Chapter 5
Ulu Cami
The burning sun swam above his eyes as the usual disorientation and crash of fatigue hit him. Slumped on his side, he barely managed to dig the injector out of the pocket on the inside of his coat and jam it, hard, into his leg. He gasped as the adrenaline surged through his veins, his heart beating out a furious rhythm as the shivering set in despite the midday heat. He wrapped his arms around himself as he took in his surroundings, his eyes darting everywhere at once. It was the same rooftop he had scouted weeks ago when he first took the contract. Smooth, high stone ledges obscured him from the view of any curious bystanders while he recovered from the time jump. No family lived in the dwelling at the moment, or any of the rooms in other buildings with a view of the rooftop he currently knelt on. His contacts had conveniently kept it that way while he had been working. He stood shakily and, turning to the west, clearly saw the minarets of the Grand Mosque. His target.
He gathered his portal into its carrying case and wrapped it into a worn prayer mat he had left in one corner of the rooftop, lightly sheltered by a wooden canopy. Also stored for the occasion were a loose light-coloured pair of draped pants, a long, dark, roughly-woven robe and a patterned cloth to wrap around his head. A weeks-old beard hid the bottom half of his face.
After he had carefully dressed himself, he pulled a slim, metal case out of his pack, now hidden under his billowing clothing. Opening it on the ground, one side held a set of thin yet impossibly strong and nearly undetectable latex gloves that, once he had put them on, extended nearly to his elbows. Next was a small plastic tube of a strong scented liquid he rubbed carefully around his nostrils, then came a bottle of eye drops, the contents of which made his eyes blurry and stung. A small surgical mask was placed carefully over his mouth, then hidden by the access cloth draping from his head-covering. Left was a small plastic case with three compact and carefully-labelled syringes - a last resort in case the other measures failed – into a pocket on his concealed pack. He went through the routine quietly and purposefully, without complaint. It was this ritual alone that made what he was about to do next worth it. It ensured he would be alive to collect payment.
His last bit of preparation made him pause. On the other side of the metal case was a tube. Slim, opaque and heavily sealed with a special cap and encased in thin plastic. Checking to make sure his gloves were thoroughly in place, he removed the plastic wrapping and the cap. He felt a bead of cold sweat run down his temple as his tremor-ridden hands shakily tapped the clear, liquid substance along the sleeves and billowing edges of his cloak. He caught himself not breathing more than once while the tube was emptied. When finished, he carefully placed everything in a biohazard bag – nothing was to be left behind – which was sealed and put into his bag for disposal later. Now, he had a job to do.
Down on the street it was all noise, sights and smells. At high noon Food vendors and merchants lined the streets, waiting for the faithful to leave the mosque after midday prayers. Concealed time portal under his arm, he walked from vendor to vendor, sometimes just looking over their wares, other times making polite conversation with the merchants, making sure to thoroughly inspect their goods. Sometimes he reached to the very back of the vendor's table, his sleeves draping over food or trinkets, his cloak grazing the hands of those also browsing the goods. Careful to not raise suspicion, he never stayed for more than a few minutes, making his way closer and closer to the mosque entrance. He had almost reached the stone steps when he heard a mass of voices as men with prayer mats and women in billowing robes clutching their children streamed out of the entrance. He easily slipped into the crowd and wove himself through the crush of people looking for their loved ones.
As he wove through the crowd, he became acutely aware of who went to which shop and stall and who came close enough to brush up against him. Some in the crowd even greeted him when eye contact was made, to which he simply looked away. He became extremely attentive of each breath those around him took before speaking, each time someone among the sea of smiling faces touched their eyes, brushed their noses with their hands. He shook off the paranoia and vague hint of guilt creeping up the back of his spine, easy to do when he had a payday to think about.
After the crowd had thinned considerably and his work was done, he ducked down a thin alley, partially obscuring the beating sun. As he rounded a corner, a small gaggle of homeless children ran full hilt into him, knocking him back against a cool stone wall. One small boy clutched at his cloak to keep from falling. In a moment of panic he ripped the cloak from the child's hand, sending his small body tumbling back into the dirt. The rest of the children, what looked to be two more boys and a girl, all wide dark eyes and sharp cheekbones, froze and looked at him in fear. He made no movement and the boy who had fallen slowly pulled himself up, his eyes never leaving the stranger. He suddenly turned and ran off down a side alley, pulling the nearest child with him. The others quickly followed and soon, they were gone.
He let out a shaky breath, his shivers had returned, although the effects of the adrenaline should have been long gone. He rounded a corner and headed back in the direction of the deserted rooftop, shedding his robe as he went. He needed to move fast, it wouldn't be long now.
Disappearing into the shadows, he wasn't sure if it was the warm breeze in the alleyways or his imagination, but he could have sworn he already heard the wailing.