“That will not be necessary.”

I look up, and raise my eyebrows a little, proffering the card once more. This time I wiggle it a bit. He remains stony-faced.

“OK then, thank you,” I retreat.

I place the black card back in my wallet, and he gives the formal smile you get from reception clerks who ooze obsequiousness as an art form. Like a secret and invisible medal, cloaked by a coating of supposed professionalism, illicitly giving them license to be the superior, whoever was on the opposite side of their counter.

“My pleasure, Madame.”

In another life, I’d hit him hard, right on the nose, just for being like that to me.

He selects a couple of white plastic cards, totally anonymous of course, except for their gold embossed logo and whizzes them through the validation machine before, rather dramatically, I think, flourishing a leather card holder and with an expensive-looking pen points out the notable things I need to know to use the hotel.

“Your room is 701, as requested. The elevators are over to your left.” And with a click and a waggle of his finger, he looks right past me and over my shoulder.

“Jason will escort you to your suite.

“Seventh floor, Jason.”

Even though there is no evidence of a raised eyebrow, nor a tangibly discernible emphasis in his voice, both he, Jason and I are now clear at the significance of the seventh floor.

Jason scampers over to guide me the 20 yards to a very visible elevator, tugging my two cases behind him.

“Your key, Madame?” He takes the little portfolio from me and insists I get into the elevator first, as he juggles my cases in with us.

“Eleventh floor?” Jason looks to me, and I see his eyes make the connection.

“Wasn’t it the ninth,” I replied.

“Do you have everything you need?” Jason becomes my equal. A partner rather than a subordinate. Selected by ‘The Group’ to assist me. And my personal and very expensive skill.

“Thank you. I have everything.” I am a professional.

“Here’s a phone. My number is in it, but it will only be for today. The other numbers are the usual ones.”

“Thank you.” I take it from him and slip it into my purse.

“This is us.”

He maneouvers the cases out of the elevator and steers me in the direction of my room. Not that I need to be steered. I’ve been here before. In the years since, it had all been erased. Suite redecorated—probably two or three times—hundreds, if not thousands of visitors. The incident almost forgotten.

And here I was again, this time, for his son.

We get into the suite and Jason hangs around. I’m not sure what to do. It seems odd to tip him, given the circumstances, but I want to get rid of him.

“Shall I stay?” he asks after a few moments.

“That will not be necessary.”

I ease him toward the door. He has a bit of a puppy-dog face on him as I do. True professionals know when to let go. Their ego doesn’t get in the way as they detach and focus their skills, doing precisely what is expected of them.

He’ll get over it, or he won’t last long. In this job ego is an encumbrance. An emotion that isn’t affordable. Isn’t value-adding as they say in the business world. When we do the debrief of the job, I will mention it.

I draw a long, hot bath, using the excellent toiletries that they provide here, bergamot and jasmine. Just what I need after travelling all this way. Plenty of time to do the job, when he arrives. When he will be visible.

Before I climb in the bath, I check my gear. It’s already cleaned and adjusted correctly. Apart from a little check to make sure any jolts on the lengthy journey cross-country haven’t upset things. Even an S500 has to travel on the often unsatisfactory roads of others.

I have a little trick I learned, way before all this mindfulness stuff came out. I light three candles at the foot of the bath and climb slowly in, all other lights extinguished. I control my breathing so that I count four breaths in, hold for a count of seven and then slowly breathe out for a count of eight.

I repeat until I’m comfortable, then I begin.

Eyes closed, I imagine glowing orange liquid easing up from the tips of my toes, up through my calves and my hips. Every part of me is absorbed in the fluidity. Then my belly, my stomach heart and lungs and finally my shoulders and my neck and face and head and then I repeat my little breathing exercise from the start.

It’s a little quirk of mine. A ritual if you like, and one that keeps me calm and clear and the expert I am.

I only take fifteen minutes before I am refreshed and dressed and ready to go. I wait the little while it needs.

Then, when I hear the sirens announcing his arrival, I open the window just the amount the high location allows for and set my equipment up. I line up on the room across the way, where I know he’s going. I do my own homework very thoroughly. I sit now and wait and it isn’t long before I see movement and I focus the sights on him.

Like his father before him, he deserves this, even if ‘The Group’ hadn’t chosen him. The abuse has to stop. The innocent human cargo is crying out for me to do my work. But he knows he has enemies. Well protected most of the time, rarely is he so exposed.

I squeeze gently as the cross-hairs pick him out deep inside the room and, illuminated only by the office lights I squeeze a little more.

***

There is chaos, and I notice the splash of the blood, running down the suite window, which I think is odd. The last thing I see is only momentary, before it goes black.

They rush in to me, and I can hear them for just the few moments I have left. My rifle falls in the activity around me, never to be fired after all, and he will walk to freedom and carry on with his dreadful business.

I’m surrounded by them now and feel them seeking the life within me. Pulses felt and clothing loosened, they shout for me to stay with them, or so they say at least, and I know that will not happen. I know how this will pan out. For the end is nigh for me this time.

I see an anxious-looking Jason through a fog and struggle with the words I need to say, for there is no hope now. There’s a mask being forced onto my face, and I raise my heavy arm to pull it away.

I do not need oxygen. It has no use now. I know this. The blackness is falling upon me for the last time. I murmur quietly to the woman attending to me.

“That will not be necessary.”