Mongo smiled his pleasure as he gathered the dirty plates and disappeared inside. Billy remained seated to enjoy the early morning sun streaks dancing across the porch, closer and closer until the warmth splayed across his face.
“Therein lies the power of the universe. Giving us warmth, breath, and sound … without it, we are nothing but specs of dust.”
He smirked at his own melodrama as he got up to check his messages. It was time to assert himself as the feared assassin he was.
Project Beehive.
Find and kill target Cece Roux. Intel in the attached folder.
Fee: Two-hundred-thousand dollars.
Billy’s expression didn’t change as he scanned the information in the attached folder. The fee was his usual for small time kills but the address was that of a luxury penthouse apartment in Manhattan, which made him pause.
“This tells me whoever Cece Roux is, she has to be someone of importance. If not in society, it means she or an associate of hers must be a threat to the Order.”
His phone pinged with the startup deposit.
“Not so fast, you bastard. I haven’t agreed to shit yet and since this target leads to more questions, it’s gonna cost you double.”
He did reconnaissance but the information he could find was limited to what was in the folder. He sat back and frowned at the screen. Billy never just acted on a client’s information. He always ensured he covered every aspect of the target’s life. Now more than before, he knew something wasn't right. He had a knack to smell a cover up and one thing he knew without any doubt was that the woman they wanted him to kill, wasn’t a danger to the Order’s cause.
He enlarged the photo they’d sent but it was grainy and he couldn’t make out her features. One thing it did prove, however, was that the dark-haired petite woman wasn’t the same one as the photo on a blonde Cece Roux’s social security card and driver’s license. For one thing, Cece Roux looked at least forty, and the woman in the photo was not a day older than thirty.
“First stop, Manhattan it is.” Billy booked a private charter. He never flew commercial for obvious reasons. He needed his weapons for one thing, and secondly, he always kept a low profile. No one would ever find him via facial recognition in an airport terminal. Not that anyone knew what he looked like now. He made sure since he left the military that there were no photos of him floating around in cyberspace. Billy knew how to cover his tracks and stay under the radar.
He searched the accommodation in the immediate vicinity of the penthouse and booked a suite on the top floor of a hotel adjacent to the apartment.
If his hunch was correct, he wouldn't find the woman in the picture there. Once he confirmed it, he’d set up a face to face meeting with the elusive person who believed he had the upper hand. The asshat would soon learn that Billy Hewitt lived up to the reputation he’d worked for years to achieve.
“Mongo!”
“Yeah, Boss,” he shouted from the back of the cabin.
“Be sure to pack a couple of my disguises and silicone face masks.”
“Already done, Boss.”
Billy smiled at Mongo’s competence. He stretched out lazily as the excitement of what lay ahead gave him that familiar tingly feeling. The one that spread from his brain right down to his fingers and toes. It was illuminating, especially as it came on the heels of the slumping feeling that had been bogging him down since his last kill had gotten old and cold. He needed the buzz of the new, the thrill of the unknown, the hunt of his prey to push his limits. And this time it was a double whammy. Seeking to infiltrate SPEONUS would be the ultimate trophy.
“And once I’m on the inside, I’ll claim the ultimate accolade … as the man who singlehandedly saved the President of the United States of America.” His smile widened. “Perfect way to absolve myself of all crimes, which means I can finally retire in peace.”
Billy learned early on that a definitive gap existed between definition and experience. Oftentimes the only way to know what something meant was by way of taste, touch, or smell. Stakeouts were like that. His definition of a stakeout was as exciting as cat litter. In the pursuit of his targets, he’d gone through a myriad of them. Sitting on a concrete wall in midwinter dressed as a down-and-out. He’d sit there until his muscles cramped and he couldn’t tell the difference between seconds and hours. It became painful to watch every damn thing while appearing oblivious to even the snot dribbling down his face. The worst was to not move while his bladder felt like it would explode because he refused to leave in case he missed that first sight of his prey.
This time was different, which was why he’d chosen the top-level suite of the hotel next to his target’s location. He’d be surveying the penthouse in luxury and comfort.
“Satellite dish is up, Boss.”
“Let’s hook it up.” Billy typed in a couple of commands on the laptop. “Perfect,” he said as the sound of music playing in the penthouse across the alley floated from the laptop. “Now the imagery.” Within minutes, the entire setup was complete. Billy had an overall view of every room facing the side of the building they were in, which consisted of the large open living room and kitchen area and two bedrooms.
“Doesn’t look like anyone’s home.” Mongo leaned over Billy’s shoulder and squinted at the screen.
Billy smiled indulgently. Mongo didn’t support his career, inasmuch as he preferred not to know when he actually went out to kill someone, but he enjoyed tagging along for stakeouts. He glanced at his watch.
“It’s early. Maybe she’s a health nut and went jogging or is at the gym.”
“Shall I order breakfast? I’m famished.” Mongo diligently served breakfast at seven every morning. Since they’d left Cuba at four a.m., it was way past his usual mealtime.
“Yeah, make it a full house and get some blueberry pancakes as well.”
Then the wait began. Mid-morning there was movement in the penthouse. A blonde woman arrived with arms loaded with packages. She hummed in tune with the song playing in the background as she unpacked the groceries.
“Just as I thought,” Billy graveled as he lowered the specialized binoculars. “That’s not the woman in the picture or the driver’s license of Cece Roux.”
“Are you saying they deliberately misled you to kill the wrong person, so they had reason to have you locked up?”
“I’m not sure, Mongo. If Nesser told the Order all about me, they would know how I operate. I never blindly kill. I have a suspicion the woman they’re after is the clever one.”
Mongo stared across the street at the figure moving around the penthouse. “What next?”
“I want to be sure. Find me a way to get inside that apartment building, Mongo. I want to pay the little housewife a cordial visit.”
Mongo glanced at him with a frown drawing his brows in one straight line. “You’re not going to kill her, are you?”
“Relax, Mongo. You know I’ll never involve you in one of my hunts. This is reconnaissance, my friend, nothing more.”
At eleven the next morning, Billy rang the doorbell of the left side penthouse apartment. The church bell like sound rang dully in the distance, followed by a cheerful, “I’m coming!”