The close call refreshed the fact I needed to focus more on the road now, the mission once I got there. The coffee Brenda had made me was long gone. I was about half way through the trip with two hours to go.
A white sign notified of an upcoming exit that offered service stations and a restaurant. It was coming up in two miles; the city was London, Ontario. I’d allow myself a washroom break and a coffee to go.
“Extra large. Black.” I stood at the counter watching the teenage girl impatiently. Every step in the process seemed to take minutes.
“You don’t need something to eat at every stop.”
I turned in the direction of a woman’s voice. She spoke to her teenage daughter who wore black lipstick and had blue highlights in her hair. A man stood with them holding a boy about three in his arms.
I smiled turning back to face the counter, thankful Yvonne hadn’t gone the way of the Goth on us.
I took a deep breath and stretched out my neck. If anything went wrong, and the experienced always had to calculate the odds, how could I ever forgive myself? I hated being so far away from my family, but again I had no choice. I needed to shake this negative energy and move forward.
“That will be one ninety.”
I tossed the change on the counter and took my coffee. I needed to get to Niagara Falls and get this over with before my emotions took hold and superseded rational thinking. It took years to let go of the past. The feelings of worthlessness, of being undeserving of love, and now, in a span of seven days, my past lifestyle rose to the surface bringing with it that feeling of inadequacy.
I passed the family one more glance as I walked by. What was I doing here?
Hours down the road, focus on completing the task remained difficult. Images of my family kept striking at inconvenient moments. But, again, what choice did I have? I willed myself to remember the faces of my kills—the way their eyes enlarged when they realized their time had come, and how their spirit faded in their eyes.
Maybe the pen gun wouldn’t be everyone’s choice. But the way I saw it, overkill was wasteful and unnecessary—an amateur’s MO. Accuracy and efficiency combined with being able to conceal it topped my list of importance when it came to my choice of weapon. The pen gun fulfilled all those requirements.
It enabled me to carry it without detection. And in cases, such as with the Governor, her bodyguard could even frisk me and not be the wiser. If his hands did feel it, he’d think it was a pen and wouldn’t expect it to harness the killing power of any equal .22 handgun. Another advantage was the bullets were untraceable, meaning no striations. The demand to fire it barrel to skin would fragment the bullet inside the victim’s head.
I had been a lover of firepower since my early teen years and made my first homemade zip gun by the age of seventeen. The accuracy was pathetic, and honestly, I was lucky I didn’t injure myself or anyone else in the process. As the bullet fired out of the barrel, the heat of it singed my fingers, but I got wise and started to wear gloves as I tinkered with it. From there as my love of guns evolved, I came to value the straighter, more precise trajectory of the Remington 700. It made for an accurate shot up to just over six hundred yards away. That meant little possibility of being made—a highly valuable commodity when you were paid to kill and preferred to get away with it. But Christian favored to utilize my talent of killing up close. Maybe he was simply prejudiced from our first meeting.
My cheeks swelled with the passing thought of him. My fingers gripped the steering wheel hard enough to turn the knuckles white. I shook him, and the way everything got started, from my mind. One couldn’t change the past. I had to focus on the future.
But first I had a few stops to make, starting with exchanging my car for a rental. I’d pick one up at the airport and leave my vehicle among the hundreds of others that were parked there on a regular basis.
-
Chapter 7
DETROIT, MICHIGAN
FRIDAY, JUNE 11TH, 12 NOON
IF BRENDA SPENT ONE MORE minute in the office, she’d be telling her boss where to put the spreadsheets. But today it wasn’t just him on her case. Everything her coworkers did drove her to the brink of turning physically hostile.
Tina, a woman who shared the front office with her, was unusually chatty today. Discussing everything from what she ate for dinner the night before to what shifts her husband would work for the foreseeable future. As if Brenda cared. Not to mention the slew of personal stories she kept regurgitating.
Normally, on days like this, she would call Ray at his office, or show up for a last minute lunch date. Today, he had left her alone—some last minute tax seminar in Niagara Falls. She still wasn’t buying it. But he had been so loving with her this morning. And they had a great marriage, didn’t they? At least she thought they did. No matter the number of his reassurances, she worried that he withheld something from her, and if it was another woman the sooner she knew, the better.
He exceeded some husbands’ communication skills, who preferred not to talk at all, but there were areas for improvement. She could tell by the way that he’d pull back when she’d confront him about his emotions. His face would distort and he’d shake his head. Most times he’d leave the room. In those moments, she knew her assumptions were fact. And the same thing happened with this seminar. He didn’t leave the room; he wrapped his arms around her to shield his eyes from hers. And for an instance, she had fallen for it. But when she accused him of cheating on her, he laughed in her face. A smile danced on her lips now. That meant he was telling the truth and even found her accusation humorous.
As she set her keys on the kitchen counter, she noticed the blinking light on the answering machine. Maybe she’d check it tonight. She had enough messages to deal with at the office.
She went to the fridge, pulled out a package of deli sliced turkey and a jar of non-fat mayo. But the light on the machine kept signaling her. She hated her obsessive compulsiveness sometimes. She sighed as she pushed the button. As she listened to the message, the butter knife fell to the floor.
NIAGARA FALLS, NEW YORK
1:00 PM
THE STREETS WERE CROWDED WITH tourists eager to catch a glimpse of the largest waterfall in North America. To me, Niagara Falls was simply a bunch of water cascading over a hill. The draw to witness it, to breathe in any of its supposed beauty, was wasted on me.
The check-in for The Grandeur was four, which should allow plenty of time to look around before the Governor showed up. At least I hoped for that. The disadvantage of choosing a spot outside of my home territory was that the recon mission needed to happen in a close time proximity to the execution of the hit. When the targets were in the city of Detroit, or even when I was single for that matter, there was more time to do the digging around beforehand. Familiarity of the environment could mean the difference between life and death, of getting away or being caught.
Tomorrow night, Saturday, was when I planned on taking out the Governor.
Taking out the Governor? Was I really doing this? I shook my conscience that attempted to tell me that I wasn’t a killer anymore. I had to realize nothing changed except a wife and a couple kids. The same heart beat within me, the same brain fired its synapses, and the same lungs brought in the oxygen. Why couldn’t I shake the bad feelings? I silently cursed Brenda for even mentioning hers.
I pulled into the parking lot of The Oasis about one in the afternoon. It would be nothing compared to the luxury of The Grandeur, but it would have a bed and a bathroom—the necessary amenities. And most importantly, it was only a short drive to The Grandeur.
The Oasis was a real dive and must have only survived due to the generosity of families seeking some sort of accommodation on their excursion to the Falls. Despite its distance away, it might have held appeal for the price tag of sixty-five bucks a night. It was a single-story, personally owned and operated motel dating back to the sixties.
I could envision an oversized heart-shaped sign posted over the front door that would read, HONEYMOON SUITE WITH HEART-SHAPED BED. It didn’t have one though.
My tux hung in its wrapping off the backseat hook, and I couldn’t wait for an opportunity to wear it. Dressing up for occasions had always been something I found pleasure in doing. However, I would have preferred the moment to be shared with my wife. In this instance, it would be what the Governor saw me in before her eyes closed for the last time.
The thought of her falling backward, dead, had played out numerous times in my mind and was beginning to morph into reality, making it conceivable.
The front desk clerk of The Oasis was an older man in his sixties. His eyes were fixed on the cash I pulled out of my pocket to prepay the room.
“Cash then, eh? No credit?” He spoke as a stereotypical Canadian, adding the word eh to the end of his sentences. My guess was he hadn’t been in the United States for many years. He counted out the bills I gave him as if they had changed values when I extended them to him.
“That good then?” I asked.
The older man placed each bill individually into the register. “We’re good.” I noticed his eyes dance to the insignia on my shirt. It was a Polo and had cost about sixty dollars. He was probably wondering why a guy who would spend that much on a shirt would stay at The Oasis.
When he looked back at me his eyes read, are you in some sort of trouble, but he never verbalized his inquiry. Maybe it was my mood that placed the insinuation there.
I dropped my bag on the bed in the motel room; it didn’t make an impression. I placed a hand on the surface. It was hard as hell. The springs would likely ease their marks into my back when I laid down tonight. I would worry about my comfort later, even postponing that until Sunday, when I could crawl into my own bed. But right now I had a job to do and that took priority.
A long dresser occupied the one end the room with a tube television sitting on top of it. To the middle was a mirror about four feet square. The artwork on the walls was cheap and looked like it had been bought at a flea market. The bathroom was crammed into a space only large enough for a full grown man to back into and reverse out of.
I took the wrapping off the tux and admired the design, the fit, and the fabric. The ordered alterations were perfect. I slapped on fresh cologne and worked at getting myself into the monkey suit. To get any access to the Governor one had to project the impression that they belonged in her world. I studied my reflection in the mirror. My brown eyes looked tired from the drive. My hair was dark and shaved short. It had receded more than I would have liked, but my wife said it made me look distinguished. My circle beard complimented my round-shaped face, and if I had to admit it, I was looking quite dapper.
I reached into a pocket of my jeans and pulled out my cell phone. I had told Brenda it was on, and that was not a lie, but I had the volume muted. I looked at the display, zero missed calls. Good. I didn’t need anything to distract me from what I needed to do.
-
Chapter 8
NIAGARA FALLS, NEW YORK
FRIDAY, JUNE 11TH, JUST AFTER 2 PM
TRAFFIC MOVED SLOWLY. Not only due to the tourists, but the population of the city had day jobs they needed to carry out. Courier vehicles crowded the roads. A FedEx truck led the way for seven blocks, and at the last minute decided he had reached his next stop. He slammed on the brakes and swerved to the right, bringing his truck to the curb. Road rage surfaced despite my prior illusion of having control. I had to let the tension out of my neck and shoulders.
The Grandeur could be seen from several blocks away. It stood out as a beautiful monument next to buildings of more subdued architectural details. Still I wondered why the Governor chose Niagara Falls as a getaway destination. Knowing her love of the finer things, why not New York City itself? She could experience fine cuisine and award-winning restaurants. Niagara Falls may have been a tourist destination, but I suspected that the Governor hadn’t come for the view.
I pulled into the underground garage and looked at myself one last time in the rear view mirror. My eyes had started to change. They were full of sheer determination and reflected my past. I would be killing the Governor and walking away from it a million dollars richer.
She’s just another hit. Maybe if I repeated it enough.
I pulled down on my tux as I got out of the car and depressed my thumb on the key fob. The lights flashed and the security system beeped.
An elderly couple had gotten out of their vehicle across the row and smiled at me. I could tell by their faces they respected a younger man who was dressed up. People didn’t do that anymore. At least not since grunge became a new standard. I performed a partial nod as a greeting and kept moving.
The Grandeur housed apartments in the base, and the hotel occupied the highest eight floors. I assumed the Governor would be in the platinum suite, but I needed to verify this.
I took the elevator up to the hotel lobby, which was on the first of the eight floors. The front desk was made of marble and had two higher tiers. The clerk sat in the middle of the tiers. In front, there were two wingback chairs for the guests who were checking in. I never took a seat.
The woman behind the counter smiled. “Welcome to The Grandeur. What can I do for you today?” Her name badge read Lauren.
I returned her smile and put on the charm. Her cheeks flushed a pinkish hue. In the words of ZZ Top: every girl’s crazy ’bout a sharp dressed man.
I left my sunglasses on. I couldn’t see the security cameras, but I was certain of their existence. Even if this clerk were questioned about me later, I’d be long gone. “Lauren, I have a friend who is going to be checking in today. I would like to see if she’s arrived as of yet.”
“Certainly.” Her eyes narrowed; a goofy smile lingered on her lips. “Her name?”
“Marian Behler.”
“She hasn’t checked in yet, but she has until after six before she’d be considered late.”
“Are you able to give me her assigned room number?” I leaned against one of the higher tiers of the counter. From this position, I could easily see the phone.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t. It also looks like she has a couple of rooms booked.”
A couple of rooms? Knowing Behler, she probably did so for privacy. “Well, that’s a shame. I had wanted to surprise her. Is her room made up yet?”
She typed a concoction of letters onto the keyboard. “That floor is the first cleaned.”
“That floor?”
“The twentieth. They always start at the top, work their way down. All floors should be done soon…” Her words stalled when she realized she gave the assigned floor for Behler away. “You’re a tricky one.” The clerk laughed. As she did, she straightened her posture, and her cleavage became more evident.
“There’s no way I could go up? Wait for her? Surprise her? I haven’t seen her in a long time.”
Lauren looked conflicted between appeasing me and keeping her job. “I really can’t.” She pressed her lips downward. “I’m sorry.”
“Can you at least connect me to her room?” I placed a hand on the arm of my sunglasses, reminding myself not to remove them. The Grandeur, like most hotels, had sufficient light yet its intensity was subdued and with the glasses in place even more so.
“She won’t be there.”
“Yes, I realize that. But I’m sure you have answering machines in all your suites.”
“Of course. All of our rooms.”
“Would you call hers for me?” I adjusted my posture so that it gave me a direct line of sight to the keys on the phone.
Lauren smiled. “I can do that. Just pick one of them?”
“If I know her at all, pick the largest suite.”
She nodded, and I watched as she referred to the computer monitor and then punched the numbers into the phone.
8. 3. 8.
“Here you go.” She extended me the receiver.
I waited for five rings until the phone forwarded to the voicemail system before hanging up.
Lauren looked confused. “You were going to leave a message?”
I straightened my posture and slipped my hands into my pockets. “I’ve changed my mind. I want to surprise her in person.”
Lauren’s eyes blinked heavily. “That is so sweet.”
“Well, she’s not really expecting me.” I smiled at Lauren. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
I left Lauren sitting there wondering who this mysterious man in a tuxedo was. But let her wonder. I didn’t need my identity known. I lowered my head and walked away from the front desk. I had my room now. And I had something even better.
The hotel occupied the last eight floors of this building. If Behler’s suite was on the highest floor, and the maid service cleaned there first and Lauren mentioned they were almost done, I would best be finding them finishing on the first floor—this floor.
I entered the hallway where the rooms were and looked left and right and didn’t see a maid cart.
I worked my way around the floor and spotted one at the end of the hallway. The accompanying maid must have been inside a room. When I reached the cart, I heard her. She was singing some Justin Bieber song I recognized as coming from my daughter’s room. Her voice overpowered the vacuum she was running. Timing on my part couldn’t have been more perfect.
I moved around the cart with two things in my mind—the location of security cameras and the all-access card key. I spotted the closest camera and turned my back on it, and as I did, I noticed the card key dangling from a chain. Again, I was fortunate that the maid didn’t have it around her neck. I took out the card reader from my pocket and slid it through twice. The lights went green notifying me that it had read it successfully.
Assassination of a Dignitary Page 4
