Raymond Benson - 2012 - Hitman: Damnation (29 page)

 
          
During
this ritual, 47 stood and walked across the lobby, intentionally passing next
to Helen. She did glance at him but then went back to her notepad as she
scribbled something. She paid him no mind.

 
          
Good.

 
          
47
loitered as Wilkins finished with his fans. The reverend turned to Helen and
said, “My dear, I won’t need you at the meeting tomorrow. Feel free to take the
day off. Go to the pool. Go shopping. I understand the old town in Nicosia has
many nice stores.”

 
          
She
seemed surprised.
“Really?
You don’t want me there?”

 
          
“No,
it’s not necessary. Just be available for dinner tomorrow evening.”

 
          
“Thank
you, sir—
er
, Charlie.”

 
          
One
of the bodyguards said, “Sir, the car is here.”

 
          
“Fine,”
Wilkins said. “We can’t keep the ambassador waiting.”

 
          
The
entire party left the hotel and got into a limousine. 47 watched from the front
doors, considered following them, and decided to check out the bar instead.
They’d be back. It was what they were doing at the hotel that interested him.

 
          
The
Paddock Bar wasn’t open until five o’clock, so 47 went to the Lobby Lounge.
Many guests were having afternoon tea. The assassin thought that sounded good;
a hot drink would help ease the nasty withdrawal symptoms. He sat in a
comfortable armchair overlooking the long room, ordered the drink, and eyed the
crowd. His attention settled on three men sitting at a nearby table. They spoke
Russian and were dressed a little too smartly for the teatime clientele. 47
was
almost positive they were gangsters. He wasn’t exactly
fluent in their language, but he knew enough to catch the gist of the
conversation. One man complained that they shouldn’t have to be in a long
meeting the following day. A second man asked if they knew where it was being
held. The third guy answered that it was obviously in the hotel’s business
center, probably in a conference room the reverend had reserved. The first man
commented that the “food better be good.” The second Russian joked, “It’ll
probably be Charlie’s chicken!” That evoked laughter.

 
          
Interesting.

 
          
47
decided he needed to learn more about that meeting. He finished his tea and
spent the rest of the day exploring the hotel, until he had a complete map of
the place in his head.
Where the business center was located.
Where employees congregated during breaks.
The laundry room.
The gym, pool, and
sauna.
The positions of stairwells and elevators.
Where security cameras were positioned.
He knew where
it was safe to hide and what spots to avoid.

 
          
He
was ready.

 
          
Now
if only he could be rid of the shakes, headache, and anxiety, everything would
be perfect.

 
         
TWENTY-SIX

 
          
Shortly
before the dinner hour, Agent 47 made his way to the employees-only area on the
ground floor of the hotel. As he lurked in a corner, he watched bellhops,
waiters, and
maids
swipe keycards to get inside. He
figured that beyond the door he would find a break room, personnel offices,
and, most important, computers with hotel information. He considered the
possibility of accessing the facility from the exterior, through an employees’
entrance next to the loading dock. This was a riskier proposition in broad
daylight. Eventually, though, a bellhop emerged from the office. He was dressed
in the hotel uniform—brown-and-yellow tunic, dark-brown trousers, a cap, and a
name tag—and he was roughly the
hitman’s
height and
weight.

 
          
47
followed him to the busy lobby, where the man immediately went to work by
greeting incoming guests and loading their luggage on a cart. Once again, the
assassin picked up a newspaper and sat in a chair near reception so that he
could keep an eye on the fellow. After a while, a couple came in, looking
harried and in a rush. 47 watched them check in and overheard the bellhop tell
them that he’d be right up with their things; however, the guests replied that
they were late for a dinner engagement and had just stopped to register and
drop off their luggage. The bellhop politely said, “That’s fine; your things
will be in the room when you return.” The couple tipped him in advance and
left. 47 loitered a little longer as the employee picked up a keycard and then
finally rolled the luggage cart toward the elevators. One set of doors opened,
revealing an empty car. The man pushed the cart inside and pressed the button
of the floor he wanted. As the doors started to close, 47 thrust his arm
between them.

 
          
“Hold
it, please!”

 
          
The
bellhop punched the Open Doors button. 47 slipped inside.

 
          
“Thank
you.”

 
          
“You’re
welcome, sir. What floor?”

 
          
47
nodded at the bank of buttons, where only one number was lit. “Looks like
you’re getting off where I am.”

 
          
They
rode silently. The
hitman
was careful to turn his
body away from the bellhop to diminish the man’s ability to identify him later.
When the car stopped, the employee said, “After you, sir.” 47 stepped out and
held the doors open with his arm. “Thank you,” the bellhop said as he rolled
the cart out.

 
          
The
assassin allowed the man to clear the elevator bay and start pushing the cart
down the hall before setting out behind him. 47 followed the bellhop until the
man reached the destination room. The
hitman
glanced
around to verify that no one was looking, then moved swiftly behind the
bellhop, wrapped his arm across the man’s neck, and applied pressure. The choke
hold efficiently rendered the bellhop unconscious without a sound.

 
          
The
employee sagged in 47’s arms like a rag doll. The
hitman
unceremoniously dropped him on the cart, searched him for the keycard, unlocked
the room, and rolled the cart inside. By now the bellhop started to stir. 47
dumped him on the bed and set to work removing the man’s uniform. When the
bellhop regained ample consciousness, the assassin simply applied the choke
hold again.

 
          
In
five minutes, 47
was
dressed in the bellhop’s
clothing. The
hitman
then removed sheets from the bed
and used them to tie up and gag the employee. 47 left him on the bed, took his
own discarded clothes in hand, and exited. He made a quick stop on his own
floor to drop off the clothing in his room,
then
headed back to the first floor.

 
          
The
hitman
used the bellhop’s keycard to gain entrance to
the employees-only area. The place was crowded with hotel staff, so 47 kept his
head down and moved with purpose, without looking anyone in the eyes. Hopefully
others would just think he was a new employee.

 
          
He
found and stepped into an empty office and shut the door. It didn’t have a
lock, so he’d have to take his chances. 47 sat behind the desk and booted the
computer. After a moment, the Hilton splash screen appeared and he was inside
the hotel records.

 
          
47
worked quickly. The first thing he did was look up Wilkins’s account. He noted
the reverend’s suite number and then studied the entire portfolio. Wilkins had
reserved a conference room in the business center for the entire next day. Food
for fourteen was being brought in. Wilkins planned to check out the following
morning. Special comments indicated that Wilkins was a VIP and was afforded
certain amenities others guests didn’t receive. For example, a Nicosia private
security firm was providing additional protection, although Bruce Ashton was
listed as the celebrity’s director of security.

 
          
The
hitman
then looked up Helen McAdams’s account. He saw
that her room was on the same floor as Wilkins’s. No special notes other than
she was listed as part of Wilkins’s party. 47 then pulled up Bruce Ashton’s
account. As expected, his room was on the same floor. The assassin smiled when
he saw that the Colonel had reserved a massage in the spa for nine o’clock that
evening. He’d been assigned a masseuse named Katharina. 47 quickly punched her
cellphone
number into his mobile.

 
          
He
checked the time—he’d been at the computer for ten minutes. 47 didn’t want to
risk staying much longer, but he thought he’d quickly scan the names of all the
guests registered that night. There were several hundred, of course, so he concentrated
on any that sounded Russian. He found a few and memorized the names and room
numbers. They were also listed as VIPs and had rooms near one another. The
assassin then shut down the computer and left the room.

 
          
He
made it out of the employees’ area without incident, took the elevator to his
floor, and went to his own suite. There he took his
cellphone
and activated the encrypted Agency app to search the database for the Russian
names. One of them, Boris
Komarovsky
, was suspected
to be the treasurer for the St. Petersburg Mafia. Another one, Vladimir
Podovkin
, apparently controlled funds for a criminal
organization in Moscow.

 
          
47
was
astounded. The assignment was becoming more of a
stink by the day. What was Wilkins up to? Why was he meeting with Russian
criminals in Cyprus? Who were the other attendees? Jade had said the hotel had
a few high-powered VIPs in attendance, including OPEC brokers and banking
executives. Might they be involved with Wilkins too? What was going on?

 
          
The
killer thought about the bellhop he had left hogtied and gagged. Eventually the
couple would come back to the hotel, go to their room, and discover him. Police
would be brought in. The chances of being discovered would increase tenfold,
especially with all the high-profile guests. Nevertheless, the
hitman
banked on the fact that it was a very large hotel.
47 was confident that, as long as he was diligent and made his moves with
extreme caution, he would accomplish what he’d set out to do without being
caught.

 
          
At
eight-thirty, 47, still dressed as a bellhop, went to the hotel spa and gym.
Three private rooms were set aside for massages. Two were in use, so he went in
to the empty one to check it out. There was a table, of course, covered in a
sheet. A counter held different types of oils and lotions. Guests could hang
clothing in a small closet. 47 studied the room for a moment and then stepped
back into the gym. It wasn’t particularly large, but it contained a separate
sauna, exercise equipment, Nautilus machines, and even a small track around the
perimeter for walking and running. Since Cyprus was primarily an outdoor
destination, the swimming pool and a larger track were located outside.
Nevertheless, a number of guests were utilizing the facilities. 47 knew from
experience that most people didn’t notice the majority of what went on around
them, especially when they were involved in activities such as exercise or were
concentrating on external stimuli such as iPods or the flat-screen televisions
on the walls. The general population also tended to ignore menial laborers,
such as waiters, janitors, maids—and bellhops.

 
          
Next
to the spa was a towel room. Clean, folded white towels embroidered with the
Hilton logo were stacked on shelves, and a large bin for used ones sat on the
floor. 47 set to “work” separating towels, folding them, unfolding them, and
basically doing nothing except trying to look busy. As expected, no one in the
gym paid any attention to him.

 
          
The
masseuse entered the gym at 8:50. Katharina was an attractive brunette,
probably in her forties, attired in scrubs similar to what a nurse might wear.
She went into the empty massage room, turned on the light, and then came over
to 47 in the towel dispensary.

 
          
“Hello,”
she said as she grabbed a handful.