Gene paced his hotel room. The target was an African dictator who was visiting Manhattan. The man was responsible for the genocide of thousands of his people, and turning young children into gun toting killers. It was despicable, but, he should be on trial, not murdered. This assassin was taking justice into her own hands, and it wasn’t right. He checked the ammo on his gun, and tightened the scarf on his neck. His tweed jacket and tortoise shell glasses made him look like a scholar out and about in New York City. A tourist, his costume touched up with a camera and map.
Chike Balewa loved to remind his people that his name meant ‘Power of God’ and that he was acting upon the instructions of a higher power, to cleanse their country. He was here to meet with UN leaders to discuss religious rights and war crimes. The intel on where he would stay had been tight lipped. But the CIA knew. They had been the agency to arrange security, thus, able to set up Artemis, for the murder. Their hopes were to catch her.
Gene was to go sightseeing. Since Chike was staying in the Grand Central Hilton, about two blocks from the UN Headquarters, he would check out sights like Ralph Bunche Park, and the UN itself. He needed to stay inconspicuous and blend in, but at the same time, keep an eye on Chike. His room would be situated one floor below, directly under the presidential suite.
He had a team with him. One man would pose as the hotel room’s butler, a woman as housekeeping, and another woman at the front desk. There was also a tech team, ran by Marvin in the room next to his. He was a CIA nerd, but good at what he did. The gadgets this guy had made up for his incessant need to talk about his girlfriend Kelly.
Alexander “Justice” Shaw, was their mission leader. He was a legend as an interrogator for the company. Now he was a team leader, mostly office work. Marvin also liked to talk about his wife about to pop out their second child.
Gene scoffed. With a marriage that was nothing more than an inconvenient cover, he wasn’t fully thrilled at the idea of kids, and thankfully, his wife never brought it up. He had told her that there was a last-minute business trip for a convention in Chicago, and he would be gone all weekend. She had been okay with that, seeing as how her friends asked her to a girls’ weekend in Vegas. It worked out perfectly for him. He could be in Manhattan and she would never know.
It was early Friday morning, so commuters were still rushing off to their offices, while tourists began crowded the streets to sightsee. Gene sat on a bench in Tudor City Greens, browsing his map as the masses rushed by. In reality, he had an eye on the hotel down the block, waiting on Chike to arrive. A procession of police escorts and bulletproof town cars pulled up, and he hadn’t even needed to wait long. Holding the map up to cover his face, he whispered.
“Black Mamba has arrived.” He used the code name assigned to Chike, letting his team know the mark arrived. They would all get into place. Knowing security would check the room for bugs before he went in, they couldn’t get sound into the suite. But having an in-room butler on hand helped. Everyone who lived that life ignored the help. They were invisible but soaked up tons of information. Most people discussed important business, forgetting the unvetted ears lurking around. They had a partial itinerary for Balewa. There was no way of telling if he would be hit in public, or the privacy of his rooms. But Artemis had a track record for quick, quiet, and very private. So, the majority of their surveillance was there.
The security team for the dictator exited first. After fifteen minutes, they returned, escorting him into the hotel—very professional. Surrounding him, they moved as one.
Gene stood, looking around. Nothing appeared out of place, but then again, an expert such as Artemis, like Gene, would know better than to stand out. As he headed towards the hotel, tucking his map into a coat pocket, he saw a flash, and his heart stopped. A woman with long brown hair was swallowed by the crowd. It caused him to pause momentarily. She looked just like his wife, Calista. Gene shook it off. It couldn’t be Calista. She was out of town with friends.
He ambled into the hotel, taking the elevator up to his room. “Okay team, let’s keep our focus. Mamba is in the building, and we don’t know when Artemis will strike,” he said into the ear piece he wore. It connected him to the whole team. Each member except Jarrod Cranston, the butler, checked in, one by one, already in position. Gene shed his jacket and scarf, sitting down at the desk.
He opened a laptop, and the screen woke to the video feed—the hallway outside of Chike’s room, the living room of the suite. Chike’s team swept the room for bugs and Gene breathed a sigh of relief when they didn’t find the unsophisticated cam that was little more than something Calista would have bought to spy on a nanny if they’d had kids. It didn’t emit any signal.
Gene could see security men placed at each side of the doorway. Chike wasn’t taking any chances. Hours passed, and nothing happened. Finally, around six, the team and Chike left.
Jarrod finally checked in. “Jeeves to Phantom,” Gene heard.
His codename in the SEAL’s and CIA, had been Phantom. Since he worked mostly alone or only with only one other person, that was what he’d been called. He been a ghost, able to get in and out of a room or building without being seen, leaving no trace of being there.
“Phantom, go,” he responded.
“Black Mamba is out to dinner, and a show. Won’t return until midnight. I’m apparently off shift until morning, so we’re blind in the room until then.”
“Good job. I’ve got it from here. Phantom out.”
Marvin had provided him with some gadgets earlier in the day in hopes that the team would only scan the room once, not every time they returned. One was a small, motion activated camera. It would dump data to them once an hour, after recording, so it didn’t emit a constant signal. It was thin and cable like, and would be inserted in through the vent of the master bedroom. The other was a bug to be attached to the back of a television. It looked like a clear sticker, something the manufacturer would have placed on it. This one, it didn’t matter if they scanned the room for bugs again. They could turn off on their end, and it sent a constant live stream of sound.
Gene changed out of his jeans and polo, pulling on black pants, and a long sleeve black shirt. He looked casual, yet would be unseen in the darkened room. He shoved his .40 caliber Smith and Wesson Beretta into the waist of his jeans, the cold metal pressing against his back. He slipped his tortoise shell glasses back on. Marvin had a small button in the inner part of one temple earpieces. The lenses, became night vision. Gene shoved gloves in his pocket with the bug, and left his room.
“Phantom heading to Mamba’s nest. Keep an eye out.”
“Affirmative,” Belle responded. She was the only female agent on the team. During and earlier chat, Marvin explained she got her job by being beautiful, by always having her nose buried in books. She was great at surveillance, and smart as a whip. It was only her second time in the field though. That made Gene nervous. Justice had assured her, that she was great at analyzing the camera feeds and would ensure he got advance notice to exit the room if anything happened.
“Going black,” she said, as he got into the elevator. They had set up an interference to break the feed on the elevator cameras. Security would see an empty car, while he headed to the floor above. Gene slid his hacked card—the one that would let him into the Presidential suite—into the slot. As the doors dinged open, he stood in the room. Only a slight glow from the full moon outside, cast any light onto the floor. Gene gave himself a few minutes to allow his eyes to adjust then pressed the button to switch to night vision.
He blinked a few times, as the room came into focus. “I’m in,” he whispered.
Slipping his fingers into the gloves, Gene moved silently towards the television in the sitting room. It was a wall mounted flat screen, above a stone-encased fireplace. He reached behind the TV and put the bug in place then leaned over, to check that it remained attached. Satisfied, he moved to the bedroom. As he was placing the camera into a vent over the bathroom door, he heard a shuffle on the balcony. It was barely noticeable, but to his trained senses, in the silent room, it registered. He slowly climbed down from the chair he stood on.
Moving slowly, he backed into the darkest corner of the room. Pressed against the wall, his hope was that the person on the balcony did not have night vision. His hand slid to the gun in his waist, pulled it out. His thumb deftly clicked the safety off. He held it at his side, ready if necessary.
“We have movement on the balcony,” he whispered. No one responded, as protocol. This prevented any noise coming from their end, possibly giving away an agent’s position.
The door slid open quietly and a mass of black squeezed through a small opening. The person stood there, most likely adjusting to the dark. As the figure moved towards the bedroom door to head further into the suite, moonlight glinted off of a large knife. Artemis was known to prefer close action, to guns, a more personal touch.
Gene crept up behind them. Raising the gun, he pressed it into the back of their head. “Freeze,” he growled. The figure stiffened, arms raised in the air. He could see the woman tremble. Her black mask and tight clothing hid any identifying features of this ghost assassin. With his free hand, Gene slid the glasses on top of his head then reached for the light switch next to him on the wall.
As he moved, the woman turned, kicking him in the gut. The breath escaped from his lungs, and he squeezed the trigger. The sound echoed loudly in the room, and a bullet landed in the dresser against the wall. As he bent forward, a fist came down on the back of his head. He held onto his gun, but the figure rushed past him, retreating to the balcony. Sucking in a breath, he twisted his body, sweeping out his leg. He knocked Artemis’ legs from beneath her. She went down with an uttered humph, and her knife bounced across the carpeted floor. She scrambled to her feet, but Gene was quicker. He stepped over her, grabbing an arm as he pressed the gun against her head again.
“Don’t tempt me,” he said through gritted teeth. His diaphragm ached, breathing labored from the blow she had delivered. She yanked her arm, trying to pull away, causing the two to tumble on top of the bed. Gene landed on top of her, and he faltered a moment. The luscious body beneath him felt familiar. Gun forgotten on the mattress next to them, he wrapped long fingers around her wrists, pinning them above her head with one strong hand.
“Phantom, do you need back up?” Justice asked in his ear.
“Give me a minute,” he grunted. He yanked the mask up, swearing under his breath. He tossed it aside, revealing brown hair pulled tight into a bun on top of her head. This couldn’t be happening. His world spun out of control, and everything he thought he knew, no longer made sense. Yanking out the earpiece, he crushed it between two fingers, tossing it aside. He could just claim it was broken in the fight.
“Explain, now,” he yelled.