Chapter 163
163
My host excused himself to go wire half of the 200,000 euros – plus my 20,000 consultation fee just for appearing – into my Swiss bank account.
One of the guards drove me to a guest house within sight of the McMansion. It was basically a cottage, simple but nice.
“I’ll drop off dinner for you at 7PM,” the driver said before driving away in his BMW.
No invitation to the main house for dinner. Apparently, the client wanted to keep me close but not get too friendly.
Fine by me.
I called my bank in Switzerland. They confirmed that 120,000 euros had just been deposited into my account.
Excellent.
After inspecting the guest house, I took a walk across the property’s manicured lawns in order to call Sean. I figured the cottage was bugged.
My phone was encrypted, so I could speak freely with Sean without worrying about outside parties – like MI6 – listening in.
“So?” he asked as soon as he answered. “How’s it going p>
“I’m taking the job p>
“That’s great p>
“I’m also staying here at the property until I do it p>
“Okay… THAT’S unusual p>
“But expedient. Turns out the client lives 30 minutes from the target p>
“Whoa p>
“Yeah p>
“Anything else I should know p>
I thought about telling him that the client knew my real name – or rather, my MI6-assigned last name. But I figured that would spook Sean, so I only said, “I’m getting a mafia vibe p>
“Yeah, but isn’t the guy you’re supposed to kill in the mafia p>
“Yes, but I’m thinking the client is, too. I need you to look into him p>
“Got a name p>
“No, but I’m dropping you a pin on the property.” I pulled the phone away from my ear and tapped the screen to place a geo-locating pin. “See if you can find out who owns this place p>
“Alright p>
“He says he’s a partner in an olive oil exporter, but I kind of doubt that. He also says he’s a distant cousin of the target, whose name is Dario Rosolini. The target went to prison a while back for a bribery scandal. Look into any family connections, specifically a fifty-something guy p>
“Let’s say your client IS in the mafia… what then p>
“I don’t know. It probably doesn’t matter in the slightest. Kill a scumbag for another scumbag, and the world has one less scumbag. But I’d like to know more about the scumbag paying me p>
“I’ll see what I can do p>
“Okay. Talk to you later p>
Things quickly fell into place.
That evening, the driver delivered a large box to my cottage. Inside was an assortment of stylish clothes in my size with the store tags still on.
There was also a camouflaged bodysuit that approximated the colors of Tuscany’s foliage… a bulletproof vest… brown hiking boots… and a tan, bulletproof, full-face helmet for the mission.
Whoever my client was, he didn’t fuck around.
The next morning, the driver delivered the gun I’d asked for: a suppressed Heckler & Koch M110A1.
The M110A1 is a semi-automatic sniper rifle. Unlike a bolt-action rifle, where you have to work a bolt lever to eject the spent shell casing, a semi-automatic will fire every time you pull the trigger and eject the shell on its own.
Bolt-actions were generally a tad more accurate… but if I was going to punch through bulletproof glass before Rosolini could react, I would need to fire in rapid succession. I could do that a lot faster with a semi-auto than a bolt-action.
The client also got me explosive-tipped bullets – highly illegal in Europe. I didn’t ask where they came from, and my host didn’t offer any information.
Also included were a digital range finder, some bulletproof glass panes for practice, and a rope ladder with grappling hoods on the end – for scaling the 10-foot-tall stone wall surrounding the property.
I’d also asked for a Glock, just in case I needed a pistol for close-quarters fighting. They gave me one with a suppressor.
I looked at my weapons and thought, This guy is SO in the mafia.
I went out after lunch to practice with the rifle and the bulletproof glass panes.
The plan was to use an explosive-tipped bullet to weaken the glass, followed by a regular bullet to punch through and hit the target.
The combination worked spectacularly. In all three test runs, the one-two combo allowed me to blast through the glass with only a second between shots.
I was ready to go.
After showering, I texted Sean, Anything?
He replied, Working on it.
I watched some Italian TV until I heard a knock at the door. I opened it to see the guy who had driven me to the cottage.
“I need you to come with me to the house,” he said in Italian.
“Anything wrong?” I asked, a little concerned.
The driver just shrugged.
On the drive to the house, I worried a little about whether Sean had tripped any alarms in trying to figure out who the client was.
Turns out that wasn’t the case.
My client was waiting for me in the foyer. He was wearing a tuxedo – which I took as a sign he’d attended the wedding.
The younger man and woman were nowhere to be seen. I had no idea if they had gone to the wedding, too.
“The timeline has moved up,” my client said. “I need you to do it tomorrow morning p>
“Alright p>
“Good. We’ll provide you with a car with fake plates. If you like, you can practice driving the roads tonight so you can get used to the handling… just in case p>
“That’s a good idea p>
“Once the job is done, you cannot come back here. It’s also a bad idea to go to Florence. I suggest you drive to Rome and book a flight from there. We’ll provide you with cash to make the purchase p>
Suddenly, the woman in the glasses walked into the foyer. She wore a beautiful pale pink dress; she must have gone to the wedding, too.
She glanced at me distrustfully, then said to the older man, “I just confirmed it – the bride recognized him from Florence p>
‘Him’ was most likely the younger man – the asshole.
And the bride at the wedding had recognized him.
But what had happened in Florence?
And why was the bride recognizing him enough to order an assassination?
“Thank you,” the older man told her, then turned back to me. “Tomorrow morning it is p>
“Does it have to be completed by a specific time?” I asked.
“No,” he said with a sinister smile. “Just as long as it gets done p>