DDD

Chapter 32

Ian had finally gotten the call with the location of the safe houses. He now had three hours to make two hits. It was nowhere near as much time as he would have liked to get in position and take the men out. Fortunately, he didn't have to dodge the mayor's hired muscle. Given what he had overheard after Orlinsky left, Fellini couldn't possibly get his people into position before tomorrow. At least the man had made the arrangements. All that phone activity would keep the F.B.I. from looking any further for the culprit.

It would also get him off the hook with Sara. If she didn't know what he'd been ordered to do, she couldn't be mad at him. He did not want to lie to her, even if only by omission, but Joe Siri was a link in a chain that led to Irons.

After a great deal of soul searching, Ian had decided that his first obligation, in this instance, was to Kenneth. Not only was it his job to protect Irons, it was his duty to protect the man who had raised him like a son.

There had been other times when he had decided in Sara's favor, and there would doubtless be again. It was a hard thing, this balancing act he was forced to maintain between the two of them, but it was the only option available to him. As it was, one misstep would plunge everything into the abyss.

Nottingham shoved such thoughts away from him as he parked his car. He could not afford any distractions while working. He was a quarter mile back from the first safe house, just outside the FBI's perimeter. Ian grabbed the bright red gym bag that held the sniper rifle. He stepped out of the black Pathfinder, just another New Yorker coming back from work via the gym.

The apartment building had an older key lock on the main entrance. It was contemptuously easy to open, he had hardly even needed to use two picks, the tumblers falling into place with an ease that spoke of a nearly worn out mechanism. Ian took the stairs to the roof. Once there, he shoved a wedge in the doorframe to insure his privacy and began to assemble the sniper rifle.

According to the report given to him, his target was the green two-story house that edged the commercial/residential demarcation line. He had an excellent view of it over the south side of the roof, which was really why intelligence had suggested it. The multitude of people passing through the building to muddy the waters afterward was just a bonus.

Ian laid the completed rifle down and reached back into the bag. He pulled out the small laptop computer and turned it on. In moments he had a thermal image of the safe house, beamed direct to him from one of Vorshlag's orbital satellites, on his monitor. Dante was still in his bed, which made the shot both easier and harder. Easier in that a sleeping man did not move, making motion correction unnecessary. But at this distance a supine target was difficult, especially since he would be shooting through a wall and was unable to actually 'see' his target. He would have to rely on his ability to translate what he saw on the screen to a firing angle.

Most assassins wouldn't take this shot, the odds were too high that the target would be missed, which would raise the alarm and make a second attempt doubly difficult. Nottingham wasn't happy about it himself, but he couldn't wait for a better shot to present itself. His timetable was too damn tight.

Nottingham picked the rifle back up, the black weapon a comforting weight in his palms. He settled his upper body on the edge of the building for support, checked his angle against the monitor, and aimed. Ian drew in a deep breath and held it. He visualized the room inside his head, and Dante sleeping in the bed. The image didn't quite line up. He dropped his aim a millimetre and felt that little hum in the back of his brain that told him he was on the mark.

On the exhale he slowly pulled the trigger, at this distance the slightest shift in the barrel would make him miss the target. The soft whine of the weapon firing was almost lost in the ambient noise of the city, yet Ian froze, alert for any sign that he had been noticed. He had used a muzzle flash suppressor as well as a silencer, just in case they had posted a spotter, but he was still wary.

It was his policy to never underestimate his foes, and that had stood him in good stead. Nottingham knew very well he was still alive because he was both good and cautious. Being skilled alone would not save you from the opportunities that carelessness gave one's opponents.

He checked the monitor, watching as the supine figure of Dante began to darken as his body heat dissipated into the night air. The agents guarding the ex-Captain didn't move from their positions, Nottingham was pleased to note. The longer it took them to realize their prisoner was dead, the better.

Ian dismantled the sniper rifle by feel, eyes moving back and forth from the monitor to the area around him. Once it was ready to stow, Nottingham closed the laptop and placed everything but the barrel back in the bag. It was the barrel that would seal his fate, were he caught. Ballistics was very precise. He walked over to one of the roof vents and dropped it down the hole.

Evidence disposed of; Ian looked over the edge of the building. It would be so much faster just to jump, but the laptop would never withstand that kind of shock. He turned away from the quick route and pulled the wedge out of the doorframe so he could go back the way he came.

One down, one to go.

The location of the second target was not conveniently located to the first. Ian had spent the last twenty minutes of the drive tempting fate in the form of being pulled over for speeding. It broke the first rule of an assassin; thou shalt not draw attention to thyself. He hated to break it but, this night, time was of the essence. It was worth playing the odds, especially through the poorer sections of town where no cop in his right mind wanted to get out of his car alone.

It was looking like his risk was going to pay off. In just a few more minutes he would be to the parking garage that he intended to use to take out the second mark. There would be enough time to park, pick up the barrel, and take his shot before the guard changed. The incoming crew would check on Dante and find him a corpse. The jig, as they say, would be up. He needed to make his shot before they alerted the other safe house and moved Siri.

As Nottingham turned the corner, his luck ran out. There were two squad cars bracketing a wreck directly in front of the garage entrance. The rotating lights cast alternating red and blue light over the t-barred vehicles. Someone must have pulled out right into an oncoming car.

At this time of night, both had probably consumed alcohol or any number of pharmaceuticals, or both. The scene was not likely to be cleared for a while, and both cars would probably end up impounded, which meant waiting for one of the city wreckers to show up and haul them out of the way.

Unfortunately, his contacts had already been and gone. His replacement barrel was on the top floor of the parking garage and there was no quick way to get another one sent out. Ian was going to have to go through or around the police to get to that vital piece of equipment.

By the blood of Saint Joan, he hated rush jobs. There was no time for this. Ian drove past the accident and turned at the next corner. On both sides of the street the curbs were painted 'no parking' yellow. Parking Control didn't work this late, but with the accident around the corner Nottingham could not count on his vehicle passing unremarked. Being noticed was far more dangerous than a parking ticket.

Four blocks later Ian found an open space and parked the black car. He slid out of the Pathfinder and hesitated. Going back for the barrel was going to cost him time, and that was something he did not have. While he preferred long-range on a hit like this, it wasn't necessary. Two of the pistols on his person were throw-aways. The serial numbers had been filed off, and there was no way to trace them back to himself or Vorshlag if he used the pistols and dumped them.

The likelihood of being seen, or even caught, increased exponentially the closer to his target he became. Was it worth the risk? Did he have any choice? The clock was ticking.

Deciding that a close-in hit would be his best chance, Nottingham returned the gym bag to the vehicle. He would not need the partial weapon, and he could make better time without it and the relatively fragile laptop.

Ian moved into the darkness beyond the streetlamps and began to run. When he had enough momentum going, he leapt for the fire escape. His best bet was a high approach. It would give him a better angle for his shot, as well as being the path of least resistance.

Conscious of the steady passing of time, Nottingham raced to the safe house. Four blocks away from his target, activity suddenly increased. The area was crawling with agents, who were spread out in a search pattern.

Had Fellini somehow managed to get a man into position? It seemed unlikely, but depending on who he hired, the assassin could have had an inside track on the hit. Ian could not count on that though. He was going to have to see for himself just what had occurred.

For several tense minutes Ian threaded his way through the security net, sometimes passing close enough to an agent to touch them. It was exhilarating to be so near trained operatives without being detected. Nottingham smiled to himself. He had missed the thrill of being in the field against such odds. Now that he was head of security, with all the high visibility that entailed, Ian was expected to be more circumspect in his actions.

If Irons knew that mere inches stood between Nottingham and discovery, he would be very displeased. Well, Kenneth wouldn't be learning of it tonight. Ian made it past the sweep and settled into the shadow cast by the gargoyle on the roof of the building next to the safe house.

Wanting to know what was going on before he got any closer; Ian slid the listening device out of one of the trench coat's inner pockets. He aimed it at the house and placed the receiver in his ear.

"So far nothing," the first voice Ian heard was a disappointed baritone.

"Well, they're not exactly subtle." The second voice was midrange, no accent, utterly forgettable, even with the sarcasm lacing his tone. "All those agents prowling around probably scared our hitter off. I am surprised that they didn't do 'em both at the same time. They had to know we'd be checking on our 'guests' pretty regular, especially the involuntary one."

Well, yes, actually Nottingham had thought of that. He knew he should have taken Siri out first. Since he was being protected and not under arrest, Joe would not have had any desire to flee, and so would have been watched less closely. Ian had taken Dante out first because he was reluctant to cause Sara any pain. Part of him had been hoping to come up with a solution that would not put him into conflict with her expectations and Kenneth's orders.

Proof once again that sentiment had no place in the work environment.

"Yeah well, maybe the other one was personal, and nobody's coming for this guy. After all, you don't get to the top without shoving somebody out of the slot," the first man was saying.

"True enough. You also don't get there without learning things that other people don't want to get out." Something in the second man's tone put Ian on alert. He pressed the record button on the listening device.

"Yeah. The rumour mill says it's some kind of secret society, and that it goes way up the food chain."

"It does." The soft 'pfft' of a silenced round made Nottingham jerk.

There was the muffled thump of a body hitting carpet, and then the man was talking again, his voice holding a touch of regret, "Sorry Nate. You should have gone out with the others."

Ian resisted the urge to lean forward. It wouldn't make any difference to the receiver. It would, however, break his silhouette from the shelter of the building, making him visible to anyone keeping a watch. It was hard to stay in place though. Nottingham wanted to see the shooter, needed to put a face to the voice of Sara's enemy. This man could be nothing else. Only someone connected to the Bulls would be doing this.

There was the sound of a door opening, and then Joe Siri's voice asking, "Is everything all right?"

"Yes. Everything is just fine, Mr. Siri." There were two more shots fired, and then silence.

A few moments later the shades were drawn back and the curtains of the window opposite Ian were opened. Even with his excellent night vision, all Ian could see was a white handkerchief moving over what had to be the gun. Finally satisfied that the weapon had been sanitized, the corrupt agent moved to the counterpane and raised the sash.

Nottingham bared his teeth in a predatory grin as his target came into sight. The man was medium height, probably 5' 10". His hair was a sandy blonde and his face was utterly forgettable. No doubt he was invaluable when it came to tailing suspects. That nondescript look would no longer avail him. Ian had memorized his features as the agent tossed the pistol out into the neighbour's hedges.

The blonde stepped back from the window, leaving it open, and walked out of sight. There was the sound of crashing furniture, and then three shots shattered the relative quiet of the night. Ian settled deeper into his hiding place, knowing the sound would bring all the agents running back to the safe house.