The Assassin

He slept while the plane was in flight, having learned long ago that few people will try to make a conversation with a sleeping man. At 1:35 PM the stewardess awakened him.
“Sir, we’re about to land.”
After the plane landed he entered the terminal and casually strolled past the embracing couples and reunited families, heading directly for the men's room. He was just another of the hundreds of businessmen who arrive at and depart from this major city airport on any given day. But he was no normal businessman. He was an assassin. Murder-for-hire. Contract killer or whatever you want to call him. He was a ghost. Safe inside the toilet stall, he locked the door and slipped out of the business suit he chose to wear on the trip. From his duffle bag he pulled faded jeans, sweatshirt and tennis shoes. Hurriedly, he pulled on the clothing. Then, balancing a small mirror on the back of the toilet, he slipped a stocking cap over his hair to flatten and hide it before pulling on a shoulder length wig. He neatly folded his suit, shirt and tie and placed it into his duffle bag. From a zippered side pocket, The Assassin took a pair of tinted, wire rimmed glasses and a nondescript hat. In less than ten minutes, The Assassin left the men's room a different man. At the row of car rental booths in the airport lobby, a tall hippie in a sweatshirt waited in line to rent a car. The Assassin didn’t seem to be inconvenienced by the long lines that are so irritating to the other customers. When the girl behind the counter finally got around to him, The Assassin responded affirmatively to her offer to help.
"Yeah, I wanna rent a small car for a few days."
She took to his appearance. She has seen his type many times before and immediately interprets his use of the word small to mean cheap. She suggested an economy car that was terrific on gas and comes with unlimited mileage. The Assassin explained that he intends to pay cash for the use of the car. She told him that he may do so when he brought the car back, but a valid driver's license and major credit card are required identification for security purposes. From an ordinary looking wallet, The Assassin removed the necessary identification: a valid North Carolina driver's license and a major credit card, both in the name of Alfred Johnson. With the car key in hand, The Assassin left the car rental booth and went to claim his baggage. The Assassin then wandered to the airport news stand to purchase a city map and some reading materials. Seated in the lobby, he checked the map for an address he memorized weeks earlier. Folding the map so he could follow it while driving, The Assassin exited to pick up his waiting car. 1

Afternoon traffic is moderately heavy on the interstate. Exits, side streets and intersections are unfamiliar. The Assassin drove carefully and obeyed all traffic rules. He didn’t want to become involved in any accidents or pick up any traffic tickets. Finally, he arrived in the section of town where he would find the memorized address. The Assassin drove slowly down the street until he had located the apartment complex. He then drove on past so his interest would not be observed. The Assassin continued to scout the neighbourhood, checking streets and consulting the city map for possible escape routes. The neighbourhood was upper middle class; neatly kept lawns and sidewalks, with a population consisting of mostly singles and young families. Three blocks west of the apartment complex there was a park which has a small pond. One block east, The Assassin found a large shopping centre which had a movie theatre and an adult book store that is open all night. About a mile away, at the point where The Assassin exited the interstate highway, there were several chain motels and fast food restaurants. The Assassin headed back in that direction and pulled into a motel parking lot. He jotted down the California license plate number of a car parked near the restaurant entrance. 2

It was 4:15 PM. The motel clerk was disinterested and mechanical in registering him. The Assassin filled out the required form in the name of Sam Wilcox, gave a fictitious address in Los Angeles and used the California licence number from the car parked at the restaurant. The clerk didn’t ask for further identification.
"I'm a late sleeper. I'd like a room on the back side -- away from the pool, if you have it, “The Assassin requested.
"Will that be cash or charge?" the clerk asked without looking up.
He laid down enough small bills on the counter to cover two days lodging, "Cash, “The Assassin answered. The Assassin drove the car around back, located his room and took in his baggage. By 4:45 The Assassin was seated on the bed studying the contents of a large brown envelope taken from his locked briefcase. Using the information from the envelope and the telephone directory, The Assassin began to chart routes on the city map. Afterwards, he carefully studied an assortment of photographs taken from the envelope. Satisfied, The Assassin returned everything to the envelope and locked it away in the briefcase again. Wearing a jogging outfit and still in his hippie disguise, The Assassin drove to the shopping centre and locked his car. On foot, The Assassin began a slow jog through the neighbourhood. The Assassin circled the block and carefully scrutinized the area before cutting into the apartment complex parking lot.3

The sun was beginning to set. The apartments were all identical. Patios on the rear were enclosed with privacy walls. On the front, each apartment was separated from the other by an ornamental cedar fence. Two parking spaces were reserved at the front of each apartment for the residents' use. Guest parking was clearly marked in the centre of the parking lot, surrounding a small island landscaped with a few scrawny trees and thick bushes. The Assassin jogged over to the guest parking island and sat down on the curb. Removing his shoes and socks, The Assassin began to rub his tired feet. He looked at his watch, it was 6:47. If his information was correct, the mark should be arriving home from work any time now. At 6:53 a green Mustang pulled into the parking space in front of the apartment The Assassin had under surveillance. The car matched the description of the vehicle belonging to the mark. A bulky man emerged slowly from the small car. He was puffing on a large cigar. Judging by his physical characteristics and the cigar, this man appeared to be the mark. He glanced up uninterested, as The Assassin jogged out of the parking lot. He jogged back to the motel, stopping at the fast food restaurant for dinner. The clerk short changed him by five dollars and the hamburger The Assassin orders was not prepared to his liking but The Assassin didn’t complain. Without drawing any attention, he headed back to his motel where he read and watched television until 11:00. 4

At 11:30, when The Assassin swung his car into the apartment complex parking lot, the mark's lights were still on and his car was still parked in its allotted space. The mark is said to spend most of his free time alone at home, staying up late watching television and sleeping in until an hour or so before his scheduled time to report for work at a used car lot; it appeared that this information was correct. The Assassin circled the guest parking island and drove back to the motel. 5

Early the next morning The Assassin was sitting waiting in his parked car with a pair of binoculars and a newspaper when the mark left the apartment. In the bright morning sunlight The Assassin clearly made a positive identification. This is his man! Using his pre marked map, The Assassin spent the early part of the day checking out the places the mark is known to go frequently. Around noon, The Assassin drove to the main post office to pick up a parcel he mailed to himself the day before. As The Assassin drove, he contemplated the various places he had checked out. Because of the layout of the apartment complex in relation to the private patios and sectioned courtyards, The Assassin decided that the best place to make the hit is in the mark's own home.6

Back at the motel, The Assassin opened the heavily taped parcel which was addressed to Mark Donaldson. There had been no problem in picking up the package, stamped "Fragile -- Precision Machined Parts." Today the postal clerk had not even asked for identification. Inside the first box was a second box. And inside the second box is a special set of clothing, several pairs of rubber gloves, a clean pair of tennis shoes, a new disguise, ammunition, a disassembled weapon and a disposable silencer. Lovingly The Assassin began to assemble his weapon. With gloved hands, The Assassin wiped every part, inside and out, for fingerprints. As The Assassin loaded the clip, he wiped down each of the bullets. He is a man with a job to do. He had the tools, he had done his homework, he knew he had the right target and he had determined how he would accomplish the job. After putting the tools away, The Assassin left the motel to fill the petrol tank on the car. While The Assassin was out, he stole an out-of-state licence plate from a parked automobile and replaced the rental cars licence plate on his car with the stolen licence plate. Back in his room, The Assassin dialled the airport and attempted to book a ticket. Space was available on a flight departing at 11:55 PM. 7

At 7:00 PM the alarm sounded, waking him from his four hour nap. ‘It’s time to get ready for work.’ The Assassin dressed in the clothing that came in his parcel. He put on the clean tennis shoes and a new disguise. The Assassin put the hippie disguise, clothing and shoes into the duffel bag. He put the tools that he would be using into his briefcase. When The Assassin was all dressed and packed to go, he had a very few important details to complete. First, The Assassin removed the brown envelope from the suitcase and went over to the bathroom to burn all the items it contains over the toilet. One by one, he burned the information sheets, photographs, maps and other physical evidence that may compromise his status. The Assassin flushed away the incriminating remains. He pulled out a fresh pair of rubber gloves and began to wipe down the room for fingerprints. He knew the room will probably be rented again by tomorrow, but he still took the necessary precaution anyway. The Assassin put all the trash, newspapers and magazines accumulated during his stay into a plastic garbage bag, along with the room's telephone directory and placed it beside his luggage. He would dispose of these items on the way to the jobsite. Still wearing the rubber gloves, The Assassin loaded his luggage and equipment into the car, locking it in the trunk, and headed for the mark's neighbourhood. The Assassin would not be returning to the motel again. 8

At the shopping centre, one block from where the mark lives, The Assassin parked the car in the crowded theatre parking lot and got out to continue on foot. No one was out and about as The Assassin walked into the apartment complex parking lot. Protected by the cedar privacy fence, he peeked through a crack in the drapes and seen the mark puffing on a cigar while he watched TV from a reclining chair. The volume was so loud that The Assassin could hear the program plainly from his position outside. The Assassin went to the front door where he quietly and efficiently picked the lock. As the mark sat lazily in the reclining chair, The Assassin removed his silenced AMT Hardballer and took aim. The mark was helpless against the professional. The muffled sound of a single shot went undetected by the neighbourhood. The professional had neatly carried out his assignment. Quickly, but carefully, The Assassin checked the body to make sure there was no pulse and dragged the body to a place in the apartment where it would not be easily detected. At the scene of the shooting, The Assassin dropped a newspaper over the blood that has seeped into the carpet and carefully wiped the spray of blood off the TV screen. The Assassin pocketed the empty cartridge that was ejected from the gun. Then, after a quick check of the apartment to make sure he left behind no incriminating evidence, The Assassin exited via the front door, locking it behind him. Resisting the urge to run, The Assassin strolled nonchalantly back to the theatre parking lot and his waiting car. Safe inside, The Assassin immediately run a rat-tail file down the barrel of the gun to change the ballistic markings. Then he changed back into his hippie clothing and disguise, unobserved while the other car owners are inside viewing the movie. The Assassin checked the work clothes carefully for bloodstains. Finding none, he dropped them into the charity collection box at the shopping centre entrance, keeping the shoes he wore for disposal later. The Assassin drove cautiously and carefully to another shopping centre several blocks away. He felt no panic. It will be days before the crime is detected, days before anyone investigates the mark's failure to report for work or answer his door. In the crowded parking lot, The Assassin disassembles the weapon and removed the stolen licence plate. Now his only remaining task was to dispose of the AMT Hardballer. He got back onto the interstate highway and headed out of town. Traffic began sparse as the city is left behind. The Assassin began to toss out the small gun parts at irregular intervals, aiming for water filled and overgrown drainage ditches. He also tosses out the tennis shoes. At a rest area, The Assassin walked through the woods and buried the barrel of the gun. The Assassin crushed the plastic silencer and disposed of the bits and pieces as he drove back to town.9

Just before The Assassin reached the airport, he pulled over to the side of the road and wiped the car for fingerprints. He removes and discards the stolen licence plate, replacing it with the rental licence plate. The Assassin then disposed of the rubber work gloves and replaced them with a pair of leather driving gloves. He then returned the "clean" rental car to the agency and headed directly for the airport men's room. A short time later, a businessman emerged from the men's room and approaches the ticket counter for information. His flight was due to leave in forty five minutes. The Assassin checked in his baggage, a small duffel bag, and went to the coffee shop to wait for the flight to be called. On the plane The Assassin dosed of, having learned long ago that few people will try to make conversation with a sleeping man. Too all appearances, The Assassins was just another businessman suffering from an exhausting schedule; no one interrupted his rest.