The small, nominally abandoned, town was about a mile off. She could see, from her vantage point, a small group of people gathered around in what would have been the town square. They were standing in open space. That meant one of two things, as far as she was concerned. She hoisted the long barrelled rifle to her shoulder and peered down the scope towards them. She was more than happy to oblige one of them.
It was one thing to plan and execute the perfect heist. To get in, get what you wanted and get out without getting caught. Its entirely another to return to the day to day life you led before while the heat comes off and people forget that something was stolen.
Yet, here he was, the orchestrator, the mastermind, sitting pretty in his usual place, waiting for his most recent job to come off the first few pages of the paper.
Right now, he was sitting on the balcony of his fifteenth story apartment, in a robe that only just made it to his knees, his bare feet up on the small table, reading a magazine that had nothing to do with any illegal things he may or may not have had anything to do with. Inside, on the king sized bed, was a sleeping young woman, naked and tangled in the sheets.
He sighed and folded the magazine so he could hold it in one hand and pick the mug of coffee on the table next to his feet with the other. He glanced inside as the woman turned over, the sheets falling off, revealing her lithe form. He nodded in appreciation and turned back to the magazine.
As he finished the page, and set the mug back down, he saw a lone black van out of the corner of his eye.
He watched as it parked alongside the building opposite him and two suspiciously innocent men exited from the rear doors and walked casually inside. He swore quietly and closed the magazine as if he had just finished reading it. Placing it gently where his feet had just been, he stepped back through the sliding doors and into the apartment.
He doffed the robe and quickly pulled on a pair of cargo pants and a plain black shirt. He slipped his feet, without socks, into the prelaced boots that were waiting. He grabbed the large college dufflebag that had been by the door and left. If worst came to the worst, the still sleeping woman didnt know his real name. Or anything actually true about him.
The old man paced across his office, his face a map of abject rage. His desk was the only thing between him and the three people who had given him the news that had set him off. He breathed slow, trying to keep his brain working the way it needed to.
“What do you mean?” he said eventually. “Pretend Im stupid, pretend I have no idea of any implication here and tell me what you just said again.”
The left-most person, a man of about 40, took a deep breath and swallowed. He was the old mans assistant. Having been by his side, often very literally, for the last decade. He had worked his way up various different ladders before he got to this role. It was only on days like this that he regretted it. His name was simply Daniels. If he had a first name, no one used it. Not even himself most days.
“The heist was a success,” Daniels said. “The man you hired for the job lived up to his reputation. The people he hired were professionals and have been scattered to the wind. None of them can be connected back to us.”
“As was agreed upon,” the old man nodded. “Is that the problem?”
“Not as such, Sir,” Daniels continued. “Our contact was only with the single person. Directly. Him and me. No one else.”
“So he is a weak spot?”
“Technically, yes,” Daniels said. “But,” he added quickly, “not in the way you might think. He has a reputation and its his loss if he spoils that. If anything, he did his job too well.”
“I find that hard to believe. If he was as good as you say he is, he would be working for me directly.”
“Ive tried, Sir. Many times. He and I have had a longstanding relationship. But he refuses each time. To be honest, I think thats for the best.”
“Fine, whatever,” the old man said. “He isnt our issue. Tell me what is.”
Daniels swallowed again. “Its us, Sir.”
“Us?” the tone of voice was the single most dangerous thing in the room and Daniels was loathe to continue.
“We may have chosen the wrong thing for him to steal.”
“I thought you said the heist went off exactly as planned?”
“It did. The police have no leads, the people involved are unaware of us, or that we commissioned them and I trust the man who planned it all. Above all, the item is in our possession and safe.”
“Yet you come to me, three weeks later, and say there is an issue.”
“You werent the only one interested in the item,” Daniels said. “And our man was not the only person who was able to arrange its relocation.”
“Meaning?”
“We are likely to get robbed at some point,” Daniels said.
“How?”
“Well,” Daniels said, getting to the meat of the issue. “Someone in your organisation may not have your best interests at heart.”
She had been following the van for an hour now. She had picked up on it as it had left a non-descript warehouse on the waterfront. She hadnt even been there to find anything. She had been laying low after a job of her own went south and had caught the van as it exited what was meant to be an abandoned building. She had no idea who owned the building and would have to check into that later, but a plain black van leaving the docks in the middle of the day? That was far more interesting right now.
It didnt speed, but it was clearly in a hurry. She didnt think she had been spotted, but her driving was almost as reckless as theirs as they sped along, heading into the city. She switched lanes as it approached a set of traffic lights, trying to get a view on the number plate, but as she watched, a dark panel flipped over top of it and when it lifted back up, the plate had changed.
“Fine,” she muttered, “be that way.”
The van cut through a red, causing an accident in the intersection, blocking traffic in both directions. A clever little manoeuvre, she thought. If something was about to happen, any response would be hampered.
She got out of her car, leaving it in the middle of the road and ran off into the crowd on the footpath. She followed them along the street as they parked, a few blocks up, outside a residential apartment building.
Out of the rear of the van two people got out and quickly walked inside. The van left and she watched, from the door of the building opposite. She leaned against the door frame, pretending to be waiting for someone, when the door next to her opened and a man in his fifties with a college back came out, bumping into her. He apologised and set off down the road. She watched him as he walked away, sure that she recognised him from somewhere.
The two men pulled up a scarf around the lower half of their faces and climbed the stairs. They stopped on the eighth floor and opened a small access hatch that was ostensibly meant for emergency response equipment and pulled out a small bag. They resealed the hatch and kept climbing.
They reached the roof and went over to the edge, where they had a great view of the apartment building opposite. Directly in line with them was the balcony of the fifteenth floor apartment where they could see a figure in the bed through the uncurtained windows.
From the small bag, one of the men pulled out various bits and pieces that assembled a long barrelled rifle. He sat it on the edge of the building and lined it up on the sleeping figure. Now that he could see properly, he saw it wasnt the person they were looking for.
“What now?” he asked his partner, letting him see through the scope.
“Who is she?”
“Hell if I know. Do we take the shot?”
“Absolutely not,” his partner said. “We are paid for one person only.”
Behind them, without them noticing, the door to the roof opened and the woman snuck through. She was tall, with long red hair and was very interested in what these men were doing.
After a short tussle, the rifle was a few meters away, out of reach, one of the men was unconscious – or dead, it didnt matter – and the other was leaning against the edge fo the roof, a trail of blood issuing from his nose. He looked up at the untouched woman with contempt.
“Feel like talking yet?” the woman said.
“Who are you?” he asked, spitting another gob of blood onto the rough surface of the roof.
“Im no one in particular,” she shrugged. “Just a girl on a mission to clear up a job. That is a nice rifle, though. If youre done with it?” she said, heading over and field stripping it in front of him.
“Our employer wont let you get away with this.”
“How do you know?” she asked. “Your boss might have hired me to finish you off after you finished your job.”
“Our job isnt finished though,” he said.
“Close enough. Besides, whos going find you up here? Hmm?” she had finished disassembling the rifle and putting all the pieces back into the bag.
She walked back over to the man and stood over him. He looked up at her with unbridled hatred and tried to spit on her, but failed miserably.
“It wont matter for much longer,” she said leaning down. “But I am someone you shouldnt really mess with. Like you I was hired for a job. I think youve ruined that for me. Twice now, even. But I forgive you. Because you arent part of my job. Which means I can do to you whatever I want. Like this,” she said and walked over to the mans partner and slicing a hidden blade across his neck. “I dont like being beaten to a mark, and I need to take some recompense for you ruining this for me. Its nothing personal, obviously. We dont know each other.” She looked over the edge of the building towards the room opposite. The lithe figure of the sleeping woman was now sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing her eyes. “Still, though, thanks,” her hidden blade flashed quickly and the second man fell, lifeless, to the roof of the building.