AFRICA

The night-vision goggles gave everything a green glow, but Luke Caldwell was used to that and paid it no mind as he scanned the grounds of the estate across the road.

For a week he had hidden in the abandoned warehouse where he had made his perch as he studied the lush, green, and well-kept grounds, which contrasted sharply with the parched lands around it, and the house that sat in the middle. During that time he had learned the habits and movements of the occupants, becoming familiar with their routines, and identifying any dangers.

He could have made his move at any time during the past seven days, but he was a patient and cautious man, not prone to rushing things without good cause. That was how he had become so successful in his chosen career — professional assassin.

Everything at the estate had seemed normal during his observations, but he knew how little it could take for things to go catastrophically wrong, and he wasn’t about to chance that.

When he was certain that nothing had changed, and there were no surprises waiting for him, he set aside the goggles and took out the suppressed rifle from the case by his feet. With the rifle tight against his shoulder, he sighted on the first of the guards patrolling the grounds of the estate. He made a few adjustments as he tracked the man, and then he squeezed the trigger. Half a pound of pressure was all it took to end the man’s life. A small exertion for such a large result.

Luke watched for a moment to be sure he hadn’t missed, he would have been surprised if he had, and then he shifted aim. There were two more guards patrolling the estate, both of whom he dropped as quickly and as quietly as the first. Though he was sure there were no other guards to worry about, he made a last sweep of the grounds, searching them through the scope, to be certain.

When he was satisfied the grounds were empty of threats, he packed the rifle away. Ready at the side of the rifle case was a crossbow, which he took up and aimed at the wall surrounding the estate. A loud twang sounded as the bolt leapt from the weapon to fly through the night and bury itself in the wall just below the top. It quivered there for a few moments before becoming still.

Attached to the tail of the bolt was a lightweight but strong length of rope. He untied the end he had secured to the leg of a nearby machine to stop it following the bolt out of the window, pulled it tight, and then redid the knot. He tested the rope to be sure it would hold his weight and the machine wouldn’t move, and then he made a final check of his weapons.

He had a pair of suppressed pistols, one in a shoulder holster and the other tucked into the waistband at the back of his trousers, a seven-inch combat knife with a black, carbon steel blade, and a MP5 submachine gun with a suppressor attached, which he slung over his shoulder and pulled tight against his chest.

A last look out the window assured him there was no traffic on the long and dusty road that led from the nearest city, two miles distant, to the nearest town, many miles away, and no-one to observe him. Satisfied that he wasn’t going to be witnessed, he climbed out the third-floor window and made his way, hand over hand, along the rope until he was able to pull himself up onto the top of the wall surrounding the estate. Swinging himself over, he dropped down to land lightly in Philip Mbokani’s estate.

He remained by the wall for almost a minute as he scanned the darkness with his night-vision goggles to be sure there were no surprises waiting for him.

When he saw nothing, he straightened and made for the nearest of the guards he had killed, his finger on the trigger of his MP5, ready to react at the first sign of trouble. From the guard’s pocket he took out a swipe card, which he used to unlock the kitchen door at the rear of the house.

The house was silent as he crossed the kitchen and crept down the passage to the small security room, where the cameras that monitored the estate for intruders were watched. The positioning of the cameras had been poorly thought out, and he was confident that he had made it that far without appearing on any of them since no alarm had been raised, but he wasn’t about to take any chances.

It took him barely two minutes to deal with the guard watching the cameras and remove the hard drives on which the footage was stored, and after finishing there he made for the first floor, where he found the master bedroom without difficulty.

Even if he hadn’t known where it was located, he would have been able to find it easily for there was a guard seated outside. Unfortunately for Philip Mbokani, the guard was asleep, not that it would have done any good for him to be awake for a single shot from the suppressed MP5 in Luke’s hand killed him before he could have known anyone was there.

Ignoring the bloody smear that stained the wall behind the guard, Luke moved quickly down the passage and slipped through the door into the bedroom. The room was darker than the rest of the house and he paused after closing the door to let his night-vision goggles adjust. Once he could see well enough, he crossed to the bed and moved around it until he was standing over Philip Mbokani.

The fifty-eight-year-old looked like a grandfather, sleeping peacefully next to his wife of many years. He appeared a little worn by a hard life providing for his family, but other than that he looked good for his age. Luke knew the truth, however. Philip Mbokani was about as far from a kindly, hardworking grandfather as it was possible to be. He was a murderous arms dealer, who sold weapons to dictators, rebels, terrorists, drug lords, and criminal gangs around the world. Through the weapons he had sold he was responsible for the deaths of tens of thousands of people.

Luke knew that and didn’t care. He was not there because of Mbokani’s business, nor because of the deaths he was responsible for, not even those he was personally responsible for. He was there because someone disliked Mbokani enough to pay for his death. He didn’t know who they were or why they wanted Mbokani dead, and he wasn’t interested in knowing. The only thing that mattered to him was that they were prepared to pay for his services, which didn’t come cheap.

Without a thought for the fact that he was ending a man’s life, he raised his gun and placed the muzzle an inch from Mbokani’s temple. He fired once and blood stained the pillow beneath the arms dealer’s head. He stayed where he was for a moment in case Mbokani was somehow still alive, and then he turned away from the bed.

He was almost at the door when he heard movement behind him. He spun back, gun at the ready, and saw the woman who had been sleeping next to Mbokani stirring. He waited, his finger on the trigger of his MP5, silently urging the woman to settle and go back to sleep. She was Mbokani’s personal assistant as well as his lover, and deeply involved in his business, which made her almost as guilty as him, but he wasn’t being paid for her death and he was reluctant to kill her if it wasn’t necessary. Luck was not on his side, however, or hers.