The Sheikh
"Hello?" said Mohammad.
"Mohammad! It is your good friend Tariq. I have the diamonds, and I'm headed up to my room, Brother!" A high-voiced Arabian on the other line said.
"Excellent! The exchange is set for 10:30. If you need to contact me, please come see me in the casino. Phone calls aren't allowed, and the roof is quite a few flights of stairs away; I'm out of shape these days." Mohammad patted his pot belly that came with age as he spoke into the phone.
"Ha ha, I see. Not a problem, next time we speak will be in the Casino. Be seeing you then." said Tariq.
"See you then, my friend." Was Mohammad's reply as he exited his limousine and opened the immaculate glass double-doors to the Shamal Hotel and Casino. He couldn't help but admire the allure and attraction of the building as he made his way to the casino section of the Shamal. Once he had arrived, he experienced a different kind allure as he watched scantily-clad women pass out alcohol to all the men and women trying to make or break the bank at the slot machine and craps tables.
He approached the two Arabs guarding the double-doors to his reserved private tables at the back of the Casino. "Where is the seller?" he questioned in Arabic. Naturally, the Arab answered in his native tongue as well, "He's getting the specimens. Room 707." With a nod and sigh Mohammad asked for a drink to be brought to him as he took his seat at a table with a reserved sign clearly marked 'Mohammad Ben Faisal Al-Khalifa - Party of Five.'
After several minutes of waiting and drinking a new, colorful drink for the first time (the Americans referred to it as Hypnotiq, he was beginning to truly love America) Mohammad's phone rang. He examined the caller I.D.-'Tariq'. "Goddamn you Tariq. I told you not to call." He sighed to himself as he pushed open the exit doors behind the last table in the reserved section and started his way up the long flight of stairs to the roof.
The Assassin, Part Three
47 felt a gentle calm wash over him as placed his pistol snugly back into its holster. His mission was almost done, and it wouldn't be long until the money was wired into his account and he was allowed to go 'home'. As much a home as an assassin can have, anyway.
As far as he could know Mohammad was still in the casino. He tried his best to think of a plan, but Al-Khalifa seemed untouchable. Surely he was heavily guarded and security would be very particular about who got in to see him. Maybe 47 could signal him out? No way, that would be impossible; or so he thought.
47 peered at the table next the corpse of Lateef, a cellphone! 47 had learned through his long career that if something was too good to be true, it usually was. But, despite his instincts this seemed to be real. He grabbed the cellphone and punched a few numbers with gloved fingers. As he did this, he looked out Lateef's bedroom window; There was the roof to the casino.
"No calls allowed in Casinos" he said to himself "Have to go to the roof. Hmm."
Finally, after pressing some more buttons-'calling… Mohammad Al-Khalifa'- appeared on the screen of the phone as 47 gave an odd mix between a grimace and a grin. He wore a grimace for the fact that he was about to snuff out another life, and he was numb. A grin for his brilliant plan.
As he put down the phone he dropped to his knees and popped open his suitcase. He assembled his Walther WA200 sniper quickly but carefully, screwing on the long barrel which was made more sleek by the suppressor, attaching the scope, and finally clicking the clip into place near the back of the gun. He opened the window that stared out onto the casino roof and stood by it, ready to take aim with his weapon. For a split second he almost let the barrel of the gun poke out of the window, a rookie mistake, but quickly corrected himself.
After a minute or two Mohammad knocked open the exit door to the roof with force as he held the phone to his ear and stared down at the ground, obviously angry that his friend had gone against his wishes and called him.
47 stared at his sunglasses-decorated face through scope and zoomed in on his chest. The reticule shook slightly from his unsteady hand, but he held his breath and the shaking stopped, enabling him to deliver death with pinpoint accuracy. He squeezed the trigger and a second later Mohammad fell and landed on his back. Physics made his now dead weight dominant as he collapsed back gasping for air.
Blood sprayed from his chest; his life flashed before him. In an instant he had ran through his childhood all the way to his earlier conversations with Tariq. He coughed up one more mouthful of blood and collapsed.
Mohammad Bin Faisal Al-Khalifa was dead.