His breathing sharpened as he heard the distinct purr of a sports car in the distance. By now he knew the Ferrari’s distinctive growl and watched as the car stopped jerkily outside the house he’d been watching. A sly-looking man staggered out, by his gait, the silent observer surmised he was drunk but even so he was dangerous. His name was Lawrence Lizaraso and many rumours surrounded his name, most seemed unbelievable but were true none the less. He emigrated from a Colombian slum and knew no morals, which made him dangerous and therefore successful in the shadier side of England’s retailing business. He was incredibly wealthy and his fortune was not honestly earned. The watcher knew him well; by now he knew more about this guy’s habits and mannerisms than his own mother did who, incidentally, still lived in Colombia and thought her son had died. He had never met him.2
As he fumbled to find the right key in the jangling mass, a girl, scantily clad, clambered out of the Ferrari. She was but one of the numerous girlfriends his wife did not know about. She slurred something and received a vicious backhand across the jaw, knocking her to the ground; Lawrence did not take shit from anybody. The violence did not surprise the watcher, Lawrence would have killed his own grandmother if paid to do so and certainly had no qualms about hitting women. The silent assassin did not need to see more that night and flowed silently down from his perch to land nimbly and slide away into the darkness, leaving no trace of his ever being there.3
He woke at 0500H the next morning, had a shower and dressed in a simple dark grey tracksuit. He sat in deep zazen meditation for two hours, refreshing himself from the little sleep he had managed, which had left him slightly groggy and dulled his senses. He reluctantly returned to the here and now feeling rejuvenated and invigorated. He ate a little toast and began his training with the mook jong; a wooden instrument designed for the practice of kung fu. By 0900H he was fully awake, all traces of sleep washed from his soul. He dressed in dark forgettable clothing, concealing his silenced Glock in his shoulder holster and strapping his Ka-bar knife to his right thigh, both easily accessible if need be. He switched the radio so it chattered quietly to itself and locked the door after him.4
By 1000H he lay poised across the thick branch of an oak tree. Lizaraso was up by 1030H and began loading two unmarked black briefcases into the boot of the more practical Land Rover, it’s engine ticking over. The silent observer somersaulted to the ground and began clearing away the leaves he’d covered his bike with upon arrival. He smoothly mounted the black motorcycle and kick started the engine. It was a Kawasaki Ninja, which was somewhat ironic but he’d chosen it for its quiet engine and low menacing silhouette, its breathtaking speed firmly making up his mind. In a low gear he accelerated out onto the road to follow the Land Rover that had just sped by.5
Being seen was always taken into consideration and following a Colombian’s car was a sure way to be noticed despite the fact that the Lawrence would have one hell of a hangover. He reached into his utility belt and withdrew his Palm V11, switching it on; he attached it to the bike. After several seconds delay, the screen flashed up a detailed map of the local area that included the Land Rover’s current location and speed courtesy of the undetectable bug he had placed several weeks ago. The system was military encoded GPS and accurate to within a few metres anywhere but more importantly, it was completely untraceable.6
Bugged as well, the short cellphone conversation was shared between three and not two as had been hoped; Lawrence was to make this month’s pickup today. The Land Rover dramatically changed course and headed to the Hammersmith district of London. It slowed to a halt outside a derelict factory; the battered sign lying on the ground telling all that it had once been ‘Lou’s automobiles’. He swung his bike to stop 200 metres away and replaced the palmtop to the black leather pouch on his belt.7
Gliding silently, knees fully bent, he cleared the distance in seconds and flattened himself against the crumbling wall, all his senses alert for any sign of activity. Finding a gap in the broken brickwork, he gazed through to catch a glimpse of his target entering into the factory through a side door. He subconsciously scanned for hidden surveillance cameras and security guards and finding none ran up the wall to perform a gravity-defying flip and a perfect landing on the other side as he had been taught long ago. To avoid any absent gaze that may rest upon him, he dashed to the door and drew his silenced Glock, and as he clenched the cold pistol grip the ruby laser dot glared brilliantly, eager to highlight human flesh. With the stubby black gun barrel pointing towards the door, he tried the handle carefully with his left gloved hand. It was locked. Without delay he reached down to his belt and flicked out the hardened steel picks he’d constructed last Christmas; the only business around that period was mother-in-laws and he rarely killed women. The last pin clicked into place and the cylinder rotated smoothly clockwise. He was in, but where?8
It was several shades darker inside the factory and he could hear the hum of machinery. Finding no immediate danger to himself he decided that a more stealthy approach was needed and replaced his gun to its leather holster and unsheathed the matt black Ka-bar fighting knife, which was sharp enough to cut through high tensile steel. He moved gracefully and without noise, crouching behind a wooden crate to listen in on the babble of voices, obviously negotiating, as he could tell by the subtle irritation in their voices. Lawrence was stocking up on drugs; he must have sold several kilos last night, he did not use them himself, as he was all too aware of the consequences, which was a shame as drug overdose was a very effective means of suiciding a target. 9
The party broke up and there was the sound of the briefcases being clicked open, there was a whistle for the king’s ransom contained inside and he heard a crate being prised open with a crowbar and plastic packages being loaded into a nylon bag. There were footsteps and the sound of a key being inserted into the lock, the door was opened and the heavy boots strode out. The watcher stayed still, thought for a second and decided that this was too good an opportunity to miss. 10
After a short recce, he found the computer that controlled the whirring metropolis of shiny machines. The computer was on and unprotected and spilled all for a few clicks of a mouse; the factory was refining imported Chilean cocaine, ecstasy, acid and heroin on a broad scale. The keys clicked as he altered the concentrations of the drugs, adding less flour and antifreeze, so they were almost 90% pure and would kill anybody who believed the drugs were much less. This was his plan.11
Why was he doing this? Simple. Several months ago, he had been mugged, the muggers themselves suffered tortured deaths spanning over several days, and he’d heard the police had to call in a dentist to identify the teeth; there was nothing left of their faces. However, that was not the point. He had been mugged because these people were hooked on drugs and needed money. Higher addicted population = Higher crime rate. It was no good sticking these people in rehab, he felt he had to tackle the problem at the source and as a plus, there would be less benefits claimed so less taxes for him to fork out for. Though grudgingly, he always paid; men do not trip over mountains, but stones.12
Having done his community service, he slipped out and returned to his bike. The engine roared and he accelerated down the road to catch the Land Rover, which had stopped outside the District College. When he arrived he sat astride his bike and glanced at the child who was getting into the back of the Land Rover. The windows were darkened so he did not see the transaction but he did manage to glance at the brown paper bag the satisfied child was carrying as he got out. He was foolish and the next package he greedily received would kill him.13
By 1600H the flow of schoolchildren to corrupt had dried up and Lawrence revved his 4x4 up and sped away, tailed by a black bike. The drive was lengthy as both drivers were too intelligent to be pulled over for speeding and then busted for something more significant. Lawrence was heading home, most likely to conceal the large amounts of illegal drugs he was carrying in the boot under a sun-faded cover that had once shouted about holidays in the Barbados sun.14
They arrived at approximately 1640H and by Lawrence’s routine, it was unlikely that he would be out again for several hours. The bike slowed until the Land Rover was about mile ahead and the rider spun it round a full 180º, pivoting on the front wheel and summed up all 380 horses to pull the bike, rider and speedometer needle past 60 miles an hour in under 4 seconds, leaving a cloud of black smoke behind.15
The locks were untouched and the radio was playing the Pixies. Satisfied that all was okay, the figure opened the door and slid into the bare interior of his flat. The walls were brilliant white, the floor was deeply polished white oak and a tiger lay spread-eagled on the floor, the life taken out of him several years ago in Kenya. A Tatami mat served as his mattress; its texture was very good for the back and its low height did not disturb the ambience of the flat. The walls were adorned with weapons of various origins and eras ranging from an antique katana, keen enough to cut through hardened steel and made especially for a shogun of feudal Japan using long lost techniques to the latest Steyr .762 Telescopic sighted rifle fitted with a next-generation xenon laser and a 12 inch matt black silencer topping the barrel making it accurate too within 1cm at 2000m, even the FBI sharpshooters did not have access to this sniper rifle.16
Hunger had welled up inside him since breakfast and had been fought back successfully but the insistent nagging of his stomach was a call that needed answering. He had food delivered to him, just like most other things; he did not follow any noticeable routine or have any known haunts for security reasons. Paranoid? Maybe so, but also alive. Not knowing how long he had until Lawrence went on his evening round, he decided to order a pizza. Flicking through the Yellow Pages to locate a company he had not used for some time, he pinpointed Domino pizzas. The dialling tone cut off as his finger pressed the first digit. A surly-sounding youth answered and took the order, a Tropicale and an orange juice. Did he worry about his health? In his profession, healthy eating wasn’t your prime concern; he kept in shape through exercise.17
He tensed at the knock on the door and peered through the peephole to make sure the visitor was not recognized. Sliding the lock back he opened the door and stared into the eyes of the caller, who shifted his gaze and bowed his head subconsciously. 18
“Tropicale no mushrooms and an orange juice, sir?” 19
“Thank you, come in.” That was not a voice to be disobeyed and the pizza boy did as he was told.20
“What is it?”21
“Please, be my guest, eat a piece of the pizza”22
“Sir, please, its company policy and I can’t do that”23
“And drink some orange juice won’t you?” The voice held menace without threat and the bemused youth obeyed. However, it was better to puzzle somebody and have to microwave cold pizza than to drop dead of poisoning. After 20 minutes, he was content that his meal was uncontaminated and gave the cheered boy a tip and sent him on his way.24
The Palm V11’s screen lit up and the alarm chirped softly. He picked it up and looked at the LCD display that showed a flawless image of the familiar sight of Lawrence’s mansion. Rewinding the image by ten minutes allowed him to watch Lizaraso climb into a metallic blue Lotus Elise and place a nylon Swat bag on the empty leather seat next to him, the contents of which was almost definitely illegal. The screen flicked to the map and the Elise was shown to be heading to Static, a club in Wimbledon. He knew full well that business would run smoothly there; the club belonged to Lawrence’s cousin, Michelangelo Lizaraso and was safe enough. No work tonight then.25
His laptop booted up with an assortment of flashing lights and electronic hourglasses and after 2 minutes of steady whirring by the fan he lay down and entered the realm of the Internet. His first stop in cyberspace was to check his Hotmail account. This may strike you as peculiar but the web-based system was completely anonymous and could be accessed from London through to Shanghai - no DLB (Dead letter box) could boast that. He reread the e-mail he had received almost two months ago in March. It was from the head of one of the largest sects in the Russian Mafia, who he had helped into power several years ago by eliminating opposition. It read:26
“I trust you are well my old friend. I have a job for you if you happen to be seeking employment. A guy from Colombia is muscling in on my business and upsetting several of the locals. I dislike this show of insolence and cannot allow it to go unpunished, as you will realise. I seek your professional help, as I need the job to be done efficiently and without anybody believing that his demise was anything other than an accident; he has very powerful friends. You have two and a half months to do the hit; the target is Lawrence Lizaraso (address supplied on your acceptance of the jo
Any other additional information you will have to find out yourself. I have been talking to some other drug dealers who are displeased with this foreigner who has been taking their market. They will remain anonymous but they too want to see this guy dead. Your pay will be £1million when you accept, £1million on successful completion of the job and expenses to £500,000. I know you will not fail me. I contact you because I need the best.27Good Luck”28
He had replied swiftly and the money was transferred to his Swiss bank account. £100,000 in used £20’s was left in a derelict barn in Devon for equipment. With the corruption and greed of today, there was little shortage of clients for his market. The lone killer, separate from society he lived in freedom. The public will call him emotionless and inhuman, lacking a soul but this was not true; what he lacked was remorse.29
Now he visited the MI5 website. A password box flashed up momentarily but disappeared when he sent 7 Megs of interference down the ADSL line to confuse their server for a second to allow him entrance. All he needed today was to check the wanted lists. Thankfully, Big Brother was not interested in him, however, Lawrence was wanted by Scotland Yard for a narcotics offence and while he was under investigation, an accident would look less convincing and would provoke the police to inspect Lawrence’s tragic demise rather too thoroughly. Lawrence entire file was deleted, as were any references to him; True strength is as light as a feather.30
Lawrence had only one bodyguard, a huge biker who was built like a prison bus but he strode around with his hands in his pockets; he was hired by the square inch and did not even stay at the house. Unfortunately, Lizaraso’s faithful Doberman had tragically died of food poisoning a month and a half ago. On weekdays, only Lawrence and his wife occupied the house with no security to guard them; that had packed up due to a power surge one month ago. This job was stealthy and any unnecessary casualties would be intolerable so he oiled and cleaned only the silenced Glock, which accompanied him everywhere, its carbon fibre design made it waterproof and very hardy. His hands were covered in oil by the time he fired off the final dry shot to test the action and at 1930H, he had a warm shower and lay down to sleep.31
His internal body clock woke him at 0530H and he sat up, his mind troubled. He sat in a full lotus position and focused his concentration. His perception of the world slipped away and time and place dissipated into eternity. He sat in silence and allowed thoughts to come and go through his mind at leisure as he’d been taught. Outside, in the delusional world rarely questioned, a storm was brewing. This was what he’d been waiting for. Lawrence would have an accident on Thursday night when he came home drunk as per usual. It was Tuesday now and time to prepare.32
Thursday 2350H, It was cold, as cold as the devil’s heart and rain pattered the ground with monotonous rhythm, dripping off his all-black Gore-Tex attire. Droplets of rain persistently battered against his black cotton ski mask like a swarm of mosquitoes but he did nothing to swat them away. The wind whipped the trees into a frenzy and the menacing clouds blocked the moonlight leaving the land to quiver in the tempest roaring through it on the gloomy night; the storm had come. Lawrence was home, smashed as predicted and his wife was staying at her mother’s for the week. All by himself and in the foulest of weathers, Lawrence was going to meet his end tonight.33
A bolt of lightning broke through the darkness and lit up the sodden lawn. The murk flooded back to conceal a figure that sprinted across the lawn, leaving no footprints and pressing himself against the ancient British stonework. He entered through the back door, the sound of its opening shrouded by the clap of thunder. The figure knew the house well, having been there several times before. He slid silently up the stairs avoiding the 7th, 14th and 23rd stairs, which creaked and then he stopped, gloved hands floating in front of him. Pulp Fiction was nearing its tragic end on Lawrence’s 30” TV. Such irony. The glowing analogue face told him that it was only 5 minutes until the grandfather clock in the hall struck midnight. The bed creaked as Lawrence heaved his hefty build off it and switched off the TV. The wooden floorboard groaned as he staggered to the bathroom. The shower was switched on and there was muffled cursing as Lawrence fell whilst undressing himself. 34
The shadow, sticking close to the walls, slinked to the bathroom like a prowling midnight-black panther, his traditional ninja tabi padding the deep pile carpet noiselessly. His latex gloved hand felt for the door handle and pushed the bedroom door open, leaving it ajar in case he needed to escape hastily. Knees bent and with a low posture, he traversed the room to the bathroom door, which was partly open, highlighted steam escaping through the crack. The man entered the bathroom and saw a bold silhouette of Lawrence’s chubby figure obscured by the opaque shower curtain. 35
The clock’s chime echoed through the house, its thunderous clamour easily audible over the crashing of the storm outside. On the second stroke, the shower curtain was pulled sharply back to reveal Lawrence who stood paralysed, terrified by the intimidating black garb worn by the silent assassin. On the third, Lawrence’s head was smashed ruthlessly against the cold tiles, he had tried desperately to buy more sand for his hourglass but the assassin wasn’t selling. By the fourth stroke, Lizaraso was unconscious, lying in the bathtub, his gaping mouth open wide. The masked figure tore down the misty shower curtain and blocked the plughole with it. The waterproof sheet served well and the water level rose steadily as expected. By the twelfth stroke, Lawrence had drowned. The figure listened intently then went out into the unforgiving storm; darkness swallowed him up.36
The autopsy revealed that Lawrence had been very drunk by his above average blood alcohol level, had a shower at around midnight then slipped in the bath tub, making a last, desperate grab at the shower curtain on his way down to eternal damnation. The injury to his head suggested that he fell, knocking himself unconscious then drowning in the bathtub, that had flooded due to the shower curtain spread haphazardly over the plughole. All war is deception.37
The deluge that greeted the now-widow on Saturday could not possibly prepare for the sight of her late husband’s pale body, his eyes meeting hers unseeing. Terrified, she had called the police who found a large amount of narcotics on arrival, and placed her under arrest. Her alibi that she was staying with her mother verified and the possibility of murder was practically ruled out. The assassin’s mission had been a success and the money arrived in his account on Monday. As ever the ninja felt no regret for the deceased, he was even slightly glad to have rescued Lawrence from his misconception of reality that he lived in. “Only the dead see the end of the war.” And it was true; Lawrence had been saved.38
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