Despite being on call once again, Jackson didn't appropriate an internationally noticeable job until around his twenty-fifth birthday. All of the planning was finished by April, so he flew overseas to Switzerland—when he arrived at the international headquarters in Geneva, Lyna was sitting there waiting for him, but he breezed right past her and into the patron's office. Feeling completely ignored and quite angry because of it, she followed right on his tail and slammed the door to Poulain's office closed. Jackson calmly walked to sit in one of the chairs in front of Poulain, setting his briefcase on his knees and popping the case open. He pulled out a thick manila file and set it on Poulain's desk, pushing it towards the older man.

'I'll be using an assassin recommended to me by Hélène,' he said smoothly and Lyna immediately glared at him. 'I worked with him in Nepal.'

'He can not make a decision like that,' she spat. 'That is not his to decide! He was given an associate, and that associate is me.'

Poulain looked between the two of them. Lyna, of course, had been on for more than twice as long as Jackson, but Jackson was definitely his favoured employee. That wasn't the only reason why he leaned towards the support of Jackson in most given situations—whereas Lyna was constantly upset and showing it with outbursts, Jackson typically kept everything very demure, which was much more dangerous. Lyna would snap a person's neck immediately, but as Jackson was talking to someone, he would be plotting the best way to off him without pulling blame back on himself.

The old man cleared his throat. 'If Jackson wishes to try and use a different associate, then I'm willing to entertain his curiosity.'

Lyna's jaw dropped. 'I have been with this company since—'

'1981, yes, I know,' replied Poulain, putting a hand up to silence her. 'And the organisation is incredibly pleased with your contributions. But this is just one assignment.'

Gritting her teeth, Lyna looked over at Jackson, angered by the self-righteous grin on his face as he looked at her. 'Well, Lyna, I suppose you don't have to be in on this meeting then.'

Poulain clicked his tongue. 'Lyna may stay in case we can't find a substitute for her in time.'

Lyna returned the grin, which made the two of them look very much like children in day care. The Swiss man came to the slow realisation that the two absolutely hated each other and it was probably in the best interest of the organisation and his plans for Jackson to split them up as soon as possible. Perhaps Ian could be cleared for international assignments, but now wasn't the time to decide that. As the two members opposite him glared daggers at one another, he looked over Jackson's plan for the assassination of Dr Wilhelmus Simon Petrus Fortuijn and gave it his mental seal of approval.

---

A month later, Jackson sat on a bench in Hilversum, the Netherlands with ear buds in his ears, hiding partially behind a copy of Die Welt. He was listening loudly and carefully to a radio interview with Dr Pim Fortuyn; after all, he spoke German relatively well, but Dutch he had to concentrate on. The man was going off on his usual tangent about Islam and Muslims, which made Jackson frown—rarely did he feel the same about a target as his employers.

'I don't hate Islam. I consider it a backward culture. I have travelled much in the world. And wherever Islam rules, it's just terrible. All the hypocrisy. It's a bit like those old Reformed Protestants. The Reformed lie all the time. And why is that? Because they have norms and values that are so high that you can't humanly maintain them. You also see that in that Muslim culture. Then look at the Netherlands. In what country could an electoral leader of such a large movement as mine be openly homosexual? How wonderful that that's possible. That's something that one can be proud of. And I'd like to keep it that way, thank you very much,' said the politician and Jackson tightened his grip on the newspaper. 'I am also in favour of a cold war with Islam. I see Islam as an extraordinary threat, as a hostile religion.'

The radio announcer gave his little blurb at the end of the broadcast and they cut to commercial. In the distance, cathedral bells rang in five in the evening; it would only be minutes now before Fortuyn exited the radio station only to be shot by Nils from the building across the street. Everything was going to plan so far, but there was an inkling of discomfort in Jackson's spine that he couldn't ascertain the reason for. Finally, the doors of the radio station opened and Jackson looked over the top of the newspaper to see the radio delegates giving their good-byes to the politician, who was dressed in an impeccable suit. Once the doors closed, Fortuyn stepped down the stairs and started towards the car park, where his limousine was parked.

When the man paused for a moment to look through the outside pocket of his briefcase, the sound of a gunshot rent the air. Jackson's brow furrowed; Nils was supposed to wait until the politician was in his car, shoot the man and then hit the gas tank to at least burn off some of the evidence of their transgressions. Yanking out his ear buds, Jackson looked over at the man who was writhing on the ground and was about to go after Nils when another man appeared in his line of sight and stood over Fortuyn, shooting him seven more times in the head and throat. Dropping the newspaper out of his hand, Jackson just gaped at the scene, going over possible scenarios in his head. Did Poulain hire someone else behind his back? No, the old man liked him too much. Could it be just a random coincidence? There was no way—what were the odds that an assassination would take place at the same time as he'd planned it to happen? And then it hit him.

'Lyna,' he growled as he watched the gunman sprint from the scene, not even bothering to dispose of his gun.

A crowd of onlookers pulled in by the sound of gunshots followed the assassin, and before Jackson knew it, all hell had broken loose. To be safe, he just walked up to stand with the other people who were watching from the edges as a few people tried to help the fallen politician; nothing was more suspect than someone walking away from something that was almost like a human train wreck. The normal human reaction was to move closer and have something to tell the family over dinner or call your best friend about as soon as you were ushered off by the police.

Within a couple of minutes, the paramedics showed up and pushed away the people who'd been trying to stop the bleeding. The police were quick on their heels, having already apprehended the assassin, and in short order had the area cordoned off and had started to send people away from the scene. Jackson waited until most of the people started to filter off and went with the largest group; Nils was across the street with a different group. They made eye contact for an instant before each headed for different parts of the city.

---

'She sabotaged my plan!' yelled Jackson, standing up with one hand in a fist on Poulain's desk. He was pointing the other at Lyna, who was standing by the billiards table with her arms crossed.

'I did, and I am damn proud of it,' she hissed back before spitting on the floor in his direction.

Poulain was reclined in his desk chair looking at the two of them angrily. 'You are supposed to be a professional, Vasylyna. This assignment was given to Jackson for Jackson to carry out, and I gave him permission to use another assassin in your place. This is most appalling behaviour and I am very disappointed.'

Jackson moved to say something to her, but Poulain cut him off.

'Don't say a word, Jackson,' he said, pointing at the younger man. 'You have just as much blame in this as she does for letting this go on.'

For a moment, Jackson gaped but quickly went back to an emotionless look and then sunk into his chair.

'Miss Melinyshyn, you're off-duty until further notice and I'm voiding your contract with Jackson,' he said, looking to the woman who was now leaning against the billiards table. 'In addition, you will be paying Jackson's salary for the hit.'

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before Lyna crossed the room with a couple of long strides and knocked Jackson out of his chair, pinning him to the floor as she clamped her bony hands around his neck. At first, he thrashed around with wide eyes but after a moment reached his hands up to grab around her throat. There was a confusing rustling before Jackson came to rest sitting over Lyna, quickly pressing his whole weight onto her neck. Poulain rang for his guards as Lyna started clawing at Jackson's face, trying to get him off of her. The door flew open and four men came in, prying Jackson from Lyna and pulling them away from each other with Lyna kicking as hard as she could at Jackson.

Like a spitting cat, she fought against her captors as the guards holding Jackson let go of him. He stood still, breathing heavily with his hair falling in his eyes and had only a moment of fleeting terror as he watched Lyna yank the gun from the holster of one of Poulain's bodyguards and shoot five times, hitting him four times and the ceiling once as all four men pinned her to the ground. Completely stunned, Jackson stood with wide eyes as blood ran down his shirt from his right shoulder, left-side abdomen, and just below his sternum—another bullet had cut through his right femur, but he was quick to shift his weight onto the left side. Poulain rushed over to him and led him to the billiard table as he yelled for more backup.

Jackson could hear Lyna's screams slowing and could only assume that she'd been drugged. He looked up at the lights over the billiard table and swallowed a bit, wetting his dry mouth as Poulain pulled open his shirt and looked at the bullet holes. There was a lot of movement around him as the first aid trained employees worked on cleaning and checking the wounds. He smiled lightly as the angelic face of Poulain's secretary Anaïs appeared above him, dabbing at his chest worriedly.

'Get his medical records,' said Poulain suddenly, checking Jackson's pulse.

'Sir, is it really a good idea to take him to the hospital?' whispered Anaïs.

Jackson's head lolled to the side and his eyes rolled back in his head. Poulain immediately reached up and slapped him harshly across the face. In response, Jackson opened his eyes wide, almost immediately threw up blood, and then laid his head to one side with his mouth open, trying to speak to the people around him. His lips were starting to tint blue and his breath was coming in short spurts before he coughed up more blood onto the already bloody billiards table. The organisation employees turned him on his side and Poulain's secretary crawled up on the table with him and calmly put his head in her lap, holding his hair back from his face and pressing her hand to his clammy forehead.

'I said get his medical records!' Poulain said angrily. 'And call 114. We need an ambulance immediately.'

As two of the men walked quickly out, Poulain took off his suit jacket and threw it over Jackson; there was nothing else they could do at the office, so they could only keep him as comfortable as possible until the ambulance arrived. With his secretary keeping Jackson awake, Poulain turned to look at Lyna, who was sprawled out and drugged on the floor.

'Go ahead and take her to one of the psychiatric evaluation rooms in the back,' he said to the men around her. 'And intercept the police. We don't need them snooping around back here.'

---

Thousands of miles away, Lisa sat up straight in her bed, awoken by a nightmare. She pulled her sheets up to her chest before dropping her head to take in the smell of fabric softener. Tonight was one of those nights where she resigned herself to being Daddy's little girl after a tough day of work; they sat around with each other watching comedy marathons and eating Chinese take-out before a goodnight kiss. She'd drift off to sleep with the sound of her insomniac father working in his office on some case. The flipping of book pages was soothing to her, one of the sounds of her childhood. It was weird, however, not having the sound punctured by her mother's low whisper pleading him to go to bed.

The door to her room opened a crack and her father peeked in. 'Leese? Is everything all right?'

'Yeah, I just had a nightmare,' she replied softly, relaxing as he came over and sat down on the edge of the bed.

'Want to tell me about it?' he asked, reaching out to poke her nose.

She smiled broadly at him. 'It was nothing, really. Just a stupid, completely unfeasible nightmare. I'm already forgetting it.'

He smiled back at her. 'Then get some sleep.'

'You too,' she said, giving him a serious look.

'I'll try,' he replied before reaching out and pulling her into a tight hug that she eagerly returned. 'I love you, Leese.'

'I love you too, Daddy.'