May 30, 1962 Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic
It was a minute past midnight when General Rafael Trujillo walked out of the capitol building. The man felt so safe, so in control of the chaotic country that he freely walked the crime ridden streets of Santo Domingo on the way to his luxury car, which was parked a short distance around the corner. The dictator's overconfidence played directly into her hand. She watched from her position on top of the opposing apartment building as the old man stepped off the curb and into the street. General Trujillo never made it to his car.
The small bullet was silent as it left the gun. The only sound that echoed down the street was that of a body hitting the asphalt.
As the warm crimson blood flowed from the General's head onto the cold street, the woman broke down the high powered rifle, whose patent remained classified as top secret. Less an hour later, she was on a small speed boat traveling through international waters, headed for Puerto Rico. A short coded message was sent to the CIA team located in Miami using the boat's encrypted radio.
Gabriele Richter had been working for the Central Intelligence Agency for nearly fifteen years. Practically ever since the Americans saved her from her war torn homeland. Now, in return, she worked for them. It wasn't the prettiest job. She yet had to conceive a way in which she could ever call her job, which entitled her to kill people, pretty.