“What do you mean that won’t happen? Bill wants to stop Warner from being reelected. Carolyn’s dealings could provide the evidence he needs. As far as I know the deal wasn’t improper, but the wrong spin on the situation will be disastrous. Mort’s actions are causing that spin.”
“The key to this matter is Carolyn. And Mark…”
“Yes?”
“Accidents happen.”
“What in the hell are you talking about? The other Council members won’t agree to anything illegal.”
“If we take a vote. I think you’ll find you’re wrong. Our newest members are more driven than I. Winston Cain and Richard Young helped me devise our strategy. We’ve protected our interests by hiding behind Carolyn. All evidence points at the bitch. She would take the blame for any, shall we say, mishaps.”
“No! I won’t allow it. Granted I want my place in Washington as much as any of you, but this is going too far.” Frame Carolyn? My God.
Carolyn thought he loved her. And maybe he still did. The whole plan had been innocent enough, make a few phone calls, keep Edmund informed – just a way to get ahead, to become a player in D.C. Hell, even Carolyn was playing the Washington game. Still, he couldn’t do this to her.
“You don’t have to like it. Just consider the matter handled.” Edmund said.
Long, shining black hair framed the face and upper torso of the young Asian assassin hidden in a small cluster of bushes on the Washington Monument grounds. The fragrance of freshly cut glass spiced the air, and the sun’s unseasonably warm rays peeked over the horizon. The assassin stretched her lithe limbs, as though to reach out and claim the day.
She was attuned to every sound and nuance around her. At six A.M, the park grounds were slowly awakening to the spring morning. Birds sang and a breeze caressed her.
Hand-picked by the CIA director himself, the woman had joined the Agency as a weapons specialist. Now, she freelanced as a mercenary.
The assassin spotted her target jogging far off in the distance. She noted that the subject was predictably on time, coming up Independence Avenue toward the Washington Monument. Like most high-level officials, his routine was easily documented.
Timing was critical to this mission due to the chemicals involved. A cryogenic freezing unit resembling a small, beverage cooler sat next to her.
She marked a checkpoint and timed the subject with a stopwatch. He was moving at the expected pace. The assassin reclaimed her M21 semi-automatic rifle with a custom-made suppressor and rechecked the scope, then assured herself that the temperature on the freezer was precisely as it should be.
She knew that if the temperature inside the freezing unit rose or fell one-tenth of a degree, the chemical structure of the bullet would be altered and the mission would have to be aborted. The assassin had spent years perfecting this technique – building the needed equipment and formulating the deadly projectile.
A shiver of excitement tingled her skin. This kill was going to be particularly satisfying: the challenge of pulling off this operation in the heart of Washington. D.C, on a man of such political stature was a career maker. After this she would be able to name her price on the world market. She ceased her train of thought knowing that she couldn’t permit emotion to cloud her judgment. As easily as placing a can of soup back into a cupboard because she wasn’t hungry, she set aside her feelings.
Timing was critical. She wouldn’t have a second chance. She wouldn’t need one, she knew, her grip firm on the weapon. The bullet she would fire contained frozen sodium azide, a metabolic inhibitor. In solid form it could be fired from a high-powered rifle.
At a muzzle velocity of 2.798 feet per second, the round would melt after precisely one hundred yards. Upon hitting the target, it would penetrate the body like an injection, but leave no sign of entry. When sodium azide invaded the bloodstream, the substance blocked all of the cells’ ability to produce energy; the bodily functions affected simply stopped. The key was to hit the target in the chest so that the first organ to fail was the heart, giving the appearance of cardiac arrest.
The subject veered to the left, heading toward the Tidal Basin. The assassin flipped open the cooler. She grasped the metal tongs to shift the bullet to the gun. The projectile could only occupy the chamber for a maximum of 5.2 seconds.
She kept her eyes trained on the target as he crossed the bridge and followed the road to the right. Ten… nine… eight… Although excited, her hands remained steady. She’d rehearsed until her timing was ingrained. She glanced up at the target to check his progress, then down at the stopwatch. Three… Two… one… With the tongs, she picked up the bullet, loaded the rifle, and set the timer. She glanced again at her target, then drew in a calming breath.
