One
Bangkok, Thailand
The hotel suite, fashioned with expensive furniture, 800 thread count linens, and five-star cuisine sitting on a marble-topped table, was impressive. The guest…not so much.
An older man with dark skin and beadyeyes, wearing a military uniform that hung on his skeletal frame, asked in accented English, “What, asshole? Why you here?” He glared, his indignation at being interrupted from his entertainment obvious.
On the bed, a half-dressed female with a vacant gaze lay drugged out of her mind, her age questionable at best. She could have been anywhere from twelve to twenty-five, but knowing thisdeviant, Noel would guess her to be on the younger end of that spectrum.
He didn’t get angry. Instead, he remained focused on the mission. Cold inside and out, he answered, “My mistake, sir.”
“You damn right it is.” General Jackass loved being waited on, and he loved even more bullying all thefarangs—the white foreigners—working in the hotel. “Wattana,” he called for his guard outside.“Come. We have intruder.”
Not worried in the slightest, Noel bowed low as he backed away, then withdrew his Jericho 941 from his jacket. He straightened, aimed, and squeezed the trigger. So gentle, so perfect… The 9mm round found its target—right between the eyes of the self-promoted general with plans to rape, rob, and pillage his way across a remote border highland in Burma to take overrival opium lanes.
Some dickhead in D.C. had decided to shake hands with this egotistical maniac because his reelection campaign needed the money. Apparently, Senator Cleary had overlooked rumors of child abuse and murder in his quest for reelection funds.
Noel had requested to terminate the good senator, but he’d drawn the short straw, stuck with the general while Deacon took careof the dirty politician. Noel glanced at the deceased drug peddler slumped on the floor, the camouflaged uniform making the body appear like the stain he’d been in life. “General” Sarawut Mookjai had no redeeming qualities whatsoever. Hell, the guy had even kicked a dog on his way into the hotel.
Noel checked the body for vitals. Once satisfied there were none, he took a photo with hisphone. After he sent it off, he straightened his spotless server’s uniform and glanced around.
Ah, yes, the girl. He made another quick call to his contact in the city and arranged for her safe passage and detox, if she wanted it, far away from here.
Then he waited, and hearing nothing, proceeded with the plan.
As expected, no one had responded to Mookjai’s order, or the silencedhit.
Noel tucked away his gun, then walked out into the hallway. He passed several dead guards as he made his exit from the scene. The hotel boasted twenty-four levels, and only those with Mookjai’s personal access could step foot in the sole elevator leading to the top floor. Since Noel had taken care of the security cameras earlier, he didn’t worry about being fingered for the hit.
He took the stairs, ignoring the itch at his temple. The wig didn’t fit right, and the glue used to adhere the stupid mustache over his lip was just as bad. Freakin’ Joe and his “I know a guy who knows a guy” method of acquiring supplies. Hell, Noel had no qualms about paying for quality camouflage out of his own pocket, but his handler was a stickler for protocol.
“On the job, theBusiness pays for everything,”he could almost hear Big Joe reciting, the guy’s personal mantra. Because someone had to keep a record of events best kept unrecorded.
Yeah, it still made no sense.
He whistled to himself as he continued down the stairs, his hotel staff uniform as clean as it had been before the job. Once in the basement, he ducked into a closet to change back intohis regular clothes. He tucked the uniform into a suit bag, then left as unobtrusively as he’d arrived.
Seventy-two hours later,standing in an alley in Seattle, Washington, Noel stared in confusion at the dead guy on the ground who’d tried to stab him with a needle seconds earlier. The needle intended for Noel stuck out of his assailant’s neck.
He punched in a familiar number on his phone.
Big Joe answered right away. “What’s up?”
“I think someone tried tokill me.”
“Youthink?” A low chuckle. “Someone’s always trying to kill you. And?”
“And I’m stateside. In Seattle. In public.” Well, technically in public, though he stood in a darkened alleyway near the market. Since it was just past seven, and at this point in September the sun set earlier, he didn’t overly worry about onlookers.
But this made no sense. Why come after himin the States when his death overseas would be a minor blip on anyone’s radar? For that matter,whowould come after him in the city? The job in Bangkok had gone off without a hitch, his cover uncompromised. And as far as he knew, no one held a grudge against him, because no one but Big Joe and a handful of others knew about the work he did. Noel was slick and silent. They didn’t call him Icefor nothing.
“So you almost got mugged. So what?”
“It wasn’t a typical mugging.” Noel frowned. “No guns or knives. The guy tried to take me out with a hypodermic needle.”
“A needle? Was the guy on medication? Or maybe some drugged-out whacko out to score?”
“No. He was fully cognizant. Helookslike a meth head—a little too much. I’d swear this guy was playing a part,not the real thing.”
