Introduction
In another place, in another time, I would not have been the man I am now: The quality disavowed. Wanted in 30 countries around the world, yet top hire for every one of those governments and a few more. It seems so ironic, yet is this world not based on irony? The powers care only about the status quo and their own power that comes from that, who am I to argue? I do my job, Swiss accounts get larger, and everyone is happy. Except maybe the person with the bullet in his head.
I have no use for names, aliases come and go. Just call me SteelAngel.
Chapter 1
The evening was darker than I expected. I like that. Darkness envelops the soul and I blend right in like a shadow. I got a message from FIXER this afternoon. Simple courier job at the French embassy in Rome tonight. Wonderful hosts, the French. Always holding those little hors d'oveures plates to you. Too bad escargot makes me ill. When I arrived, the party was already too busy to notice the nondescript tuxedoed dignitary coming in from the foyer.
I scanned the room. The contact was almost in plain sight. Amateurish, really. I expected much better from FIXER. Ten minutes, 3 little sandwiches, and a full circuit of the room brought me up to her. I learned a long time ago, that the direct route was always the worst. Red dresses. I hate red dresses. Especially on women in my business. Too flashy. The best hiding spot is out in the open, but not when everyone looks at you.
"Bon soir madame, je suis Guilliame Marchaut," I intoned. Contact has been made.
"Ah, monsieur Marchaut, Its been years. Join me for a drink?" Her voice was velvety-smooth. Almost emotionless, and hypnotic.
We walked up the grand staircase to the bar area and sat down. Something seemed out of place about this whole job. FIXER agents are not usually so cordial.
"White Russian," I ordered.
"A bit daring, aren't we Mister Angel. Amaretto Sour, please," she chimed. Testing my resolve... I could care less. "I have heard for too much about you, but have never met the man. I'm Kristina Grace."
"...Charmed, I'm sure."
"You are quite the charmer, Mister Angel. You might think of growing a mustache, they're in this year."
"..."
"A bit of the silent type, aren't we?"
It was an uncomfortable silence. She knows something, she sees right through me. It is not a feeling I relish.
Kristina smiled, "Well, Mister Angel, let us go get what you came for." We stood up, and walked to the hallway leading out of the main hall. She made a point to look into the crowd below the bar as we walked down the stairs. Now I knew something was wrong. Should I play along with her game? It would probably lead to something rather unpleasant, but I shouldn't blow the whistle just yet.
We reached the door that led to the back yard of the embassy. It was very well kept, stone paths leading from the entrance in three directions, just enough lights to keep it quiet, and the moon added another element of shadow to the scene.
"You first, Miss Grace," I said, holding the door.
"But of course, Mister Angel" She stepped out into the yard softly, and reached into her purse. I followed and saw a shadow come from behind me. I spun around, slamming my foot into the midsection of my would-be assassin. I would have expected better. He crumpled back, relatively unfazed, and it became clear that his sheer size would put some elephants to shame. Three more blows to the head, and his frame hit the ground with a thud. I turned to see Ms. Grace holding a Glock .45 aimed at my head. I crossed my arms, unimpressed. FIXER would never have been so unprofessional.
"Its over SteelAngel. Master Nihijima needs you dead."
The White Moth, I laughed to myself. Amateur is their credo.
"Tell him to go to hell when you get there," I smirked. My bowie slid into my hand from its sheath. I walked toward her.
"You'll see hell this day Angel," Her finger squeezed on the trigger, but the shot never came.
She probably didn't feel a thing as her quivering body hit the ground, My knife firmly implanted in her chest. At least she wasn't rude enough to bleed all over me as I pulled out my blade. I cleaned it off with her dress and resheathed it.
A quick look through her belongings provided me with nothing more than plassteel bullets, a makeup compact, and the obvious cyanide gas pellet. I smiled as I walked up the stairs, and into the bathroom. They'd never find my fingerprints, I don't have any. And no one would think twice about the gray-haired man in glasses and moustache leaving the party early anyway. He looked a bit drunk...
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