Eagle sat with his head between his knees. He felt sick. After the fight, Ibex had gone outside and puked, sickened both by the cowardly way Goat had attacked the assassin, but more so by the assassin's violent reaction. His thoughts were still a mess. How did this happen? Cub was a killer, an assassin? Sure, he was quiet when he came to camp the first time. But he was only there for two weeks, tops. Wolf had told them how Cub had killed a man with a snowmobile, and then made a joke. Wolf apperetly found it funny at the time, But Eagle was sure wolf was haveing doubts. They all were. But that was a one time thing they were told. But then Fox told them about some ASIS job and a tsunami and a weapon called Royal Blue. He'd said that Cub had saved the lives of twenty thousand people that night, by deactivating whatever it was. It was just too much to wrap his head around. A kid spying? Even if he was good, was it worth it? Killing people got to you. Even as a solider. You start to see their faces, think about their families, their jobs, their pet and kids and hopes and dreams…and how you took it away from them. It messed you up. No doubt about it. And to consider it a job? Eagle felt bile rise in his throat. How could he? There had to be some other reason. What had driven him to this – Eagle was sure Cub wouldn't have willingly chosen this as a kid before he even knew the full implications of his choice. After all Cub had been through, did he get any help? Was that why he had become an assassin? Thoughts whirled in more and more complicated circles. Eagle stood up. He was going to find out, even if it killed him .

The killer sat on his bunk, idly assembling and disassembling a gun he had nicked from the shooting range. It was sad really. How loosely they kept things locked up. Getting in was a pain, but once you got in…you literally had an arsenal at your disposal. The assassin sighed and closed his eyes. He appeared asleep, but his hands were constantly moving. Assemble. Disassemble. Assemble. Disassemble. Assemble. Disassemble.

Assemble. Disassemble. Assemble. Disassemble. The assassin looked up as someone entered the room. The woman was young, pretty, but that had no impact on the killer. He was already hardened to such things.

"They say you are good at your job."

"Yes."

"Possibly the best."

The assassin did not rise to the bait. He of all people knew the folly of arrogance. He regarded it as a weakness, one only for fools – and those who wished for a quick death. In his business, arrogance was unnecessary, as the kills spoke for themselves.

"That is possible."

"How long have you been at this job?" She crossed the room, running her hand along the wall.

He glanced at her with a gaze that lacked any emotion, only showing complete disinterest. Emotion was a liability he could ill afford.

"Six months."

She drew back a step. Her lips pulled into a disbelieving sneer . "Then I require no need of your work, you are in no way experienced for this job, this life. You may go."

The assassin calmly finished assembling the gun; a Browning Hi-Power P-35. He clicked the safety off.

"I feel that because I have come all this way, I should at least know what the job is. Do you think that is wise?"

He had not looked at the woman through the whole exchange, but he heard her swallow. He smiled inwardly. She was too confident – arrogant even. Perhaps he could teach her the stupidity of appearing stronger than she truly was. It only got you killed.

"Fine."

Her hand trembled slightly. Just what had she gotten into?

"It is simple. There is an industrial clothing plant on the border of Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan. The leader of the operation must be killed."

"Anyone else?"

"No."

The killer stood and made to leave the room.

"Wait!" Her tone tried to command him, but the quaver, small as it was, gave her away. He looked the woman right in the eyes, and she flinched back. She was afraid. Good. She did not bother to regain her composure.

"Where are you going?"

"To kill a man."

"It is not that simple."

"What do you mean?"

"It is not that simple to kill a man."

"Yes, it is. If you do it for long enough."

"You must feel some remorse, some compassion. You must feel some emotion, to but human …"

"Must I?" He looked at her with an odd expression, hand resting on the door knob. Was he laughing? No. He was mocking her. "Good day."