driver could be limited now, all he wanted to do was get to the hotel and out of the company of the two actors, whom he found revolting.
The hotel was beautiful, of course. It was his first trip abroad so if he’d been a normal boy it would have been an exciting moment. He had, however, already memorised the layout of the hotel and a map of the city. He knew every street and side street as well as the hot spots for police activity. He wasn’t interested in croissants and coffee, all he cared about was the man staying in a room directly three floors above who would be checking-in to the hotel in less than thirty minutes. One thing at a time, every step accounted for – enjoyment was not part of the plan.
K stepped out onto the small ornate balcony and looked over it. As far as cities went, Paris was vastly different to any in America and almost sparked a glimmer of interest inside him. It evaporated quickly when someone spoke from inside the room.
‘We’ll escort you to the airport tomorrow at the agreed time.’
They didn’t wait for any acknowledgement or goodbye, but then, K didn’t offer any. He didn’t need to be told. He stared blankly as they left, closing the door behind them. When he was alone he unloaded his bag onto the bed: pants, vests, sneakers, a tennis ball and a Nintendo Gameboy – none of which belonged to him. Inside the casing of the console lay a small syringe. He pried the outer shell apart and took out the needle, placing it carefully on the bedside table before going to wash up.
When he returned to the grand room he sat on the edge of the bed and switched on the television. It was his first time and he could not deny he was nervous. He wouldn’t admit that to anyone, of course, but he had to make a conscious effort to keep his hands from trembling. After a few minutes of meditation, they became deathly still. He exhaled. Trying to focus on something else to pass the time, he looked at the picture in his passport and the name next to it: Kalen Smith
It was the first time he’d seen a name next to his picture. He took a moment to consider how it made him feel. He wasn’t sure. Nerves were getting tiresome, but K knew if he couldn’t pull this off he would be no use to the unit. If he was no use to the unit, he was nothing – there was nothing else except the unit.
Thirty minutes passed; it was time. K took the syringe in his hand and slid it into the front pocket of his black sweater. Silently, he left the room.
He avoided the few cameras in the hotel without much trouble, gliding to the stairwell and up to the floor he wanted and moving swiftly along the typically French Damask corridor until he reached the room.
He entered using the key he had been given before he left the US and crept into the room. He could hear the shower. Perfect timing. He slipped into the bathroom, following the sound of running water.
Mistakes are to be learned from. If the result of that mistake is not death, then the lesson can be a useful tool for survival. The shower was empty. He hadn’t expected that. Of course, he shouldn’t have expected anything and he knew it. Could it be the brightest student in the whole team, the head of the class, the strongest, smartest and most able of all of them had forgotten the first rule of assassination on his first day on the job? Assumption was the mother of all…
He had something on his side though. Had he been an adult caught snooping in the apartment of such an important person, the man holding the gun to his head would have fired it without thinking twice. K would have been dead before he had a chance to turn and face his killer. His childlike frame, however, had prevented such a reaction.
K turned and let his eyes grow wide with faux fear.
‘What the hell are you doing in my room, kid?’ the American man bellowed, removing the safety on his Glock 23.
‘S-sorry, sir,’ Kalen stuttered, pushing a
The hotel was beautiful, of course. It was his first trip abroad so if he’d been a normal boy it would have been an exciting moment. He had, however, already memorised the layout of the hotel and a map of the city. He knew every street and side street as well as the hot spots for police activity. He wasn’t interested in croissants and coffee, all he cared about was the man staying in a room directly three floors above who would be checking-in to the hotel in less than thirty minutes. One thing at a time, every step accounted for – enjoyment was not part of the plan.
K stepped out onto the small ornate balcony and looked over it. As far as cities went, Paris was vastly different to any in America and almost sparked a glimmer of interest inside him. It evaporated quickly when someone spoke from inside the room.
‘We’ll escort you to the airport tomorrow at the agreed time.’
They didn’t wait for any acknowledgement or goodbye, but then, K didn’t offer any. He didn’t need to be told. He stared blankly as they left, closing the door behind them. When he was alone he unloaded his bag onto the bed: pants, vests, sneakers, a tennis ball and a Nintendo Gameboy – none of which belonged to him. Inside the casing of the console lay a small syringe. He pried the outer shell apart and took out the needle, placing it carefully on the bedside table before going to wash up.
When he returned to the grand room he sat on the edge of the bed and switched on the television. It was his first time and he could not deny he was nervous. He wouldn’t admit that to anyone, of course, but he had to make a conscious effort to keep his hands from trembling. After a few minutes of meditation, they became deathly still. He exhaled. Trying to focus on something else to pass the time, he looked at the picture in his passport and the name next to it: Kalen Smith
It was the first time he’d seen a name next to his picture. He took a moment to consider how it made him feel. He wasn’t sure. Nerves were getting tiresome, but K knew if he couldn’t pull this off he would be no use to the unit. If he was no use to the unit, he was nothing – there was nothing else except the unit.
Thirty minutes passed; it was time. K took the syringe in his hand and slid it into the front pocket of his black sweater. Silently, he left the room.
He avoided the few cameras in the hotel without much trouble, gliding to the stairwell and up to the floor he wanted and moving swiftly along the typically French Damask corridor until he reached the room.
He entered using the key he had been given before he left the US and crept into the room. He could hear the shower. Perfect timing. He slipped into the bathroom, following the sound of running water.
Mistakes are to be learned from. If the result of that mistake is not death, then the lesson can be a useful tool for survival. The shower was empty. He hadn’t expected that. Of course, he shouldn’t have expected anything and he knew it. Could it be the brightest student in the whole team, the head of the class, the strongest, smartest and most able of all of them had forgotten the first rule of assassination on his first day on the job? Assumption was the mother of all…
He had something on his side though. Had he been an adult caught snooping in the apartment of such an important person, the man holding the gun to his head would have fired it without thinking twice. K would have been dead before he had a chance to turn and face his killer. His childlike frame, however, had prevented such a reaction.
K turned and let his eyes grow wide with faux fear.
‘What the hell are you doing in my room, kid?’ the American man bellowed, removing the safety on his Glock 23.
‘S-sorry, sir,’ Kalen stuttered, pushing a
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