Prologue

Large raindrops thumped against the umbrella’s taut black fabric, ran down the sodden panels then dropped to the slick sidewalk, where they splashed up on a pair of shoes and cuffs. The tall man huddled beneath this feeble shelter frowned, and an involuntary shiver passed over him. He wasn’t drenched yet, only thoroughly damp and chill, which reflected his mood on this gray and dreary September day. The man had a wiry build and obviously believed in exercising. Behind him the dull rumble of distant traffic carried clearly from the main road leading into Cambridge, England, from the north; but the side street the man hurried along was almost deserted, exactly as he had hoped.

He crossed over and passed between two cars parked close together, dropping his newspaper as he did. A quick flick of his eyes reassured him that no one had observed this act of littering. He chided himself on the unnecessary risk, but he was anxious to be rid of the paper, purchased to pass the time during the long bus ride. It seemed every page carried a story about the recent wedding of Prince Charles and the oh-so-photogenic Lady Diana Spencer, now Her Royal Highness, the Princess of Wales. He gritted his teeth as sullen anger simmered deep inside him. After all, the world didn’t revolve around the royals, or Britain, or the West for that matter, and someday the infidels would come to realize that.

The man turned the corner and tilted his umbrella up so he could see his destination. Cars lined each side of the narrow street, taking up every available parking space. Two long rows of identical apartment blocks marched along, coming right up to the sidewalks. The only hint of green came from the tiny park where the street ended. The man spotted the building he was looking for and smiled. His face twinged a little, even though the plastic surgeon had assured him it was completely healed. A sudden gust jerked at the umbrella, nearly turning it inside out. The man gripped the handle harder and dipped the flimsy canopy into the wind.

Almost there.

He rushed up the steps and collapsed the umbrella then pulled open the outside door and stomped inside. He looked all around to make sure he was alone. The wind moaned, and the rain pecked at the dirty foyer windows, but there was no sign of life. He exhaled slowly then walked up to a door that was just like the other three on the ground floor except behind this one was his enemy; only the man inside did not realize it.

The visitor raised a brown hand, hesitated, then rapped on the door with measured force. He waited as the moments slipped slowly by. Something rattled inside, then the deadbolt retracted with a solid, metallic thump. The door swung open, revealing a man whose expression shifted quickly from query to puzzled amazement. The visitor looked into the dark brown eyes and smiled as he wondered how it felt to be facing one’s anonymous double, complete down to the shaggy brown hair and wide mustache.

“Who are you?” the man finally managed to murmur, barely above a whisper.

The visitor didn’t reply, savoring the moment he had waited years for. It had been a long, long wait, but now it was finally over.

The man’s puzzled expression melted into to fear. “What is the meaning of this?” He tried to shut the door, but the intruder prevented that with his shoe. “Go away! I’ll call the police!”

The intruder shoved his way inside and carefully shut the door. “No, you won’t,” he said, his voice low and menacing.

The man’s eyes grew round and stood out. “Wait a minute! You’re...”

But he never got to finish. The assailant jerked a 9mm silenced automatic out of his shoulder holster and fired two quick shots. One drilled a neat hole in the center of the victim’s forehead, and the other passed through his heart. He was dead before his relaxing muscles dropped him to the carpeted floor in a heap.

The assailant holstered his gun and dragged the body into the tiled kitchen. He stood there a few moments, his eyes tracing the broad trail of blood. He sighed. Cleaning this up would be difficult, but it had to be done. Then there was the disposal of the body. But all these tasks had been carefully worked out over the last few years, and the man had no doubts that his plans would succeed.

He began opening cabinets, looking for cleaning supplies, but he was in no hurry. The apartment was his now, and there was much yet to accomplish. And accomplish these tasks he would.

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©2009 Frank Simon