"Good evening, Mr. Doe!" The short, rather stumpy middle aged woman says in French, her tone jovial.

"Good evening, Ms. Aveline," I reply as I cross the lobby of the apartment complex, my diction flawless.

"Long day at work again, I suppose?" She asks politely.

I turn towards her, the silencer of my shoulder holstered pistol digging gently into my ribs. "Quite." I sigh, not entirely insincere in my weariness. "But I can't complain."

"Oh I know exactly what you mean. I hate not being busy! If I weren't doing something every day I think I'd just go crazy, wouldn't you?"

Ms. Aveline's rambling, far from grating on my nerves, actually tends to relax me. But I find myself wanting to get away. I need to be alone right now.

"Ms. Aveline, my most sincere apologies, but I am quite tired, and I have a busy day tomorrow."

She balks at my interruption for a moment, unused to my speaking out of turn, before quickly regaining her composure. "Oh, of course, of course! Don't let me keep you! You have a good sleep Mr. Doe!"

I bend at the waist in a little bow to my landlady before heading for the elevator. "Good night, Ms. Aveline."

I stand stiffly at the side of the elevator as it rises to the top floor. I wait until the doors are open for a few seconds before stepping out from cover and walking briskly towards my apartment door at the end of the hall. The key is in my hand and the door unlocked in seconds. I enter quickly, shutting the door behind me. I go from room to room, confirming there are no intruders. I check under each and every piece of furniture and decoration for the usual bombs or listening devices. It doesn't take long. The safehouse is rather spartan.

Finding nothing, I begin to relax. It is a long process. First, I remove my weapons - the pistol with silencer and shoulder holster, plus the spare clips. Then the knives, from my right forearm, lower back, left thigh, and right ankle. I hide them all in the usual places around the safehouse, so that I am never far from a weapon should the need arise. I check to make sure the pistol is loaded and working properly, then stow it under my pillow on the bed.

I take off my suit jacket and bow tie, hanging them in the closet next to the others. Then comes the black vest and white dress shirt, followed by the suit pants. I hang these in the closet as well and retrieving my silk pajamas. I dress quietly, listening intently for anything out of the ordinary. There is only the noise of late night Paris traffic out the window.

The last thing I remove is the monocle, setting it gently on the nightstand next to the bed. I head for the bathroom and take a look at myself in the mirror. The scar down the middle of my face leers back at me. I ignore it. I trim the day's growth off my moustache and brush my teeth before turning out the lights and laying down in my bed.

I can't sleep. I knew I wouldn't be able to. The moment I saw my target today I knew I wouldn't be sleeping for some time. It was only stubborn propriety keeping me laying in the bed. It wasn't enough.

I stand and walk over to the window, looking out on the wonderful view of Paris it provides. I shouldn't be doing this. I should be trying to get to sleep. I'd need the rest for tomorrow. But I can't help myself.

I lean on the windowsill and stare out at Paris. And I remember.