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Rapp was also taking in the surroundings. “Yeah, I know, but I’m not comfortable leaving Marcus alone to watch the apartment.”
“Yeah, you’re right. We need more people.”
A moment later, the elevator arrived, and they stepped in with six backpack-toting students.
BEFORE LEAVING THE stai
rwell, Donatella checked the items in her purse to make sure they were exactly where she wanted them. Her pistol with its silencer attached was in the right spot, but she was hoping she wouldn’t need it. Her teacher, Colonel Freidman, had made sure that Donatella was schooled in the most subtle of assassination techniques. Freidman had always said that anyone could use a gun to kill, even a child. She had instead been trained to use everything from a shoelace to a pencil. Donatella knew all of the vulnerable points of the human body. Given the right tools, she could kill someone and barely leave a mark. And, more important, she could do it quietly and quickly.
She checked the position of two other weapons in her bag and then entered the long hallway. Donatella immediately noticed two people at the far end. Her right hand slid into her purse to touch the cold steel of her pistol. She watched the man and woman carefully. Both fit the profile of an academic type. The man had a beard and was wearing jeans with a plaid shirt and loosely knotted tie. The woman was in a dress and a pair of Birkenstock sandals. She relaxed a touch and continued down the hall.
Cameron’s door was closed. Donatella approached and listened for a second. She heard the squeaking of a chair and decided to knock. There was no answer at first, so she knocked again and said, “Professor Cameron, my name is Amy Vertine. Dean Malavich sent me over to get a signature so I can register for one of your grad school classes next semester.”
“I’m in the middle of something right now. Could you come back later?”
“Actually, I can’t.” Donatella placed a hand on the knob while she continued to talk. “I’m on my way to work. I really want to take this class.” The door was locked. “I’ve heard you’re a great teacher. It’ll only take a second, I promise.” Donatella looked down the hall and was relieved to see that the two teachers were no longer there. She began weighing the risk of shooting through the lock, and then the door opened.
Peter Cameron waved her in and closed the door. “I’m sorry, I have to keep this door closed or another one of my students will drop in, and I’ll never get out of here.”
Donatella stuck out her right hand. “My name is Amy. It’s nice to meet you, Professor Cameron.”
Cameron smiled at the pretty woman and took her hand. “Please call me Peter.”
Donatella returned the smile and turned her head to the left, knowing full well that her target would do the same. Pointing at a plaque on the wall, she asked, “Is that from the CIA?”
Cameron turned to look at the award he had been given by some friends at the Agency. It commemorated his twenty-four years of service. As he proudly began to answer the question, Donatella’s right hand slid into a pocket in her purse. Her hand wrapped around the rubber handle of a four-inch steel pick that had been sharpened to a fine point. She slowly slid the weapon out, keeping it close to her body. Pointing to a photograph next to the plaque, she asked, “Who is that?”
As Cameron’s head started to turn, Donatella brought the pick up and moved with lightning speed. Her aim was perfect as she jammed the sharp, thin object into Cameron’s left ear. Before he could scream, Donatella was on him, clamping her left hand down on his mouth and twisting the pick with amazing force. His body began to crumble as the four inches of steel slashed through his brain. Donatella lowered him to the floor and twisted the pick around one more time to make sure he was dead. Then she slowly extracted the weapon, and, lifting Cameron’s arm, she wiped the pick against the fabric of the armpit to remove what little blood there was on it. Donatella put the pick back in her purse, and then, as if nothing had happened, she opened the office door, locked it, and closed it behind her.
THE ELEVATOR DOORS opened, and Rapp and Coleman stepped out. Coleman looked to the left, Rapp to the right. Both men had their hands in close proximity to their guns. There was one person in the hallway. A woman with blond hair was walking away from them toward the far end of the hall. Rapp studied her for a second. There was something strangely familiar about the way she moved. When she reached the door to the stairwell, she turned and looked in their direction for a brief second. Rapp got only a glimpse of her, and then she was gone. He tilted his head to the side and squinted in thought. There was something about her, something he couldn’t put his finger on.
Coleman tapped him on the shoulder and looked down the hall. They began to walk quietly toward the office. When they reached the right door, they stood one on each side and listened. Rapp placed one hand on the doorknob and his other on the hilt of his Beretta. Coleman kept an eye on the hall. When the doorknob didn’t turn, Rapp stepped back and motioned for Coleman to knock on the door. Coleman tried three times and then pulled out his lock-pick gun. He placed the proper bit in the tip of the gun, and then, as quietly as possible, he threaded it into the lock and pulled the trigger.
Rapp pulled his silenced Beretta out of its holster but kept it under his jacket. When Coleman finally turned the knob, he stepped back and out of Rapp’s way as he pushed the door in. Rapp hugged the metal door frame, shielding all but a fraction of his body from harm. His left arm shot out, the silenced Beretta swept the room. He saw the body on the floor immediately but continued past it to complete the search of the small office. Rapp stepped into the room, and Coleman followed him, closing and locking the door.
Both men knelt over the body. “Is it him?” Rapp asked.
“I think so.”
Rapp reached out and touched his neck. The skin was still warm—very warm. They did a quick search of the body for a cause of death. It was Rapp who found the puncture wound inside the man’s left ear. Rapp looked toward the door. He thought of the woman he saw in the hall. He looked back at Cameron, at the mark of death in his ear. Rapp knew someone who had killed like this before. He knew her very well. Rapp stood and for a moment thought of running after her. She was long gone, though. Besides, he knew where he could find her.
As Rapp looked down at the dead body of Cameron, he was not saddened in the least. The man’s death was inevitable; it just would have been nice if he could have talked to him first. Rapp swore as he pulled out his phone and punched in the number. When Kennedy answered, he said, “We found him.”
“Where?”
“In his office. He’s dead.”
“Did you do it?”
“No, we found him.”
“Any idea who did do it?”
“No,” Rapp lied.
There was a long pause, and then Kennedy said, “I’ll send a team over to get the body.”
“We’ll wait for them.” Rapp closed his phone and looked at Coleman. “Why do I get the feeling this trail is going to stop right here?” he said, pointing down at the lifeless body of Peter Cameron.
