Somewhere a baby cried softly.Īt the end of the corridor, where it intersected with another, was a door marked maintenance. The cool air smelled of strong detergent.

The paint on the walls was faded and chipped. Spaced at regular intervals were numbered, spyholed doors.

The corridor beyond the stairwell door was long and featureless. He reached his destination with little trace of fatigue. There were two elevators, but he opted for the stairs, climbing twenty-two flights to the top floor. He unlocked it with his day-old key and stepped inside. He made sure not to appear rushed as he took the half-dozen steps up to the front door. Balconies and satellite dishes jutted out from the dull brown walls. It stood several stories taller than the surrounding buildings. The garbage-men groaned and rushed to gather up the trash before the wind could spread it too far.Īfter a short walk, the businessman arrived at a large apartment complex. He was a businessman of sorts, but he doubted they would guess the nature of his uncommon profession.īehind him, a trash can clattered into the road and he looked briefly over his shoulder to see black bags split open and refuse spilling across the asphalt. Just a businessman on his way to the office, they would assume. Despite the cold, only the bottom two of his four overcoat buttons had been fastened. His dark hair was short, his beard neatly trimmed. In his left hand he carried a metal briefcase. He was smartly dressed-a long woolen coat over the top of a dark gray suit, black leather gloves, thick-soled Oxford shoes. He felt their gaze upon him, taking in his appearance for the few short seconds before he’d gone. He interrupted the group’s banter as he passed through the spiraling cloud of exhaust fumes condensing in the spring air. Refuse collectors followed the vehicle, hands buried under armpits while they waited to reach the next pile of trash bags on the sidewalk. Yes, a particularly good morning to kill.Īhead of him a refuse truck made its slow way along the road, hazard light flashing orange, windshield wipers swinging back and forth to flick away the drizzle. He walked at a relaxed pace, in no hurry, knowing he was making perfect time. Impenetrable gray clouds obscured the sun and the city beneath was dark and quiet.

Tom wood victor the assassin series