Caught in the Crosshairs Ch. 01

"He has to learn it sometime," the hit man said, trying to keep the annoyance from his voice.

"Mmm, I'll tell him what you said," the cloying voice said. And then, "How are you enjoying your room at the Holiday Inn? Perhaps I shall have a bottle of champagne delivered to room 1218 when you fulfill your contract?"

A passerby would have noticed that the tall blond man stiffened suddenly. No one was supposed to know what identity he was traveling under, or where he was staying. "I think that would be unwise, Zoltan."

The man sighed theatrically. "You're right, alas. We'll have to save that toast when you join us here in Astana."

"I'm afraid so," the hit man said.

"I must say, our friend is concerned about where your priorities lie at the moment. I admit I have qualms myself."

"I took a job, and that job will be completed to his complete satisfaction," the hit man said. "How I go about my work is no one's business but my own."

"Ah, but it is my business as well, remember. Any complaints our friend has about your conduct reflect upon me as well."

"I'm sure you know that I could care less about your reputation. And after this assignment, our business relationship will come to an end."

The man called Zoltan laughed lightly. "So you keep saying. Perhaps we shall wait and see.

The hit man took a moment to calm himself before he said, "Everything is going according to plan, I..."

"Your plan. Not the plan we originally agreed on."

"My plan is the only one that matters. And that plan is proceeding exactly as I expected."

For the first time the voice on the other line was angry. "You have needlessly complicated the situation and dramatically increased the likelihood for failure and exposure."

"I never fail," the hit man said, "and our friend expects his involvement to be exposed. So your complaints are groundless. And," the hit man said, "they are quite unprofessional." He hung up before the voice on the other line could reply.

The hit man walked away from the pay phone, his lips stretched tight in a grimace. Zoltan was right, this mission was getting too complicated. When he took the job it looked simple and straightforward, a cakewalk, one last mission to ease his way into retirement. He should have steered clear of Zoltan. His oft-used middleman was decidedly unhappy that the hit man was withdrawing from the scene, as it would put a serious dent in the vicious little man's wallet. And now Zoltan had revealed how much he knew about the hit man's operating habits, his networks, and that made the hit man nervous. He should have killed Zoltan years ago, but the canny Serb was too valuable. He'd helped turn the hit man into a rich man.

It was the money, it was always the money. That was why he took this one last job, one last chance to make a really big score. He was still confident that he could complete the job as contracted, but the mocking voice on the pay phone, teasing him with the actual room number of the hotel he was staying at, made him uneasy. He was always careful on an assignment, but now he had to be extra, extra careful.

When Zoltan offered him the assignment it seemed almost too easy. An American businessman named Charles Ranier had made clumsy inquiries about hiring an professional assassin, and upon hearing about this a Kazakhstani crime boss who had stolen millions from Rainer assumed he was the target. The Mafiosi asked Zoltan to sound the American out, find out what he knew, and then kill him. That was the mission the hit man was hired to complete.

But is wasn't Maxim Ismailov the American wanted dead, but his own wife. And as he sat with Rainer in a booth of a noisy Outback Steakhouse in Charlotte, North Carolina, and listened to the millionaire state the amount he would pay to have his wife killed, the hit man made a quick decision. He took the job. He saw no conflict of interest in accepting a job from a man he was already contracted to kill, because the hit man allowed nothing to conflict with his interests. The wife first, the husband second. Both clients would get what they paid for.

But until Rainer found his nerve and gave permission to liquidate his wife, the hit man could not kill him. And that was making Ismailov nervous back in Kazakhstan, and he was not the sort of man the hit man wanted to irritate needlessly. Well, for now he would have to be irritated. The hit man stood to make a quarter of a million dollars by killing the American's wife, and maybe even a bonus if he killed the handsome stud who had just enjoyed the young woman's luscious body. It was well worth whatever trouble Zoltan or Ismailov might cause to bank that much money for such an easy job.

The hit man considered the trouble his middleman could create for him, and felt less confident. If Zoltan knew where he was staying, then he knew the name he was traveling under. If he knew that, he probably knew the names on the other false papers he carried, and that was cause for concern. He'd never worried about a double-cross, because he was too valuable for Zoltan to risk, but if retired, well, he knew enough about the Serb to have him locked away for the rest of his life. And Zoltan knew it.

He needed a safe house, a hole to hide in if things went badly wrong. The trouble was, he couldn't rely on any of his usual contacts, because any or all of them could be compromised. The hit man knew a simple way to find such a haven, a method he'd used successfully before, and resolved to take care of the situation immediately. It was nearly two o'clock, and he had the rest of the day free. For the second time that day, the hit man went hunting.