The Innocent

It had been a clean operation. Robie had had the prince in his crosshairs from the moment he’d gotten out of his SUV. He could’ve taken him out then, but wanted to wait until the prince and his guards were on the plane. It would allow him more time to get away if the security detail were trapped inside the aircraft. He had lost sight of the prince for about half a minute right after he had entered the plane, but had reacquired him as he walked down the aisle and sat at the table.

Robie had aimed for the head of Talal even though it was a tougher shot, because of something he’d seen through his scope. When the prince had leaned forward in his chair, Robie had seen the straps underneath the man’s robes. He was wearing body armor. One did not wear body armor around the head.

Robie had spent three days and nights of his life perched high up, peeing into a jar and eating power bars while waiting for his target in a facility that was supposedly in lockdown and totally secure.

Now the prince was dead.

His plans would die with him.

Will Robie closed his eyes and slept as the ferry gently swayed on its slow ride over the calm waters of the Med.

CHAPTER 7

This one was different.

It was close to home.

So close that it was home.

Nearly three months had passed since Tangier and the death of Khalid bin Talal. The weather was cooler, the sky a little grayer. Robie had not killed anyone during that time. It was an unusually long period for him to be inactive, but he did not mind. He took walks, he read books, he ate out, he did some traveling that did not involve the death of someone. In other words, he acted normal.

But then that flash drive had appeared and Robie had had to stop being normal and pick up his gun again. The mission had come to him two days ago. Not much time to prepare, but the mission was a priority, the flash drive told him. And when the flash spoke Robie acted.

He sat in a chair in his living room, a cup of coffee in hand. It was early in the morning and he had been up for several hours. As the next mission grew closer it had been difficult for him to sleep. It had always been that way with him-not so much nervousness as a desire for heightened preparation. When he was awake part of his brain was constantly refining the plan, finding errors and fixing them. He could not do that while he was asleep.

During his downtime he had adhered to his earlier plan of socializing more and even accepted an invitation to an informal party held by one of his neighbors at the man’s apartment on the third floor. Only a dozen people had attended, some of whom also lived in the building. The neighbor had introduced Robie to several of his friends. However, Robie’s attention had quickly focused on one young woman.

She was a recent renter here who made the trek to the White House as early as four a.m. on her bike. Robie knew where she worked because he had received a briefing on her. He knew she left that early for work, because he had often watched her through his peephole.

She was a lot younger than Robie, lovely, intelligent, at least from what he had observed. They had made eye contact on several occasions. Robie sensed she might be as friendless as he. He also sensed that if he started talking to her she wouldn’t have minded. She had worn a short black skirt and a white blouse. Her hair was swept back into a ponytail. She had a drink in hand and every so often she would glance in Robie’s direction, smile, and then look away as she continued her conversation with another person whom Robie didn’t recognize.

Several times Robie had thought about approaching her. Yet he had left the party without doing so. As he was walking out he’d glanced back at her. She was laughing at a comment made by someone, and never looked his way. It was probably better that way, he’d thought. Because really, what would have been the point?

Robie rose and stared out the window.

It was fall now. The leaves in the park had started to turn. The evenings were chilly. The humidity of summer was sometimes still with them, but its intense edge had measurably eroded. The current weather was not bad for a city that was built on a swamp-and still was a swamp by many people’s estimation, at least the part where the professional politicians nested.

Robie had done his recon in the abbreviated time allotted. The run-throughs, logistically harder in this situation, had still been performed.

And he still didn’t like it.

But it was not his call.

The location would not involve Robie stepping on a plane or train. But the target was different as well. And not in a good way.

Sometimes he went after people intent on global menace, like Rivera or Talal. Or sometimes he simply went after a problem.

You could take your pick of labels, but in the end they all meant the same thing. His employer decided who among the living and breathing would qualify as a target. And then they turned to men like Robie to end the living and breathing part.

It made the world better, was the justification.