Columbus Read Online Free Page B

whenever the boss is about to roll outside, and a bevy of cameras pointing out at the street. I can watch the gate from the front window of a café a block away without drawing attention to myself . . . just order a coffee and a pastry while I pretend to read an American newspaper. The guards are a signal; they sit relaxed throughout most of the day, slumped in stiff chairs, even when a delivery truck or visitor crosses through the gates. However, when a white phone near the gate rings, they both rise to attention and stand erect, eyes sweeping the area, always five minutes before the black Mercedes drives out, Noel at the wheel, his bodyguards in the passenger seat and behind him.
    Most often, it is this type of security I find myself up against: lax, poorly conceived, untrained. These guards—and the ones riding in the Mercedes—are simply window-dressing, as empty and impotent as a scarecrow in a field. They work as a deterrent against amateur thieves and muggers and kidnappers, but are worthless against a professional contract killer.
    And herein lies the rub: it is my duty, my obligation, to keep my concentration at the highest level, to eliminate my prey flawlessly, even when faced with unworthy opposition. This is how I became what the Russians call a Silver Bear, an assassin who commands top fees because he never defaults on a job. I became one by never underestimating my mark, by treating every job as if it were my last.
    “Your espresso.”
    “ Merci .”
    The shop owner has shuffled over carrying a saucer and a small cup and I keep my face pleasant and unmemorable.
    “This weather . . . pfff,” he says and I just want him to hand me my drink and move back to the counter. I’ve learned not to start up conversations, not to engage with Europeans who spot an English-speaker and want to practice the language. There is a way of holding my face still, of acting like I am deep in thought, concentrating on the paper, that makes waiters or shop owners leave the food behind and walk away without thinking further of it, without thinking “I should remember this asshole. I better keep an eye on him.”
    My behavior is working, the man is already whispering perdon s as he sets down the saucer, is already taking one step backward, but he didn’t place the saucer carefully on the railing and the plate and cup topple over, spilling espresso all over my pants before crashing to the floor.
    He starts cursing himself in French, all apologies and wishes for forgiveness and how could he be such an oaf, and I just tell him not to worry about it, it’s cool, don’t worry at all, but now others are looking at me in the shop and my anonymity is slightly compromised.
    Bad luck. You can remain focused, hone your concentration, but you are powerless against luck when it sours and turns against you. I cannot allow it to build, so I am up and moving out the door, leaving five euros behind which should be enough to make him happy his error didn’t cost him my business.
    I am going to kill Noel today. I am going to kill him on this street, when I see the guards receive the phone call and the black Mercedes pull out of the gate and turn in this direction, toward the end of the narrow lane. I am going to be seated on an old Honda motorcycle, idling on the left side of the road. When he drives past me I am going to shoot him in the face through his driver’s side window. The car will be moving when I shoot him, which will cause the vehicle to continue forward into a row of parked cars, so that by the time his bodyguards and any on-lookers realize what is happening, I will be ten blocks away.
    I was planning on having five minutes after I hear the white phone ring to quietly pay for my drink and head out, still reading my newspaper, and then I would sit on top of the motorcycle, folding the paper back, appearing like I’m finishing an article while my right hand slips inside my jacket and finds my Glock. But now that plan has to be