Russian Roulette

Chapter 9 : Given the slip

United Kingdom

Sean Adamson sat at a table of an outdoor cafe overlooking the River Thames, a glass of beer in hand while a plate of fish and chips remained untouched in front of him. Wearing a gray color beanie with a pair of sunglasses he seemed to be blending in but he wasn't. Sean Adamson may have looked normal for most people, he is anything but. Although Sean is identified as British in his passport but to him and most of his clients, he has Russian blood, blood of a Soviet to be precise. Born a year before the total collapse of the Soviet Union Sean spent most of his time in Mother Russia before moving to Britain. 

A college dropout, he choose another career path instead : an assassin. News of the poisoning of Sergei Volodin has taken over the global news cycle, everybody has focused on this and theories are popping up from all sides. But as the assassin, he is able to hide in plain sight. He knew that he has to act when he saw Volodin at the airport in Vienna. His client has specified the tool he will use to 'remove' him : a nerve agent. Adamson never questioned his client's motives, not his business. His job is to drop a vial of the nerve agent in any food or drink that Volodin has ordered at the airport cafe. Volodin left for the washroom, giving the chance for Sean to dump the vial into his cup of coffee. The client who hired him, is very protective of his identity, concealing his true voice with a voice scrambler, which didn't bother him much. 

His client has informed him that the client himself will drop by to negotiate the payment. But his survival skills kicked in days ago. He is well aware that the client would've killed him to cover up the trail but Sean Adamson wasn't going to let him do it. As long as the payment is done he will fly to a neighboring country in Europe and lay low with a new identity lined up. The doors connecting the outdoor patio were pulled open from the inside and a man entered the patio, wearing an overcoat and a fedora hat, his eyes searching around for a table. He walked towards Adamson's table once the assassin locked eyes with the middle-aged man. "You must be the newspaper boy who delivered newspapers to my home every day." said the man in English, but with a Russian accent. 

"Yes, yes I am." he played along. "I am glad that you decided to pay in-person." 

"I always prefer face-to-face payment, from time to time." the man joined him at the table, waving off the waitress who is on her way to take the man's order. "Now, how much do I owe you?"

"Fifteen million dollars." Adamson replied, this time in a low voice.

"Of course." the elderly man replied. "But I would also like to have you keep delivering newspapers to my home every morning."

"Okay." Adamson laid back in his chair. "How long?" the man didn't respond but tipped a piece of paper to him.

"I'm in a hurry young man." he said, standing up. "Be sure to look at the paper on the duration of your newspaper delivery." Both men departed from the patio, Adamson leaving a sum of money for the food and drink he has ordered. A man looked up from his daily copy of The Daily Telegraph a few seconds after both men left. He then folded his newspaper on the table, tapped a button on his phone, holding it to his ear while sipping his cup of tea from a porcelain cup with a saucer in a similar design pattern. 

"I'm on the target." he reported.

"I'm sure you are." a voice replied through the phone. "Track him through your laptop." knowing that the caller wasn't talking to him the man stood up, leaving the money on the table and started to trail the man. He followed him in a casual manner, passing by candy stores, florists, newspaper stands, a usual street at London.

"I was thinking of buying a bag of gummy bears, you know, since she gave birth last month."

"If you have the time." the voice replied. "She loved those candies?"

"I wouldn't be saying that if I ever wanted to annoy her. She bloody hates it when I say that my Norwegian is better."

"Keep your eyes on the target, Tanner has him in his sights too." The man continued to trail the man, now walking towards the staircase leading to the underground railway. Maintaining his healthy distance from the target he boarded the same train as Adamson is but on different carriages. "Where is he going?"

"I obviously don't know, you can just intercept him at a nearby station and have a conversation with him."

"I am not stupid." 

"And then we have no choice but to follow him." Adamson departed from the train a few stations later and heads down to an apartment complex a few blocks away from the station entrance. "He stopped at an apartment complex." the man approached the superintendent of the building and headed up to the second floor. "He lives here, I think."

"See what you can find, if better, catch him and bring him in for questioning." 

"Okay." readying his handgun MI6 agent James Collins broke down the door upon discovering that it's locked. Entering the small-sized apartment he walked with caution, looking through every room as he searched for the man. He then heard the sound of an oven being switched on and entered the kitchen, only to find the area empty. The oven, however, is turned on, counting down starting from ten seconds, prompting the agent to run. He managed to jump out to the hallway as the oven exploded, shattering the glass windows and raining it down on the pedestrians outside the building. He saw a piece of paper underneath the shoe rack and retrieved it, holding it in his hands to study the note. 

"You think it would be that easy?" the note wrote. James' expression darkened as he pocketed the gun and waited for MI6 personnel to arrive on the scene.