruter staggered as a slug hit him in the chest, but he must have been wearing body armor, since he brought the HK MP-5N

submachine gun up into firing position. And thanks to 47’s muzzle flashes, the
Puissance Treize
agent had a point to aim at as he fired a long ten-round burst.

“He’s coming toward you!” Diana warned.

“No shit,” 47 responded as he was forced to duck, and dump the empty clip. The second one slid in smoothly, the FN’s action pushed another bullet into the chamber, and the pistol was ready to fire again. If the German bastard ever stopped shooting, that is!

The opportunity he needed came a few seconds later when the submachine gun ran dry and Pruter was forced to reload. That was when 47 popped up, saw the blocky form outlined against the quickly fading flames, and was careful to aim low. The heavy slugs cut the German’s legs out from under him. He staggered, fought to keep his balance, and fell. The body tumbled downhill, bounced into the air, and there was a sickening
thump
as it landed.

“Forty-seven?”Diana inquired. “Are you okay?”

“So far,” the assassin replied cautiously. “Hold on.”

The operative kept the FN pointed at the body as he approached it, felt for a pulse, and confirmed that Pruter was dead. Not from a bullet, although the German’s legs were a bloody mess, but from injuries suffered during the fall.

Not having heard any sirens, 47 took the time necessary to drag the body into a niche, where loose stones could be stacked in front of it. Then it was necessary to get the penlight out, search the area for empty casings, and collect the German’s belongings from higher up the hill. Finally, having pulled the wire for both incendiary devices and thrown everything into the makeshift crypt, it was time to wall Pruter in.

Eventually, after days of sun, some unfortunate tourist would notice the smell. At that point the
Puissance Treize
assassin would be disinterred and linked to the body of the mysterious Tova Holm. There was no way to know what the authorities would make of that, and 47 didn’t care. An hour later, with his opponent’s pack on his back, Agent 47 made his way down the hill. The night was relatively young—and the real target was still alive.

By the time 47 arrived at the top of the hillside behind the mansion, it was nearly 3:00 a.m.Late , but not too late, given the task at hand.Which was to dart the German shepherd if necessary, sneak into the house the same way he had before, and wait for morning. But by the time Agent 47 was halfway down the slope it became apparent that everything had changed.

Judging from the bright glow that could be seen through the foliage, every light in the house was on. And once the assassin got closer he realized that six uniformed security guards were roaming the grounds, rather than two. Not only that, but more dogs had been brought in, and it seemed safe to assume that the surveillance cameras were being monitored now, as well.

Agent 47 had been expecting some sort of reaction to the increased threat level, but nothing like what he was looking at, and had no choice but to retreat back up the hill. It took the better part of half an hour to reach the street above,then make his way back to the hotel, where he entered via a side door. From there the assassin went straight to Pruter’s room, made use of the German’s key to lethimself in, and took a quick tour of the German’s possessions.

Then, having selected a well-cut gray suit, along with some other odds and ends, 47 went back to Tazio Scaparelli’s room where it was time to take a shower and begin work on plan B. The first step was to call Diana, tell the controller about the change of plan, and request some help. The second step was to put aside everything he would need for the coming day, and cram the rest into Scaparelli’s expandable suitcase. That included the foam belly, the hairpiece, the
paparazzo
’s clothes, Holm’s pistol, Pruter’s knapsack, and a variety of smaller items. Then, having gone over the room again to make sure he hadn’t missed anything, he took a nap.

As always, Agent 47’s eyes snapped open at 5:58 a.m. He got up, took Pruter’s Glock into the bathroom, and put the DOVO to work. Twenty minutes later he was shaved, dressed, and ready for the new day.

Pruter’s suit was a little too large, but otherwise satisfactory, even if it was gray rather than black. The room had been paid for in advance, so there was no need to check out. Agent 47 carried Scaparelli’s heavily laden suitcase and Pruter’s black leather briefcase down the fire escape and out through the door he had used the night before. Someone was bound to discover the woman’s body before long—and the assassin wanted to be clear of the hotel when they did. Rather than dump the suitcase near the hotel where the police might find it, the operative towed the bag to the
Bon Appétit.
The restaurant wasn’t open for business yet, but the Dumpster was, and given how much the big metal box reeked, there was very little chance that anyone would want to climb inside it. The suitcase went in, the lid closed with a
clang,
and the task was complete. From there it was a short walk to a busy bakery, where the assassin had a long, leisurely breakfast. Though not up to his standards, it was a lot better than nothing. Then, at precisely 10:30 a.m., he entered a cab. By no means was he too lazy to walk, but the person he was about to become would arrive by taxi, and such details were important. If the cabdriver thought the short trip was strange, he gave no sign of it as the operative handed over a five and told him to keep the change. Three members of the
paparazzi
were present as 47 got out of the cab, including TonyFazio, and all of them watched intently as the man with the black briefcase exited the car and approached the front gate. The additional security was plain to see, and the activity within indicated that Thorakis might be getting ready to leave Sintra. Though this was not world-shaking news, it would be worth a few shots, and provide the
paparazzi
with something to feed their voracious editors. As Agent 47 arrived in front of the gate, a uniformed security officer was there to greet him.

“Yes?” the man said suspiciously. “What do you want?”

The operative noticed that the security officer’s right hand had already come to rest on the butt of a huge revolver.

“My name is Gerrard,” 47 lied. “I believe you’re expecting me.”

As it happened, the security guard had been told to expect a Mr. Gerrard, so the hand came off the pistol, and the assassin was allowed to pass through the gate. From there the security officer escorted the agent to the front door, where a man in a blue blazer and khaki trousers was waiting. He had hard eyes, a no-nonsense manner, and appeared to be in his early forties.Ex-military perhaps? Yes, 47 thought so. The entryway was half-blocked by an oak table. Beyond that the operative could see the ornate flight of stairs that led up to the second floor, along with the entry to the dining room on the left, and the door to an old-fashioned sitting room on the right. He knew from previous experience that the hall, which paralleled the stairs, led back to the kitchen.

“Good morning, sir,” the man with the hard eyes said. “Are you armed?”

“Yes, I am,” the assassin replied, as he placed the briefcase on the table. “I’m carrying a Glock, a razor, and a garrote.”

If the ex-paratrooper was surprised, he gave no sign of it.

“And in the briefcase?”

“A satellite phone, a laptop, and some other odds and ends.”

“Thank you,” the man said matter-of-factly. “Please remove all of your weapons and place them on the table. Once that process is complete, I’m going to search you. Or you can leave the property, if you prefer. The choice is up to you.”

“I have no objection to being searched,” 47 said, as he placed each weapon on the table in front of him.

“In fact, I would like to commend you on your professionalism.”

The man nodded politely, but clearly didn’t care what the visitor thought, as he came around to run his hands over 47’s body. That was the point he came across the atomizer.

“What’s this?” the man wanted to know, as he held the bottle up for inspection.

“Sunblock,” the agent answered expressionlessly. “I have a tendency to burn.”

The ex-paratrooper nodded, spritzed a bit of the liquid on his wrist, sniffed and—apparently satisfied—put the atomizer back where he had found it.

“Okay,” the man with the hard eyes said. “You can retrieve your briefcase and weapons on the way out. Please step under the light.”

A stand-mounted spot had been set up in the hallway. Agent 47 could feel the heat from the lamp as he took his place beneath it. The man opened a folder, withdrew a sheet of paper, and held it up for a side-by-side comparison. The fax was modeled on a similar document The Agency had recovered during a raid on a
Puissance Treize
safe house inMoscow three days earlier. The first paragraph, which had been authored by Diana, was the equivalent of an introduction.