As always, I don't own Eidos or Disney, so I have absolutely no right to be using the characters from Hitman or Gargoyles in this story.
Seriously.
They should probably try and charge me with something.
Authors note-I based many of 47's "daily routine" activities on those he performs in Williams C. Dietz' book Hitman: Enemy Within. This is a truly excellent novel, and I highly recommend it, even if you are not a fan of the Hitman series.
Somewhere under the streets of Manhattan-
47 pierced the darkness that shrouded the abandoned subway tunnel with a small LED flashlight as he searched for any tell tale sign that the old station he was using as a supply cache and base of operations had been disturbed. Even after the various tell tales he had left behind proved to be intact, the bald assassin pulled a suppressed Silverballer from under the ragged army jacket he was wearing and moved to a large power switch on the wall, flipped it on, shielded his eyes and darted away.
He swept the station with the handgun, and when no armed assailants leapt out to confront him, he relaxed slightly, eased down the hammer on the pistol and re-holstered it.
The clone killer walked over to a small workbench on the dusty platform, pulled out a large trash bag from a bottom drawer, and began to drop the homeless disguise he'd used to infiltrate the Labyrinth into it.
Five minutes later, the assassin had the disguise bagged up and had just removed his trademark black suit, white shirt and red tie from a garment bag that was hanging near the workbench.
After pulling on his "street" clothes, the killer pulled out another Silverballer from a heavy metal case that he kept concealed in a hollowed out space behind the stations long abandoned ticket booth twin. He placed the weapons in the shoulder holsters he wore under his suit jacket, and then took a small gun cleaning kit from the workbench, dropped it into one if his jacket pockets, shut off the power, climbed the stair way out of the station and into the world above, and slipped out onto the street.
The Labyrinth-
Pandemonium might have been too strong a word, but it would be hard to find a better word to describe to describe the underground sanctuary after Talon found Delilah out cold in front of a cell that had recently been redecorated with the contents of Fangs head.
The panther mutate surveyed the spattered back wall of the cell while his sister and Malibu tried to revive Delilah.
Elisa shone a small pocket flashlight in her half-clone's eyes, and then nodded.
"Drugged…but alive." Elisa proclaimed, tucking the flashlight back into her pocket.
"She'll be okay?" Malibu asked, in his not-quite Brooklyn voice.
"She'll be fine, Mal." Elisa looked over at the crumpled body of Fang, "I wish I could say the same for him though."
Malibu shrugged, "Small loss," he muttered, remembering all the abuse the bastard had heaped on him and his brothers and sister when they first came to Labyrinth. He had only stopped when the clones had gained enough cognitive functions to return his fire…with a vengeance.
Privately, Elisa agreed with the photo negative clone of Brooklyn; she doubted she could say as much until she figured out exactly what her mercurial brother's feelings on Fangs death were.
She left Delilah in Malibu's care and walked into the cell and stood with her sibling.
She looked at the bloodstains on the walls, looked at her brother, and then blurted.
"I'm thinking two rabbits boning each other."
Talon snapped out of his thoughts, "What?"
Elisa reddened with embarrassment and looked at the floor, "Sorry, bro. Cop humor."
"No I mean wha…" Talon looked a little closer at the blood on the walls, "Oh. I get it. That's just a little bit sick, Elisa."
Elisa shrugged, "Force of habit…now seriously, how are you feeling about this?"
Talon sighed, "I don't know, honestly. It's…Fang wasn't what you would call good company I suppose. But still, he didn't deserve this," Derek pointed at the gaping hole in the back of the dead mutates head, "I still don't understand why someone would break in here just to kill him, anyway."
Elisa was thankful that was all that had happened; things would have gone worse if the remnants of the Quarrymen had snuck an assassin in here.
Someone rapped on the cell bars, and the siblings turned to see Maggie standing there, trying very hard not to look at either Fangs body or the splattered gore.
"We searched the whole Labyrinth," she reported. "Whoever did this must have snuck in here with the last group of residents we took in…but they're gone now."
Talon sighed, "I thought that would be the case, but we had to try."
Maggie nodded, "Maybe…maybe this is for the best. We could never have let Fang out, not with how dangerous he could be. At least this way he doesn't have to…live the rest of his life in that cage."
Talon nodded, "I think your right, Mags, but still…"
"What the hell is this?" Malibu suddenly demanded.
The two mutates and Elisa turned to look at the clone; he was carefully studying a mark on Delilah's neck that was oozing a small rivulet of blood.
Elisa's eyes narrowed as she walked over to the two clones and crouched to examine the mark.
"That," she said, "is a puncture wound."
"Well I guess that confirms she was drugged," Talon said from inside the cell.
"It confirms more than that, Derek."
"What do you mean?" Talon asked, as he emerged from the cell to crouch next to his sister.
"This is the same type of needle mark that the assassin left in Angela's neck. Same wound placement too; right into the artery."
"How can you tell?" Maggie asked, "It could just be the same needle and technique…"
Elisa closed her eyes, and had the vivid memory of rounding a corner to see a stranger ramming a needle into her daughter in-laws neck. She remembered aiming her weapon and shouting as the assassin darted away when he saw her gun; remembered dashing to Angela's side as she fell to the floor, remembered desperately checking for a pulse, remembered the relief she felt when she found one…
"Trust me Maggie. That's not something I'm ever going to forget."
"Forget what?" Someone asked, her voice a mirror of Elisa's own.
"Delilah!" Malibu joyfully shouted as the clone's eyes fluttered open.
"Hello Malibu…is it morning already?" she asked groggily.
"Not quite," Talon said as he smiled down at his friend, "We had a little trouble earlier…"
"What? I don't remember anything like that…" Delilah's voice was regaining lucidity.
"You were drugged, sweetheart," Elisa said, "Nothing happened to you while you were out," she quickly pointed out, noticing the look of panic on the clones face.
"Who? Was it…was it…him?"
Elisa reached down and squeezed Delilah's hand, "No it wasn't him."
"Just some assassin who was after Fang," Malibu said, doing his best to reassure his mate.
"Oh. Oh!" Delilah looked concerned, and tried to sit up and look at Fangs cell. She was stopped when Elisa set a restraining hand on her chest.
"It really isn't something you'd want to see, Delilah."
The clone's eyes widened, "What happened?"
"The killer drugged you, and then disabled the power to the force field around Fangs cell…" Talon explained, "Then…he murdered him. Fang's dead."
"Small loss," Delilah murmured, and then said aloud "I don't know what happened, one minute I was reading my book…the next I was on the floor with you guys around me."
After a moments silence she looked up at Talon with a look on her face that said reality had caught up with her, "I'm sorry, leader. I failed."
"No you didn't; not anymore than the rest of us. We're the one's who let this killer in after all."
While her brother reassured Delilah, Elisa glanced at her watch and saw how close to dawn it was.
"Uh, guys, you going to be okay here?" she sheepishly asked, "I want to try and get back home in time to tell the guys what's happened, if I can."
Talon nodded, "We've done all we can Elisa."
Elisa looked at Delilah, "I'll be fine, Elisa. You need to get back to the castle and inform Goliath's clan of this."
"Thanks, guys." Elisa said as she stood up, "I'll check back with you all later." she quickly made her way down the tunnel towards the main hall, and from there to the exit that led to her Fairlane.
Chase Park Plaza Hotel, Manhattan-
After ditching the trash bag containing the homeless disguise he'd used to infiltrate the Labyrinth in the trash cans in an alley behind a McDonalds, 47 walked back towards his hotel checking behind himself on occasion for any sign of a tail. He found none, and was shortly at the entrance of his hotel.
The killer clone looked left and right in the luxuriously appointed, dark wood paneled lobby, carefully checking for anything that seemed out of place. Finding none, 47 walked over to the reception desk.
"Are there any messages for room 407?"
The receptionist typed a few rapid commands into her keyboard, "Yes sir, it seems room 407 has several messages…if you would just show me your room key I can give them to you right away."
47 produced the plastic swipe card for his hotel room, and the receptionist gave him two small envelopes.
The assassin nodded his thanks and made a beeline for the elevator bank in the back of the lobby, still sweeping for any sign of a tail. Finding none, he stepped into the first available elevator and used a knuckle to punch the button for his floor
Castle Wyvern, Manhattan-
"How did your patrols go tonight, my daughter?" Goliath asked Angela as she alighted on the battlements with Broadway,
"The usual, I suppose…rapists, muggers and armed robbers."
Goliath shook his head, "The same for the rest of the clan. It's almost become routine."
Broadway chuckled, "I can handle routine. Routine doesn't seem to involve magic, monsters, laser rifles…" he glanced at the three round abrasions that dotted his chest, "Or bald assassins with handguns."
"Well, I'm glad you can take it so lightly," Angela scolded; she shuddered as she remembered watching the doctors in the infirmary fight to keep her mate alive until dawn. He had made it, obviously, but even after two straight days of stone sleep he bore the scars of his encounter with the assassin's .45 caliber pistol.
The big blue gargoyle smiled, "Anything you can walk away from, right?"
Angela rolled her eyes, "I suppose that's easy for you to say."
"What's easy to say?"
The three gargoyles turned to find Elisa emerging unto the battlement from a nearby tower.
"Nothing much, Elisa…it's just that my mate likes to trivialize life threatening wounds just to goad me," Angela wryly answered.
"What? I did not!" Broadway protested.
Goliath chuckled, and then got a better look at Elisa's face. "What's wrong?" he demanded, with enough alarm to snap Broadway and Angela out of their mock argument.
"Fangs dead," Elisa said, getting straight to the point, "Someone snuck into the Labyrinth and shot him."
"What?" Goliath nearly shouted, "But why would someone wish too kill…him?"
"Not sure…"
"Was anyone else hurt?" Angela quickly asked.
"No…well, Delilah was drugged by the killer so he could get to Fang, but she was doing fine when I left to tell you guys what happened."
Angela breathed a sigh of relief, "At least there's that much to be thankful for."
"I suppose. But I have something else you guys need to know."
"What's that, my Day Angel?" Goliath cautiously asked.
"The assassin who killed fang was the same one who broke in here awhile back."
"Are you kidding?" Broadway asked, then paused and rubbed his chin; doing his best detective imitation as he mulled something over. "Do you think an assassin is trying to take out gargoyles in New York?" he finally asked.
"No," Elisa answered flatly. "Good theory, Broadway, but I'm pretty sure what we're dealing with is a group of highly trained killers, who happens to have had two hits that involved gargoyles or mutates. In fact, judging from what Goliath's told me, a clan of gargoyles was the last thing this killer was expecting when he came in here to take a shot at Xanatos."
Broadway looked disappointed, but didn't argue.
"How many other killings do you think he's responsible for?" Goliath asked.
"Not sure. Homicide isn't my department, normally, so I don't keep track of high profile killing's…although I can guess that one man on the list is Anton Sevarious."
"Sevarious?" Goliath demanded. "But I thought the police decided that was a robbery after they discovered his research was missing?"
"So they say…but the kill was too clean, too in line with what we've seen both here and at the Labyrinth for them to not be related somehow."
Elisa shook her head, "In the end, I suppose there's not much we can do about right now."
The three gargoyles nodded in agreement with their human clan mate
"At the very least, not until tomorrow. Dawn is approaching," Goliath said, pointing to the first glimmers of light on the horizon. "You two go take your places; I will join you in a moment."
Elisa and Goliath watched as the two gargoyles walked off, resuming their playful squabbling as they headed for the tower the clan slumbered on during the day.
"It is nice to see my daughter so happy," Goliath mused.
"Yeah," Elisa shortly agreed.
Goliath sent her a questioning look, "It's just…sometimes it still bothers me…" Elisa looked at the ground.
"I…I am sorry my Elisa," Goliath whispered, knowing just what had put his mate in her sudden melancholy.
"It's not you fault Big Guy…it's not anyone's fault. We are who we are."
"We are who we are," Goliath repeated the mantra; and hated every word of it, "I…will see you tomorrow night, Elisa," and he headed off to the tower before Elisa could see the look of anguish on his face.
Behind the lavender behemoth Elisa shook her head as if to clear it; desperate for something to keep her mind occupied, she began to wonder what the mysterious assassin, who had twice entered her life on a tide of blood and bullets was doing…
Chase Park Plaza Hotel, Manhattan-
47 toweled off as he stepped out of the shower, than wiped the condensation off the Silverballer he had brought with him into the bathroom (the killer always remained cognizant of the large numbers of targets he had picked off in bathrooms, hence the slight paranoia). After brushing his teeth, he padded back into his hotel room and checked the time on the digital alarm next to the bed.
After deciding it was too early for breakfast, the killer yanked the blankets and pillows off the beds and made a pallet on the floor, his normal resting place, because the first thing someone out to kill him was likely to do after breaking down the door was put a few bullets in the bed. Sleeping on the floor bought a few seconds to react, but those few seconds had saved 47's life on more than one occasion.
After placing both the Silverballer's in easy reach, 47 lay down on his improvised bed, and after a few moments, he drifted off to sleep.
Six hours later, the mechanical bleating of his alarm clock awoke the killer from a dreamless sleep. He made a quick visual survey of the hotel room, and after finding nothing out of place, he got to his feet and walked over to the closet with one of the Silverballers in hand. He threw the door open and stepped back, raising the pistol as he did so. After finding no threats on the other side, he turned to the bathroom and repeated the process. Again, the killer clone found no man (or woman) with a gun lying in wait.
After clearing the room, the assassin ran through his morning fitness routine, which was remarkable only in that his repetitions ran into the hundreds instead of the normal dozens normally performed by all but the most demanding fitness buffs.
After his exercises 47 stepped inside the bathroom, showered and shaved, then stepped back into the main room and headed for the small stainless steel suitcase next to the bed. After grabbing a fresh shirt and underclothes out of it, he closed it and set the keypad lock.
The killer pulled on his fresh clothes, then dropped his double shoulder holster rig over his shoulders before putting on his suit and tie.
He grabbed his cellular phone, wallet, gravity lock folding knife, and his ubiquitous fiber wire off the massive oak entertainment center that sat opposite the bed. After dropping the items in the various pockets of his suit, he grabbed the still unopened letters the desk clerk had given him the night before and a small leather case containing his PDA off the small desk that sat over by the hotel room's windows. He then walked over to the door, peered through the peephole for a moment, and cautiously slid it open.
After carefully looking up and down the hallway for a few moments, 47 walked down to the elevator, thought better of it, and walked over to the stairs; he was only on the fourth floor and a little more exercise before breakfast would do him good.
A few minutes later, 47 walked through the lobby, nodded to the sleepy looking doorman when he opened one of the big brass doors to let the assassin out onto the street, and turned left. After walking for a block, the killer made a random left, then a right, then another left, each at a different block, stopping occasionally to look in the mirror of a parked car or peer into the reflection in a store window. After he was reasonably sure he wasn't being tailed, he looked around in the hopes of finding a restaurant that was serving breakfast despite the fact that it was well after noon.
After walking for a few more blocks, 47 succeeded in finding a corner diner that had a sign in the window proclaiming "Breakfast Served All Day!"
Without bothering to check the eateries interior through the plate glass windows that wrapped around it, the assassin opened the front door and stepped inside…and found that half the tables, booths, and most of the stools at the long lunch counter that lined the back wall were crammed with men and women in blue New York City Police Department uniforms.
47 stopped dead in his tracks, and was preparing to beat a hasty retreat when an elderly woman in a bright pink waitress uniform grabbed a menu from a small stand near the door and approached him.
"Afternoon, sweetie. What can I do ya for? Table, booth or counter?" she asked, with an expectant look on her face.
47 did his best not to look annoyed; if he ducked out now, the entire roomful of cops would likely take notice of his snubbing of the waitress at what seemed to be plainly a favorite hang out of theirs', and notice by police officers was something 47 studiously avoided…so there was nothing for it but to take the plunge and hope nothing came of it.
"A booth would be nice. The one in the back corner would do just fine…" the assassin proclaimed, happy to see that at least his preferred seat (near the entrance to the kitchen, and therefore, near the back door) was open.
The waitress nodded and led 47 to the booth he'd indicated, and dropped the menu on it,
"You wanna hear the lunch specials, Sweetie?" she asked, after 47 slid onto one of the Naugahyde benches that lined the booth.
"No thank you…I'm actually here for breakfast."
"Well then…I'd recommend the pancakes, best in the whole city!"
47 nodded, "Sounds wonderful…as long as they can come with a side of bacon, two scrambled eggs, and a cup of coffee," he said, doing his best to sound cheerful and handing the waitress back the menu.
"I think we might be able to swing that sweetheart," the waitress said, after taking 47's menu and scribbling down his order, "I'll be right back with your coffee…you want a paper or anything?" she asked.
47 nodded politely, "Yes, thank you."
The waitress left and returned a few minutes later with a steaming porcelain mug and a folded copy of the day's New York Times.
As 47 tamed the steaming hot mug of coffee with cream and sugar, he folded open the paper and was just beginning to think that eating in the police filled restaurant wasn't that big of a risk after all when the front door opened, and in stepped something that shot 47's new found relaxation full of very large and irreparable holes.
"Detective Maza! Good to see you!" the waitress said as the raven haired detective walked into the diner, with her trench coat wearing partner in tow, "And Detective Bluestone! It's been too long since you came to see us…"
"Sorry Rita," Bluestone said his face a mask of contriteness.
Elisa rolled her eyes, "Give us a booth, if you can spare one…" she said as Rita grabbed a par of menus.
"Sure thing Elisa," she said, and led the two detectives to a booth near the back, flanked on one side by a group of Dutch tourists and on the other by a man in a suit who seemed to be completely engrossed in a copy of the New York Times which he was holding spread in front of him at eye level.
"This one work for you, detectives?" the waitress asked.
"Please say no…" 47 forlornly hoped from behind his paper.
"Yeah this'll work fine, thanks Rita."
"Dammit!"
The assassin risked a quick glance from behind his paper, and was relieved to see that the woman in the red jacket was sitting with her back to him. He relaxed a little and brought the hand he had been resting on the grip of one of his Silverballer's out from under his suit jacket.
"So tell me more about this assassin, partner," Matt said after he and Elisa settled into their booth.
Elisa rolled her eyes, "Can't we talk about something else? I'm sick of spending every waking hour of my life talking about gargoyles, mutates, criminals or conspiracy theories."
Matt shrugged, "I guess so. But it's not like we ever have much else to talk about. If it's not gargoyles one week, it's a group of cybernetic mercenaries or something…"
Matt stopped talking as the waitress returned with twos mugs of coffee in her hands, which she set down on top of the table before asking;
"So what will it be today? The usual?"
"Yeah Rita, that'd be great," Elisa answered, before taking a cautious tip from her piping hot cup of coffee.
"Ok then…two bacon cheeseburgers with fries coming right up," the waitress walked off to put Elisa and Matt's orders in with the cooks, while the two detectives resumed their conversation.
"Anyway Elisa, I'm just trying to find out more about our new player…"
Elisa glared at her partner from across the Formica table, "I'm serious Matt. I just spent the whole of last night dealing with this crap. I need a break, ok?"
"Alright, fine. Sorry."
The two sat in silence for a moment, and then Elisa asked, "Why you so interested anyway?"
Matt took another sip of coffee, "I dunno…just curious I guess."
"Curious? Matt you've asked me about this guy six times since he attacked the castle. You're never that curious about anything that doesn't involve UFO's."
Matt glanced out the diners' front window for a moment, "I've heard stories from a few people."
"Ahhh…and now we get down to it," Elisa said, realizing that Matt had come up with one of his conspiracy theories.
"Hardee-har Elisa. Just hear me out. Ok?"
Elisa nodded.
"Anyway, these people have heard rumors of an international contract killing organization…they're supposedly called "The Agency". I've heard rumors that they're responsible for over a thousand deaths across the globe. I've even heard stories that the Agency's top hit-man is some kind of genetically engineered clone…"
"A clone?" Elisa asked, as Anton Sevarious' death flashed in her mind.
Matt nodded, "Those are the stories anyway. No way to prove anything; yet."
Elisa shrugged, "I don't know Matt…but honestly, I'm ready to believe anything at this point in my life."
Matt snorted in amusement.
Elisa took another sip of her coffee, watched as Rita the waitress walked by carrying a plate of pancakes, bacon, and eggs, then set her mug down and turned to Matt.
"I need to go use the little girl's room; I'll be right back, ok?"
"Huh?" Matt had obviously checked out into space out mode for a few seconds, "Oh yeah, sure."
Elisa slipped out of the booth, stood, and turned to head to the bathrooms.
It so happened that the exact moment that Elisa turned around was the same moment when Agent 47 had just set his paper down to let the waitress put the plate with his breakfast on it down on the table. The assassin froze in place; time seemed to slow down, and the assassin's wintry blue eyes slowly rose to lock with Elisa's hazel irises.
It took only that split second for Elisa to recognize the assassin.
She immediately darted a hand under her jacket for her sidearm while shouting,
"Freeze! You're under arrest!"
47 sprung into action, darting out of his booth and pushing the waitress into the red jacketed detective before slamming open the folding doors to the kitchen and running inside. One of the aproned cooks voiced a protest to the killer's intrusion, but the assassin quickly dashed out of an open door in the back of the kitchen, and found himself in an alley that ran behind the block the diner sat in. He slammed the diner's back door shut behind him, looked around the alley and spotted a nearby dumpster, which he shoved in front of the door before running down the alley and away from the diner.
Back inside, Elisa had disentangled herself from Rita and, without bothering to explain herself to the roomful of cops, dashed after 47, running into the kitchen, where the cooks pointed at the diners back door; she dashed over to it, tried to open it, met resistance, then stepped back and landed a full force kick to its center, which succeeded in forcing it open just enough for her to squeeze through. She looked both ways down the alley, spotted 47 running towards the street, and managed to force the door open even further, allowing her to get out into the alley and give chase to 47, when she heard Matt call from behind her;
"Elisa what's…?"
"The assassin! That's him!" Elisa shouted, as she turned to see her partner squeeze out through the door and follow her into the alley; behind him were a few uniformed cops. Matt turned to them and said that they were after a dangerous murder suspect before running to catch up with Elisa, who had kept after the killer clone.
47 had dashed out into the street, weaving through traffic as he went, before darting down a small side street; he glanced behind and saw the red jacketed detective hot on his trail, with her partner and a gaggle of police not far behind.
The assassin cursed and darted down another alley, then swore again when he spotted a chain link fence half way down it. Thinking quickly, he hopped onto a nearby dumpster, leapt onto the hanging ladder of a fire escape, scrambled up it, ran up a several flights of metal stairs until he got to a second story entrance, then got a running start and leapt off it into space. The assassin cleared the fence with a few feet to spare; hitting the ground and rolling before getting up and continuing his dash for freedom.
Behind him, Elisa didn't hesitate to follow the assassin's route over the fence; after her leap of faith she landed flat on her butt, but she scrambled to her feet and kept after the assassin. Behind her, the uniformed cops stopped to stare in amazement, while Bluestone did hid best to quickly climb over the chain link fence, but his coat got hung up on the barbed twists that lined the top; it ripped right down the middle, and deposited him none too gently on the asphalt below, face first. He staggered to his feet, doing his best to ignore the pain that began to shoot from what seemed to be a very broken nose, and limped after Elisa.
Meanwhile, 47 had reached the end of the alley and was confronted by a street of crowded pedestrians and typical bumper to bumper New York City traffic. He hopped onto the hood of a nearby car before he leapt to the roof of a cab.
As 47 leapt form car to car to get across the street, Elisa came out of the alley behind him. She quickly spotted the car hopping killer, drew her weapon, pointed it, and shouted;
"Freeze! Stop or I'll shoot!"
47 ignored her, jumped clear of the last car and onto the sidewalk across the street. He quickly ducked down so that the packed group of cars was between him and the detective, then pulled one of his Silverballers out its holster and flicked off the safety.
"We have you surrounded!" Elisa shouted, as he kept her weapon trained at the last spot she had seen the killer, "Drop your weapons and come out with you hands above your hea…"
47 pointed his pistol in the air and fired three rounds; this set the crowd of bystanders that had lined both sides of the street into a panic; they ran, screamed, shouted, cowered or hid, according to their nature, all of which meant that a writhing sea of humanity quickly fouled whatever shot that Elisa had had on 47.
"Goddammit!" she shouted, as she tried to find 47 again through the panicked mob.
Matt caught up with her then, and she did a double take when she saw his bloodied face and swollen nose,
"Where is he?" he asked, before she could inquire what the hell happened to him.
"No idea…" she looked down the street and saw a subway station.
"C'mon!" she said, pointing to the underground and shoving her way through the crowd towards it. Matt followed, and the two managed too forge their way through the crowd and into the station.
They were just in time to see a train pulling out of the station and disappear into the dark tunnel beyond.
In the last car of that train, 47 sat down heavily on a seat and exhaled in relief. That was that closest call he'd had in years. He had, of course, thought of ambushing his pursuers at some point in the chase, but had decided that five or six dead police officers would not exactly have done him any favors with the Agency, or with not ending up on a poster with "Ten Most Wanted" across the top. He shook his head in frustration. It was a million-more than a million-to one shot that he would have ever run into that troublesome policewoman ever again, and he had managed to do it at one of the worst possible moments he could think of.
Shaking his head in amazement, 47 got off the subway at the next exit, left the station moments before a group of police swarmed into it from the street, and made his way into the anonymous crowds of New York.
Back at the street where they had lost the bald assassin, Elisa cursed as foully as she could and hung up her cell phone.
"They lost him! The morons showed up two minutes after the train pulled into the station!" She shouted at Matt, who was sitting in the back of an ambulance while paramedics checked his wounds.
Matt shook his head, "Well that's too bad, but we need to ow!!" Matt cried out in pain as the medic pressed slightly on his nose.
"Sorry detective," he apologized, before continuing on with his examination.
"Anyway, we need to focus on something else right now…"
"And what's that?" Elisa asked her partner.
"Who was he in that diner to kill?"
"What do you mean?"
Matt took a breath, "I mean…he's been in two places with you," he paused, "Elisa, I think…I think you're one of his targets."
"What?"
"Think about it! He missed you at Wyvern…and now he's back to finish his contract."
Elisa looked dubiously at her partner, "Matt."
"Yes Elisa?"
"Who in the hell could I have pissed off enough for them to send a highly trained, professional assassin after me?"
Matt opened his mouth, and then closed it again.
"Well…" he finally said, "Maybe the Quarrymen…or Dracon…"
Elisa crossed her over her chest and laughed, "Dracon? Tony's a scumbag, but he's not dumb enough to even hire someone to kill me; if he did, every cop in this city would think he was behind it and come gunning for him. And the Quarrymen? They've been in shambles ever since DHS took them down and tossed Castaway into Gitmo."
"Ok Elisa, how do you explain the fact that you've had o brushed with the same contract killer in two days?"
Elisa shrugged, "There still is such thing as coincidence, Matt."
"Maybe…" Matt didn't sound convinced.
Central Park, Manhattan-
It was late afternoon when 47 strolled into the park and sat down on a bench.
After grabbing a bite to eat (finally) at a small Mediterranean bistro not far from the park, he walked over to the large expanse of green, intending to review the two data packs he had received from Diana on his PDA while catching some reasonably fresh air in a place that didn't echo with the relentless roar of daily life in New York City. He found a bench on a disused trail, sat down, flipped open the small PDA and inserted the memory stick containing the first message from Diana into it. Before hitting the "play" button, he attached a pair of headphones to the PDA and put them on. He clicked the play message button, and Diana's smooth voice began to speak.
"Compliments on a job well done, 47. The underground job seems to have gone off without a hitch. Unfortunately, we're having trouble effecting payment."
47 frowned; this was the first time that had happened…
"Just like the last time we had this problem, it's a mere wire transfer issue, and it should be solved quickly."
47's frown deepened; what the hell was she talking about? 47 thought back on his long career with Agency. He really had never received a late payment before, wire transfer problems or otherwise. So unless Diana had completely lost it, which he thought to be very near to impossible, something wasn't right…but what was it?
"But Agency would appreciate it if you took on this next assignment on good faith; the briefing is in the other envelope…"
Now 47 knew something was definitely wrong. The Agency was a business, and it would never send an agent out on a job before effecting payment. If it did so it would quickly find itself running short of operatives.
47 quickly pulled out the next memory stick and slipped it into PDA. In a few moments, Diana's voice again flooded his ears.
"47, the next assignment is the CEO of a local corporation…apparently, the local business community can't solve any of they're problems without your assistance!"
47 blinked hard; that was the first time he'd ever heard Diana tell a joke. A bad one, at that. Something was definitely wrong.
"Your next target is priority one..."
And just what the hell does that mean? 47 wondered as he heard the unfamiliar code phrase.
"Ignore all other assignments and options and focus solely on this for the time being."
47 stopped the briefing as he tried to unravel Diana's cryptic phrasing.
It only took him a moment.
Diana was telling him that something was wrong, but for the time being he had to focus on this assignment, and try to sort things out later. And the only reason 47 could think of for the coding…Diana had been captured and was being forced to send him false assignments. But who would do that? And why hadn't he been contacted by someone else from the Agency to explain the situation?
Right now, he had far more questions than answers, and the only way it seemed he could grab some breathing room was to finish off this next target…the killer clone checked the dossier that was stored on the memory stick.
The sooner this…Dominique Destine person died, the sooner he could get on track to get some answers.
Somewhere on Long Island-
"Nice work, Girly," Tony Dracon gloated as 47's mission confirmation popped up on the computer screen. He turned and grinned at the woman who sat in front of the laptop.
She had dark hair and skin, which contrasted sharply with a pair of flashing green eyes; it was clear her background was mixed. Beneath the chic business suit she wore, her body was toned, lithe; she was into her middle age but looked twenty-two.
Diana glowered at her captor.
"If you call me 'Girly' one more time, Mr. Dracon. I'm going to slit your throat and pull your tongue out of the hole."
Dracon laughed, but his bespectacled lieutenant took offence to the Diana's tone.
"Hey! Don't you talk to the boss that way, bitch," he snarled, before running a hand across Diana's shoulders, "Or else we might find a use for you that you won't like…"
Diana sighed in exasperation, before grabbing the thugs hand off her shoulder and yanking him off his feet; she quickly broke his arm, then slammed his hand down on the desk top next to computer.
"Hands to your self, lackey," she stated matter-of-factly ignoring the thugs howls of pain, before grabbing a ball point and ramming it straight through Glasses' hand and into the desk, pinning it there.
Glasses screams reached a whole new pitch, and in the confines of the windowless room they were in, the screams were almost deafening.
Dracon kicked his lieutenant in the face to shut him up, than pulled a handgun from under his blazer,
"You're gonna pay for that!" he shouted.
"Put that away!" a deep voice commanded from the shadows near the room's door.
"But…"
"I said put it away, Dracon!" the voice repeated.
Sullenly, Dracon put the handgun back under his jacket.
A massive figure stepped into the small pool of light cast by the computer's screen; it was a massive gargoyle, dark skinned, white haired…and red eyed.
The gargoyle looked down at the limp, bloodied body of Glasses and laughed darkly. He ran a talon along Diana's jaw, "After this, I simply must move you into my…harem."
Diana smacked the gargoyles massive hand away.
"The pleasure, I'm sure, will be all mine," after succeeding in making the words sound like a very nasty threat instead of a come on, she stood and stalked out of the room.
Outside, a pair of Dracon's men began to follow her, while Thailog let loose with another gale of laughter.
"I love spirited women…they're so fun to break…"
"Speaking of breaking…" Dracon said, as he dislodged Glasses' hand from the desk, "What the hell is the point of getting rid of this Agent 47? I though the whole point of this was to use him to pick off enemies. If you send him in after the blue bitch he's gonna get wasted…"
"That's what I'm counting on. With him out of the way, the Agency will be powerless, and we can use Diana as leverage to get them to hand over control to us. And besides…47 would be a threat. And if there's one thing my ex-lover is good at, it's eliminating threats."
Thailog grinned, "My only regret is that I won't be able to see this fight in person."