The Accidental Assassin
Page 5

Once it was ready I leaned back in my chair and drained the last of my scotch before setting the empty glass next to my creation. It was an ugly thing that would make an even uglier scene. Every time I’d been in the garage this week no one had been near Song’s car, which meant the risk of bystanders was low. I’d be close enough to monitor the situation and make sure no one innocent came anywhere near the blast zone, but far enough away that I wouldn’t have to risk exposure.
The next morning I nodded at the owner as I left the hotel to head for Song’s building. The owner was squinting at her computer, but looked up and smiled at me.
“You’re up early, Mr. Martin. It’s not even in six in the morning! Will you be returning for breakfast?”
“No, I’m meeting a friend today.” I smiled back, easy with the lie and fake name. I wanted to get to Song’s apartment with enough time to do everything I needed.
“Ah, well. Have a good morning.” The crinkles at the corners of her eyes deepened.
“Thank you. You too.” I pushed through the door and walked the short few blocks to the building that housed Song’s flat. It had rained already this morning and more was forecasted. I hoped it would hold out until after the job was complete. I stopped and bought a paper from the man at the stand on the corner of Song’s block. I flipped through the pages, organizing the paper as I looked for the business section and scanned the street.
The doorman wasn’t at the entrance, which raised a red flag. He had been at his post every morning for the last week—so what was different today? I hung back for a while, watching the entrances to see if anyone came or went. Eventually the doorman exited the building with a blonde woman wearing a business suit. They spoke for a few minutes before he pointed to the garage. She laughed and turned toward the ramp that led to the cars. From what I could hear, she was there to pick up an employer’s vehicle. She tripped a bit on her way inside and giggled, her brief case swinging wildly.
I narrowed my eyes as I watched her enter the building. My gut told me to not trust her cheerful façade. I looked down at the paper in my hand and debated leaving for the day. If Song kept to his schedule, he wouldn’t be using his car again until next week, which meant this was my last chance for a bomb. Otherwise I’d be stuck with something more personal and that wouldn’t create the same type of message. My contact had assured me that no one else was on the same case, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.
For the first time I cursed not having a partner. Some assassins worked with teams, but I’d always thought that was the best way to get themselves killed. The first thing you learned in this business was to trust no one. If you trust someone, they can betray you. If they betray you, you’re dead. But I had to admit it would be helpful to have someone else monitoring the building while I climbed under a car. Shooting Song on his drive to work would have been much easier, but would likely kill bystanders.
The garage was quiet, except for the woman chatting on her cell phone. I could hear some of her inane gossip as she fiddled with her car keys before climbing into the driver side. I made my way to Song’s car and watched the woman pull out of the garage from the corner of my eye.
I sidled up to the trunk and crouched down to look at the underside of the vehicle. It was a foreign model; one of the more expensive sedans. I worked quickly, careful to keep track of time while making sure everything was set up correctly. I wanted to be able to detonate the bomb once he was in the street, not in the building. It would make the largest splash that way and I was nothing if not thorough.
Once I had it ready, I slid it out from under the car and checked the burner phone one more time. Everything was ready to go; I just needed to wait for Song. Making sure that no one was watching, I headed for the exit.
THE RAIN WAS thick this morning and I had to fight my urge to stay in bed and sleep away the day. I was trying to go to the gym every morning, but perhaps it would be good to break that routine, too. Of course, I’d started working out every day so I would take better care of myself, which wasn’t really a habit that I should break. Or should I? I could try.
I rolled over and squished my pillow into a comfortable shape but couldn’t go back to sleep. I tried to remind my body that it was still early back home and that sleeping in would be understandable, but it wasn’t working. My internal clock was all over the place.
Sighing, I gave up and headed for the shower. The shower was nice, large, with a special nozzle that was supposed to simulate rain. In fact, everything in Danny’s place was nice. Fancy stove, expensive American style refrigerator, and art work that made me drool. Not to mention the apartment—flat—itself was in one of the most expensive buildings in the neighborhood. I hadn’t thought a contractor would be able to afford something like this, but maybe his job explained his expensive taste. Or, more likely, he got all of his expensive fixtures at a discount.
Unimpressed with the weather, I sat down at the table and looked at Mr. Green the Plant. “So far England is amazing. Everything has this undertone of history mixed with modern technology. But the rain? Every day. Every. Day. What’s up with that?”
I didn’t wait for the answer that would never come and thought about my options. Not exactly a great day to go exploring. I could hit up the coffee shop and stop by the store across the street to stock up on ingredients for one of the new recipes I wanted to try. That would keep me busy, at least, and somewhat dry.