Carlos

Waiting.

The wind brushed his long hair to the left, across his eyes. He was standing on a open floor, near the roof of the building that he had spent the last few weeks helping construct.

His code name was Carlos. Nobody knew his real name, even Carlos had begun to loose touch with his real identity and past. To his various circles of friends, he was known as Sean. On dating sites, for other nefarious purposes, he often called himself Michael, but sometimes Daniel.

But today he was Carlos, killer for hire. This was an easy job for Carlos.  Literally, too good to be true. The 'target' would be leaving the Old Bailey any minute, directly opposite the very construction site where Carlos had been working as a legitimate construction worker—his day job and cover story. Certainly, Carlos dreamed from time to time of being a grandiose hit-man that he had read about in novels, and watched in movies, earning a few million a hit. But the harsh truth for men like Carlos was that the domestic contract killing scene in the UK is rather low-paying. In the early days, Carlos would be forced to kill for as little as £300. Times had been tough for him since leaving the SAS, and construction work unreliable. "Beggars can't be choosers," he would say to comfort himself in his predicament.

Today's hit would net him a cool £14,000. This was a higher profile case, and should, with any luck, see much more lucrative offers coming his way. There was talk of a certain gentleman who could earn £50,000 a time working for the London Mafia. But Carlos knew the real money was to be made in political assassinations. But this was a hard market to crack. Mossad performed all their own killings. Their was some scope, but not much, in the KGB. Greater hope lay in working with Mi5, or with the CIA. The problem was that there were too many ex-military and others out there prepared to kill, and already working for the governments of the world.

Many of his ex-special forces colleagues had hired themselves out as Security Specialists (mercenaries) for various regimes around the globe. The cash was good, but as a mercenary is out in the open; thus, he too is a visible target, and many of them did not live long enough to collect their ill-gotten gains.

Carlos hadn't totally dismissed the idea of switching from contract killer to mercenary, but a new plan had formed in his mind: working for himself and eliminating the competition, forcing higher paying  jobs to come his way. He had already compiled a large dossier, and plans for his first hit were well underway. But this opportunity had presented itself, interrupting his own plans.

The target was yet another celebrity on trial for alleged child abuse. At first, the families were hopeful of a conviction, but as the trial went on, it looked likely the suspect would get away with it. One of the 'victims', now an adult in her thirties, decided that, one way or another, justice would be served today. One thing led to another, and here he was £14,000 richer.

For this job, Carlos decided to use a CoS silencer rifle. It was easy to take apart and fit into a bag, excellent accuracy,  and had a great quality scope. Carlos rotated his weapons in an attempt to confuse ballistics. Of course, he used hollow-point, exploding bullets to add to the confusion and certainty of a kill. Sometimes, he would leave the hallow-points clean; other times fill them with mercury or glycerin. Occasionally he would use soft point. The police could find no pattern in his work.

Carlos heard a familiar crackle on his police scanner. The target had been acquitted and was about to leave court.

Detective Jerome surveyed the scene around the Old Bailey. He was in no doubt there was going to be an attempt on the accused's life. With such a high profile case, the detective had taken the liberty of tapping every single person remotely involved with the case: their phones, e-mail accounts and bank details were all hacked. Even some of the houses had been bugged. It had looked all quiet, leading the inspector to doubt his gut instincts. But just last night it happened: an unexpected £14,000 transfer into an off-shore account. His team had worked round the clock trying to trace the transfer, but the trail went cold in Switzerland, but not dead. If need be, decided the detective, he would travel to Zurich and force the details out of them. It had been know to happen.