The man called David Gilmour found the target’s apartment. It was a nice building, tall and clean. Gilmour waited outside the front doors until a woman came out with a little gray poodle. Then he ducked in and hurried through the lobby to the elevator.
He rode the elevator alone to the sixteenth floor. Walked out when the doors opened and surveyed the hallway. It was the top floor of the building. There were only four apartments this high. On one end of the hallway was a fire door. The asset walked to it and pushed it open. A stairwell. An escape route.
Eliminate the target and extricate yourself without being detected.
The asset walked back down the hallway to unit 1604. Hesitated in front of the door. He heard voices. A man’s voice. Had to be the target. Then he paused. There was another voice. A woman’s.
The asset looked up and down the hall. Replayed the phone conversation with the man in his head. Unit 1604, the man had instructed. There is a man waiting. Nothing had been said about any woman.
The asset lingered by the door. Felt a slick creeping blackness at the base of his skull as he wondered what he should do. The man wanted the target dead. He didn’t say anything about a woman. Well, hell, the asset would kill the woman, too. A little bonus.
The asset straightened and turned to the door. Felt something like excitement, anticipation. He imagined the target dying in his hands. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use the gun.
The asset raised his hand. Made a fist and knocked on the door.