Hitman: Enemy Within h-1

by William C. Dietz

  While Pruter remained in the room, so he could clean his weapons, Holm took the list and went to work. The obvious place to start was with the maids, all of whom were poorly paid and eager to make a few extra euros. It wasn’t long before the guest list had been reduced to three men. Alexandru Cosma, a Romanian who had arrived earlier that morning. Tazio Scaparelli, the Italian photographer who had taken her picture in the lobby, and George Fuller, an American tourist.

  So far, so good…

  But which one of them was Agent 47? In order to answer that question, and “surprise her brother,” Holm managed to “rent” a master key from a maid who was about to go on a lunch break. That, combined with the uniform she had “borrowed,” would allow her to enter all three rooms. Not to make the kill, but to eliminate the false positives and identify the target. At that point Pruter would join the hunt, they would stalk the enemy assassin together, and take him out.

  Just as they had thirty-two times before.

  Given his appearance, and the fact that he’d been staying at the hotel for more than a week by then, Tazio Scaparelli seemed like a poor bet. That being the case, Holm chose to examine the Italian’s room first. She approached the door the way any maid would, rapped three times, and shouted, “Housekeeping!”

  Then, having heard no response, the Puissance Treize agent slipped the master key into the door and let herself in. Once inside, she had to check Scaparelli’s belongings to see if the corpulent paparazzo was the person he seemed to be. A delicate task, since it was necessary to search the room without disturbing anything. It soon became apparent that the Italian was a fat, somewhat slovenly diabetic, who was about to run out of clean underwear.

  Satisfied that Scaparelli had been eliminated from the list, Holm set out to check on the recently arrived Romanian. His room was on the third floor. The routine was the same: Three loud knocks followed by a loud, “Housekeeping!”

  Having received no response, the counterassassin entered the room and pulled the door closed behind her. A suitcase was resting on the bed, and Holm went over to inspect it. And that’s where she was, leaning over to look inside the open bag, when Agent 47 stepped out from behind the heavy floor-length curtains.

  The Puissance Treize agent heard the unexpected swish of fabric, and was reaching for her pistol when the assassin fired the air gun. Holm felt the dart bite her neck, paused to pluck the object out, and was busy examining the projectile when she felt a burning sensation. That was followed by a sharp pain in her chest, a moment of vertigo as her heart stopped, and a long fall into darkness.

  A series of flashes strobed the room as the man named Alexandru Cosma, Agent 47, and Tazio Scaparelli took a series of pictures.

  Then it was time to retrieve the dart, Holm’s Fabrique Nationale Forty-Nine, and two extra clips of.40 caliber ammunition. The FN constituted a much heavier piece than 47 had expected to acquire, and made for a welcome addition to his modest arsenal.

  With those chores accomplished, the operative let himself out. The DO NOT DISTURB sign would keep the hotel’s staff at bay until the next day. At that point they would find a dead guest, who was not only dressed as one of their maids, but lying in the wrong room. A room registered to Mr. Cosma, who was nowhere to be found. It was a mystery that would keep the local authorities busy for months to come.

  The hunter was dead…

  The killer was waiting.

  Holm had been gone for hours and Pruter was beginning to worry about her, when a bellman knocked on the door. Or was he a bellman?

  The German positioned himself next to the door with the Glock at the ready. “Ja?”

  “I have a package for you, sir,” the teenager said politely.

  The killer peered through the keyhole, confirmed that the bellhop was holding a manila envelope in his hand, and opened the door a crack. The package slid in, a five-euro note went out, and the transaction was complete.

  There was a positive click as the door swung closed. Pruter was a cautious man. That was one of the reasons why he was still alive. So rather than open the envelope right away he took a moment to examine it. The block lettering on the front said, TO HANS PRUTER. But there was no return address.

  The killer felt ice water trickle into his bloodstream as he held the envelope up to the light. Could it contain a bomb? Or a dose of anthrax? Anything was possible-but he didn’t think so. Some dark rectangles could be seen through the paper, and when he rotated the container they slid from side to side.

  The knife generated a soft click as the blade locked into place. Rather than open the top of the envelope Pruter was careful to slit one of the sides to avoid any triggering mechanisms hidden inside.

  But the effort was wasted. The only items inside the container were a series of photographs that spilled out onto the floor: Pictures of Holm lying on a rug staring sightlessly into the camera.

  The German’s knees made a solid thump as they hit the carpet. The killer’s hand shook as he began to sort through the photos that 47 had been able to print at a do-it-yourself kiosk in the local drugstore. They were of Holm, dressed in a maid’s uniform, lying dead on a rug that was identical to the one beneath him. Meaning that her body was somewhere inside the hotel.

  The inarticulate bellow of rage and pain was followed by a long series of sobs that wracked his body, and tears flowed down his cheeks. Then Pruter saw that a picture postcard lay among the photos. It showed a panoramic view of gray, vegetation-clad battlements. The caption read, Costelo dos Mouros.

  It was an obvious invitation—and one that Pruter planned to accept.

  The Castle of the Moors had been constructed in the eighth or ninth century. The sprawling structure was situated on two neighboring mountain peaks, and offered magnificent views of both Sintra and the countryside beyond. Which meant that on the day when Dom Alfonso Henriques and his army arrived to liberate the area in 1147, the Moors must have been able to see the nobleman coming.

  Later, during the Romantic period, repairs had been made. But there was little sign of that now as the sun started to dip below the western horizon, and the tourists began the long walk down to the city below.

  Yet Pruter remained behind. Once the sun set and darkness settled over the battlements, Agent 47 would come. And, while nothing could ever compensate the German for Holm’s death, killing the assassin would make him feel slightly better. Not to mention the fact that it was his job to do so—and as a killer, he had a reputation to protect.

  The main problem was that the castle not only covered a large area, but was built along the top of a steep hillside, and followed the contours of the land. As a result there were dozens of paths that led up and down, and hundreds of stone steps, all bordered by a jumble of ruins. So the first thing he had to do was familiarize himself with the complex, find the best spot to hide, and let 47 come to him.

  Then, with the aid of the night-vision gear stowed in his pack, Hans would put the other assassin down for good.

  The German went to work.

  The satellite phone produced a series of soft beeps. The assassin’s eyes popped open and he activated the phone. The voice that came over the headset was insistent.

  “Wake up, Agent 47… It’s time to go to work.”

  It was dark inside the cavelike recess, but by craning his neck, he could catch a glimpse of city lights below. He fumbled the penlight, but aimed it away from the entrance.

  “Diana? Is that you?”

  “Of course it’s me,” the controller replied sweetly. “Who else would give up a perfectly good dinner to keep an eye on someone like you? Are you sure you want to go through with this? It seems like an iffy plan to me.”

  “No,” 47 replied honestly. “I’m not sure. But it’s too late to bail out. The target should be in the ruins by now. Or am I wrong?”

  “Oh, he’s there, all right,” Diana confirmed, as she eyed the monitor in front of her. The spooky-looking thermal images were being provided by one of three state-of-the-art surveillan
ce satellites that The Agency owned. Just one of the reasons why it took so much money to keep the murder-for-hire organization up and running.

  The Puissance Treize killer was represented by a stationary green blob. Smaller heat signatures, all of which belonged to various animals, left occasional streaks on the screen.

  “He arrived an hour and sixteen minutes after you did.”

  Having been forced to leave his weapons in Rome so he could play the part of Tazio Scaparelli, Agent 47 felt woefully underequipped. But the nearest armory was in Madrid, so there wasn’t enough time to acquire more firepower.

  Having no desire to battle the Puissance Treize agent in Scaparelli drag, the assassin was wearing a new set of clothes, all of which were black. He had armed himself with the woman’s FN Forty-Nine, the DOVO razor, and the garrote. He was also carrying the air gun, plus three darts, which he planned to use on the German shepherd later that night. Assuming everything went well, that is-which was far from certain.

  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 to miss 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 launched himself 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 by a 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 u
nfortunate 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 let himself 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.