Veil (3 page)

The elevator slowed, which signaled its
arrival at the 13
^th
floor.

Jin's anticipation of the day's work caused
him to do something he absolutely never did in front of another
person. He didn’t understand why he did it, and it made him
somewhat ashamed. It was also something he couldn’t control and
almost didn’t want to control.

Jin vibrated all over.

His left hand tightly squeezed onto his
briefcase handle; his empty right hand balled into a fist; his butt
cheeks clenched; each of his muscles tensed.

Jin trembled all over, in a full-body fit of
sheer, absolute giddiness.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeuh

Every inch of him vibrated, and he couldn’t
wait to get inside the lab to start his work.

The elevator stopped; Jin relaxed; the doors
opened.

Jin’s gaze and focus were fixed upon the lab
door in front of him. He stepped out, tripped, and fell down onto
one knee. His right palm flattened against the cold polished
concrete as he caught his balance.

Jin raised his head. His eyes didn’t focus on
the gun barrel pointed at him but on the figure behind with the
outstretched arm.

In that moment, as Jin Tsay’s entire life was
ripped away by a bullet, he had two thoughts.

No.

Suren.

"there you have it, ladies and gentlemen: veil."

H
e didn’t want to know details.

He had one stipulation whenever he was hired
to do some pussy’s dirty work: the less he knew, the better. When
he knew all the mucky details, he always ended up distracted and
conflicted. No one who hired him would ever order a target
eliminated for altruistic reasons.
Ever
.

So, as far as he was concerned, anyone who
hired him naturally deserved the same fate as his target. In fact,
as much as—if not more than—the target. Hell, in all likelihood he
had
to figure they deserved it more; he never allowed
himself to know why the target came to be a target and therefore,
why or if they deserved it.

See, this is why I don’t need to think about
this shit.

Although it was a highly lucrative
profession, his work wasn't a means to an end. At least, certainly
not for him. Certainly not with his flavor of vices. He couldn’t,
and didn’t want to, simply stop his career. Instead, he promised
himself out of sheer delusional, ironic conscience he would hunt
down and eliminate all his past employers, should he ever win the
lottery. Or become otherwise independently wealthy. For that
purpose, he even maintained a running list of all his jobs and
half-heartedly kept tabs on his employers.

He loathed jobs for the government and
military for the very same reason: there was nobody in particular
he could vilify for hiring him. There was no one upon whom he could
promise karmic-balancing revenge. However, those jobs paid the best
and left him feeling more protected and plugged into something
greater, some kind of larger purpose.

Corrupt as the government was, if they wanted
someone eliminated, that must’ve been one damn evil bastard. Like
Bin Laden or some shit. If a target got put on Washington’s hit
list, they probably
really
fucking deserved it.

Who knows?

On a scale of one to impossible-to-eliminate,
the Tsay job didn’t register a zero; the Tsay dude didn’t make it
into the positives. The dossier included a lot of information he
didn't need, which was completely opposite of how things usually
unfolded. If anything, he was annoyed by the wait. He hated to
wait, and the ease with which he could access and eliminate the
target in question was negated by how long he would have to sit and
wait for said target to arrive. The only amusing consolation was
that he learned of some top
-
secret
13
^th
floor in a well-known hospital in the District.

He couldn’t help but laugh at that, because
he knew most people assumed his line of work was filled with
top-secret labs. The kinds replete with high-tech, sci-fi security
measures. Goddamn green laser beams and all. Those people probably
imagined him rappelling from a rooftop with black rope
,
so he could shoot some faggot foreign diplomat in
the neck with a deadly, poisonous dart.
Mission Impossible
type shit. However, that was the first top
-
secret lab he ever heard about, much less had one’s
existence confirmed. And he didn’t do heights. Or poisonous darts.
Or faggots, for that matter.

Fucking faggots.

Gaining entry to the target’s lab did prove
to be surprisingly impossible, though. The only way to enter
through the lab’s door was with two keys that had to be inserted
into an oversized deadbolt at the same time. That confused him,
because he was informed there was only one target, and the target
was alone in the lab every day from approximately 4:20 am until
7:00 pm. He assumed that, with the whole dual key dealio, the lab
must’ve been built for at least two workers. Then again, who knew
how long the lab had been in use and how many times it changed
hands? Maybe the other dude died or something.

Who knows?

The lab itself was massive and took up the
entire floor, although he wasn’t exactly sure what was inside of it
or how much space the target actually utilized. Someone hand-drew
the provided blueprints—if anyone could call them that—and labeled
things like “makeshift hallway
,
” “box with
wires
,
” and “some room we think he doesn’t
use.” Because of the secrecy of the 13
^th
floor’s
existence, there was no way to get to it from above, underneath, or
outside; it was completely isolated. There were no windows, and the
ductwork was independent of the ducts in the rest of the building.
Simply put, there was no way into the damn lab except through the
single metal door with the two keyholes. Even that door didn’t have
a window.

The only space he could actually access in
order to complete the elimination was the empty 300 square foot
entryway between the elevator doors and the lab’s windowless metal
door. He figured someone
could
call it a lobby if they
wanted. After all, the “blueprints” called it the
“lobbie
.
” Then again, that diagram
could’ve been drawn in crayon and the shit still wouldn’t have
looked any more ridiculous.

The only two things in the lobby were a
monitor embedded in the wall and a pair of buttons below the
monitor. That monitor displayed the interior of the elevators; the
buttons were used to call one to the 13
^th
floor
,
after the target verified it was
empty and safe to call. No one was supposed to enter or leave the
13
^th
floor unless they were the
only
person in
the elevator.

Apparently, once the target pushed one of
those buttons, the corresponding elevator would go straight to the
13
^th
floor without opening at any other floors. As he
claustrophobically idled away in the lobby while he waited for the
target to arrive, he did eventually wonder how anyone was expected
to access the 13
^th
floor covertly unless one of the
elevators happened to be empty. Someone could get stuck riding up
and down one of the elevators for a long ass time while they waited
for everyone to get the hell off.

That’s gotta be fucking
annoying
.

He saw only one sensible way to eliminate the
target.

He wasn’t about to trap himself inside such a
small space with someone, so his only option was to perform the
elimination immediately and swiftly. A bullet was the obvious
choice. Guns came with their own obstacles, mainly noise and mess.
Getting around the noise was easy enough with the right equipment,
which he owned, of course. He decided the “mess” part didn’t
necessarily have to be his problem.

Since no one knew about the existence of the
13
^th
floor, no one could think to trace anything back to
the 13
^th
floor. If he could keep the majority of the
mess inside the elevator, no one would have any idea where it came
from or what happened. Hell, maybe they would decide it was some
kind of sick prank; maybe they had no other choice
.

Who knows?

Sure, it would cause quite a fuss and draw
more than a little attention to the hospital. However, by the time
they simply gave up their hunt for the source of the blood, pieces
of brain, and skull bits, he’d already be in Baltimore. All he had
to do was eliminate the target, send the elevator on its way, and
use the target’s keys to open the lab. Then, he could make use of
whatever tools and equipment were available inside the lab in order
to address the larger problem of disposing of the target’s body.
After that, he would make his way out of the hospital undetected,
or at least unnoticed. Easy enough.

The only truly frustrating part he could
foresee was the goddamn motherfucking wait.

He figured once he entered the lab, he would
discover enough equipment he could use to dispose of the body. He
banked on that and brought very little along with him. His
elimination kit contained what he needed and only what he needed:
Heckler & Koch tactical 9mm, Aimpoint Micro T-1 red dot optical
sight, custom Brugger & Thomet sound suppressor, black leather
gloves, plastic sheeting, metal wire, and the elevator key to gain
access to the 13
^th
floor.

Most targets required varying assortments of
job-specific tools
,
not only to eliminate
the target but also to access them. As he assembled his elimination
kit for the Tsay job, he noticed he packed less like his usual self
and more like Dexter Morgan. That didn’t sit well with him, so he
chose to ignore it.

He envisioned himself not as some kind of
random serial killer but as some kind of martyr. He gave up his
life, morals, and conscience for some kind of greater purpose. Even
if he didn’t know the purpose. Even if he didn’t give a damn about
the purpose.

He did a job other people couldn’t stomach
and that was why the work, his area of expertise, was profitable.
It wasn’t because he was doing things that were so abhorrently,
inherently evil other people couldn’t bring themselves to do them.
Most people were simply pussy ass faggots and couldn’t do what
needed to be done and had to be done. Sure, the people who hired
him might’ve had their selfish, twisted reasons. Still, if someone
in his circles wanted you eliminated, even if that someone was a
sick bastard, there was a reason they wanted you dead. And, like
with the military, their reason was probably, more often than not,
valid. Probably.

Now that he thought about it, Dexter Morgan
killed people for much the same reason, in his own way. For a
greater purpose or something. Kind of. Maybe packing an elimination
kit like Dexter would pack, sans all the knives, wasn’t such a bad
thing after all.

Who knows?

Getting inside and preparing for the
elimination didn’t take much time at all. He went as slowly as
possible to waste time and shorten his godforsaken wait. He wasn’t
too concerned about being noticed when he entered the building, at
least not as concerned as he would’ve been on typical jobs. He
parked a reasonable distance from the hospital and walked to the
northern side of the building. When he got to the building, he
turned and headed east. With one fell swoop, he picked up a rock
and tossed it at one of the northern floor-to-ceiling windows that
graced the entire first floor of the hospital.

He continued to walk as he flung the rock and
his step didn’t miss a single beat between picking it up, throwing
it, and continuing on his way. He tossed hard enough to make a loud
clank but not hard enough to do any damage. As he continued along
the northern side of the building and turned the corner that led to
its eastern entrance, he could see the heavyset security guard
through the windows. The guard was headed in the opposite
direction, toward the source of the noise caused by the rock. He
pitied the fat ass security guard. He pitied how easy and
predictable people were.