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•••
Operations Center Gama in Singapore tracked the images from the recon drone high over Haifa Street on a large wall monitor.
The American woman who served as second-in-command spoke loud enough to be heard around the room. “That’s a kill.”
Men and women high-fived, bumped fists, and shook hands.
In the back of the room, however, Martina Sommer rubbed her temples with her fingers, a show of stress she hid from the others by leaning down behind her monitor.
After the rest of the group spent a few seconds of rapt fascination watching the wreckage on the street in far-off Haifa, the Norwegian director turned to a Dutch technician who sat two cubes down from Martina. “Number Nine, stand down the assets in Tel Aviv; I’ll have Cyrus wire them the rest of the money.”
“Yes, sir.”
He turned to an Indian woman seated to Martina’s right. “Thirteen, contact the on-scene wrangler. Have him recall the drone and report in when he is clear.”
“Yes, sir.” She tapped the talk button on her headset and spoke directly with the person on the ground in Haifa working the aerial surveillance coverage mission.
Martina thought she was going to be sick.
•••
The director sat down at his own workstation, positioned behind a glass partition at the front of the small theater, then opened a chat window with the title Cyrus on the top bar.
He began typing. This is Gama Leader. The elimination of target Gama Five is confirmed.
In under one second a reply window opened, and after a few more seconds a response came. Message received by Cyrus. Excellent news. You have forty-five hours to prosecute the remaining thirteen targets.
The Norwegian smiled as he typed. We will complete our directives. Don’t worry.
I don’t worry. Good job today. Cyrus out.
He sat back in his chair a moment, running his hands through his brown hair. The job in Israel was done, but that only meant it was time to set up for the next one. To the room the operations chief said, “We begin coverage in the United Kingdom in one hour.”
A British woman spoke up now. “Wrangler Zero Three is on station near the target and awaiting our launch order.”
“Very well.” The director looked at the clock on the wall. Thirteen people left to eliminate. A professional challenge, to be sure, but he told himself that it was nothing he couldn’t handle.
He had assets all over the world, he had an employer who was always available and more than willing to throw massive amounts of money at any problem, and the hits were all taking place so quickly that he and his team retained the element of surprise, though with every death and with every hour, that would slip away more and more.
He had nothing against his targets, but what he did have was both a drug addiction and a gambling addiction, and overseeing operations against several people in other countries he didn’t even know, operations that involved murder, but murders committed by others, was a small price to pay for him to reboot his life and try to get himself sorted out.
If people had to die to make this happen, the director reasoned, then so be it.
He assumed that his unique lack of empathy was shared by everyone else here in Operations Center Gama, and he was right, for the most part.
But, unbeknownst to him, German national Martina Sommer was now on her knees in the bathroom, vomiting into a toilet.
EIGHT
The Chevy Tahoe carrying the American assassin and his three Guatemalan support assets rolled into Panajachel a few minutes after six under heavy rain showers, persistent thunder, and lightning. The streets were mostly empty because of the weather; locals and experienced tourists knew to wait out the evening Central American storms and resume any outdoor activities once they passed.
But the men were on a schedule, so they pulled into a graveled parking lot surrounded by a rusted tin wall on Calle de los Arboles, then began walking to the southwest, all four now wearing ponchos to ward off the rain.
They made it to within three blocks of their target location, and then Lancer put an earpiece in his right ear and tapped it with a fingertip. “Control, Lancer. I’m on sight.”
“Lancer, Control. Be advised. Genrich has returned to the capitol. We think he is going to the airport to return to Mexico. Zakharova is your target in Panajachel.”
“Roger that. Update on the weather and ISR.”
