His name was Remo, and he was crossing the Oregon border into Mexico. The streets of Portland were still visible through the bars of the wrought iron fence surrounding the Mexican consulate, an impenetrable wall demarcating the land on one side as Mexican sovereign territory, separate and segregated from the United States.
The irony was not lost on him.
Dressed in a tight-fitting black t-shirt and black chinos, Remo Williams was a shadow flitting rapidly up the iron bars, a shadow that quickly flipped over the spiked top, dropped noiselessly on the opposite side, and was gone. The distance from the fence to the main structure was easily covered in a few paces, and the stucco exterior was almost insultingly easy to grip as Remo pressed his body against the wall and began scaling his way upward, sometimes sideways, sometimes diagonally, until he reached the window he was looking for.
With his right hand gripping the wall, he spread the fingers of his left hand and placed it against the glass. His fingertips slightly curved, he swiveled his wrist back and forth, his nails leaving white trails on the glass like ice skates on a frozen pond until he had carved a perfect circle in the glass. When he was satisfied with the results, he gently tapped the upper portion of the circle. As the glass tumbled inward, his hand darted into the freshly made hole and caught the falling circle between his thumb and index finger, drawing it back out the window and slipping it into his pocket. Then, reaching once more into the window, he slowly moved his open palm in an arc, feeling for the tingle of the electronic alarm system. Finding the wire he sought, he traced it with his fingertip until he found where the magnetic receiver was mounted.
With a quick snap, he cracked both sides of the magnetic sensor from the window, keeping the two halves together as he set them quietly on the sill. The alarm now disabled, he silently unlocked the window, pushed it up, and slid inside as softly as a breeze.
Hector Suarez snored lightly, his arm draped across the bare back of a dark-haired woman sleeping beside him. Remo placed his hand against the side of her neck and gently pressed, ensuring her sleep would be uninterrupted for a few more hours. Then he patted Hector’s cheek.
“Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey.”
Hector woke with a start. The face looking down at him was like Death. The skin was pulled tight against the cheekbones; the eyes were sunk deep beneath the brow. His first instinct was to call for a guard, but the man’s hand flashed out, and the tips of his fingers brushed across Hector’s throat. Hector grabbed his neck with both hands, then pulled them away to inspect his palms for blood. There was none — yet he could not even muster a whisper.
“No need to get excited, Hector,” Remo said. “I’m just here to praise you on your business acumen and philanthropy.”
Hector mouthed, “¿Qué?” but no sound came out.
Remo held up his hand. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said. “I’m honored, truly. It’s quite the thing you’ve done, saving all those people.”
Hector tried to sit up, but he was thrust forcefully back onto his mattress. The nubile girl next to him did not stir.
“I must insist on you letting me sing your praises just a little more,” Remo said pleasantly. “I mean, it’s not every day one meets someone who’s changed as many lives as you have.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “I imagine all those girls can’t speak highly enough of you.”
Hector tried to push himself back up, to fight, or to run. But his arms would not cooperate. He tried thrusting his torso forward into a sitting position, only to be quickly and firmly pushed back down with a palm to the forehead.
“As I was saying,” Remo continued. “I applaud your altruism. I mean, you had diplomatic immunity and clear passage to Mexico. Surely there was a way you could use that to help somebody, right? And, by golly, you found the way. All those regular trips with no border crossing checks? That’s just screaming for things to be brought across the border with you, isn’t it?” Remo grabbed Hector’s scalp and forced his head forward and backward in a nod. “Say, ‘Yes, it is.’”
Hector moved his lips, but no sound came out.
“Now, a lot of guys in your position, they’d bring in drugs or guns,” Remo said. “I mean, that’s easy money, right? But that’s not very charitable, is it? No, you’re a better man than that. You’ve seen first-hand the crappy conditions those people have to live in. And you could get them out of that so easily.”
Remo clapped his hands together, softly and silently. “I applaud you, sir. Well done.” He reached over and put two fingers to the side of Hector’s larynx, and pressed until it popped.
Hector coughed. “¿Gracias?” he wheezed.
“You deserve it,” Remo said warmly. “All those girls, so eager to have an opportunity. And it didn’t hurt that they were so pretty, did it?” he winked.
“Are you…” Hector rasped. He swallowed, trying to ease the soreness in his throat. “Are you wanting in? Wanting a special order?”
“Oh, no,” Remo said. “I’ve already got a job. And I’m not really in the market for what you’re selling. That is what you’re doing with the girls, right? Selling them? Sure, you bring them to America, just like you promised them. But then you exchange them for cash to someone who takes them right back out, smooth as silk.”
Hector was confused. The man was obviously a threat, but he was talking about what a good job Hector was doing. And he did not want to muscle in on Hector’s business, which Hector would have allowed until he could have the man killed. The man did not even want a girl, which Hector could not believe.
“A boy?” Hector asked. “I can get you a boy. I can get you lots of boys. Good price, too.”
Remo smiled grimly and shook his head. “You don’t understand, Hector. You had a great business model, taking desperate ladies out of little shithole countries and finding them homes in slightly less shithole countries. Everybody wins, and nobody complains. See, that’s my business. I’m the Complaint Department, and nobody ever said a word to me. Until you got greedy.”
“No,” Hector croaked. “No, never. My prices are always fair!”
“Sure, sure,” Remo said. “I mean, if anyone ever had a fair price on a human life, it was you. But somewhere along the way, you noticed your supply chain was only profitable in one direction. You were coming back fully packed, but going down with an empty load. That’s a wasted trip. Money on the table, right? So being an enterprising entrepreneur, you figured you’d work the system both directions, and start taking American girls south of the border. The embassy has lots of parties, right? You invite stupid young kids off the street, pretty girls looking to be actresses and models, and offer them a chance to see Margaritaville up close and personal. Who would turn that down?”
Remo’s gaze turned serious. “And once down there,” he said, “you sell them to off to your warlords, drug cartel honchos, and other run-of-the-mill bad hombres.” He wagged his finger at Hector. “Hence the complaints.” He stood. “My department.”
“Complaints?” Hector rasped. “I have had no complaints, señor.”
“No, you wouldn’t have,” Remo said, pacing along the side of the bed. “You see, I work for a sort of ‘anonymous consumer affairs’ organization. They’re like the Better Business Bureau, only better, and a lot stricter. And they really don’t like it when someone starts carting our citizens away to other countries against their will. That’s when they send in someone like me. Well, just me, actually.”
Remo spoke the truth. The agency he worked for, CURE, consisted of only two people — himself, and the man who gave him his missions. It had been that way ever since the day Remo had found his police career cut short, having been framed for the murder of a drug dealer and summarily executed. But the execution was a sham, orchestrated by CURE so that Remo could become a man who did not exist. Trained by the ancient Master of Sinanju, Chiun, Remo Williams was now the deadliest man alive, and a practitioner of the most revered form of public service in all history: assassination.
“I can’t move my arms.”
“Oh. Right,” said Remo. “That’s not really fair, is it? Here, let me.” Remo placed his palms on both shoulders and shifted them upward, releasing the nerve clusters he had pinched off earlier. Hector grunted as a dull pain flowed down both arms, and he curled his fingers to test his mobility.
“There you go,” Remo said. “Good as new.” He patted Hector on the chest twice.
“You’ll never…never…” Hector sat up, possibly with the intention of confronting this diablo misterioso, when his chest suddenly felt like a bowling ball had been dropped inside it. “¿Qué…?”
“All part of the service,” Remo said. “It’s hard to be an assassin who doesn’t exist if you leave a trail of obvious bodies behind you. Believe me, a messy job just means a lot of cleanup, and I hate cleaning up.”
Hector coughed, then gasped for air as he beat his fist against his sternum. “Por favor,” he pleaded.
“See, I was never here,” Remo continued. “And you simply made the mistake of overestimating your ability to keep up with this lovely young thing you brought to your bed tonight.” He picked up the phone from the nightstand beside Hector’s bed. “And in your panic, you fumbled with the numbers on your phone but couldn’t make your fingers work, so you used it the best way you could to summon help.” Remo sent the phone hurtling toward the window he had come in, shattering it and obliterating the neat circular hole he had cut into it.
Remo looked curiously at the window as if he had expected more. “Oh, right,” he said. He slapped his forehead in a show of forgetfulness. “How silly of me. The alarm’s off.”
As Hector’s last breath rattled in his chest, he saw the thin man in black pick up the magnetic trigger for the window alarm and pulled the two pieces apart, breaking the circuit and setting off the jangling alarm system.
Within moments, a trio of guards burst through Hector’s bedroom door, finding the diplomatic envoy lifeless and alone save for the deeply-tanned, naked teenager who slept peacefully through the chaos.
There was no indication anyone else had ever been in the room.