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I stopped in front of Elijah Radcliff’s mansion and leaned against the car, a baseball cap pulled low over my face. I'd been monitoring the house and didn't want to go inside until I was sure it was the right time. I needed to be certain that I could get in and out without getting caught.
I thought about how much my hands were shaking when I stepped on that plane and opened the suitcase Luck had left for me, sick with the realization that I was going on a mission again.
To kill.
Before leaving the US, I’d made a pact with myself that I would never be the Eagle again. I didn’t want to take justice into my hands anymore. But here I was, in front of the Radcliff castle, waiting for a chance to kill.
I’d surveyed Radcliff's house a few times already under different disguises, paying attention to every detail. As his file noted, his house was an enormous structure, and he was indeed making good use of the money he’d made from his shady dealings. But that was why I came all the way from Indonesia to Manhattan: to put an end to Radcliff and save some girls’ lives in return for my freedom.
Were there cameras? Yes, there were a few.
Was there security? Yes, a few guards.
According to the source of information Luck provided, some of the guards were well-trained ex-military men. So the best way to take Radcliff out was from a distance.
The problem with that was that for three days, he’d been living behind closed doors. On the first day after my arrival, he left his estate for some meetings with some business associates, but the place was heavily guarded and there were too many people around. He didn't return home until later that night—with a woman who might be a relative. The next day, he was at home for most of the afternoon, then in the evening the house filled up with a crowd.
It was hard taking a man out in the middle of a party without leaving a trace.
I glanced at the building under my baseball cap and sunshades. I had taken enough photographs in the past two days. As the file stated, the estate had one main building which had three floors. There was a privacy wall surrounding the property and its garden. The design of the mansion itself was a mix of stone masonry and stucco, while the landscape was elegant and filled with greenery, well-kept flowers and trees, and a tidy lawn.
I thought about all the ways to handle this. I could try to climb inside tonight and do the job. But it was a large house, and if I didn't know exactly where I was going, a servant might run into me and ruin the mission.
I put my phone back in my pocket and started driving back to the hotel. When I returned, I took the back door to my room. Luck Murphy had made a lot of preparations for me to move around without getting caught. I was working with some of the CIA guys here. One of them wanted me to report all of my moves to him every second of the day, but of course I didn’t. I told him to fuck off, so he fucking did.
I lay on the bed and thought of Elise. I wanted to call her but hearing her voice before the job was done would be a bad idea. It might make me become soft. How she came to have so much power over me, I didn’t know, but she just had it.
I spend most of the day inside my room reading books. The darkness of the night would be my friend, so I would wait until evening to kill Radcliff. I studied the pictures and floor plan of the Radcliff mansion again. After studying it again for the hundredth time, I set the plan down and called for room service. I requested fried rice, chili chicken, and a whiskey.
When the food came, I ate in silence. Watching the news reminded me that it was still the same news, but with different headlines—shootings, political scandals, and the things the government said it wanted to do but never did. I hadn’t watched the news in a while. Was it Elise that made me stop watching it? She’d rather cuddle and watch movies instead. But I loved that about her.
I switched the TV off and checked my watch. 11 p.m.
It was time.
I dressed up in black running shoes, a black sweatshirt, and a head warmer, which would equally serve as a mask. I picked up my pistol, shoved it in the back of my pants, and put the silencer and bullets inside my coat. I had pliers and a rope—you never knew when a rope might be handier than a gun. Then I walked out of the hotel, picked up the car that was arranged for me from the parking lot, made sure it had the sniper rifle I had requested, and drove toward Radcliff's estate.
It was important to disguise my exit plan, so I drove around the estate and parked about a kilometer away from the building in a patch of woods. I loaded the sniper rifle and hung it over my shoulder by its sling. The trek back toward the estate was easy and fast, and as soon as I reached it, I climbed the fence in the darkness of the night.
Now I had to navigate the surroundings from what I remembered of the map I had studied hours ago. Silently, I ran toward the left side of the building and then through the shadows around the lit swimming pool. Some distance away from the end of the building, I looked up. According to the map and my intuition, I was close to the area where I could find my target. The plan said the building had a private library around here, and it was on the third floor. Most nights, that’s where he seemed to be to drink whiskey.
The bedroom windows were too tall, and I had to jump for them and pull myself up onto the sill. I climbed the building slowly—first floor, second floor—until I finally reached the third floor. The first room I looked inside was big. On one side, a young lady I thought was the maid was arranging a bed fit for a king. I climbed around the corner of the building and peeped in through the big library window.
There was my target and his grandson.
Benjamin Radcliff.
Confident. Cocky. Handsome as the devil. And most likely the dream of every woman in town.
Through the open window, I could hear they were arguing. I stood on the edge of the building, my back against the wall. I slid my hands into the back of my pants and brought out the gun and the silencer. Fixing the two parts together, I took a deep breath and glanced inside the building again. I could take the shot through the window with the gun, no need for the rifle, and it would be over. That was how the Eagle used to operate. Shoot first, ask questions later.
I watched as Elijah rose to his feet, whiskey in hand.
“Why did it have to be the Attorney General’s daughter, Benjamin? He called me personally to inquire why her phone calls have not been returned. Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is? And it’s not good for business.”
Benjamin narrowed his eyes at his whiskey glass.
“The girl is lying. I never touched her. Not my type. You know I’m many things, but a liar is not one of them. She has been stalking me for months, and it’s honestly getting out of hand. I’m close to getting a restraining order. She is not right in the head.”
