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twin Silverballers and a garrote. Black socks and a pair of well-polished shoes completed the ensemble. Once he was dressed, it was a simple matter to lock his possessions into a pair of armored suitcases, set the built-in security systems, and slide them under the bed. Then he exited the room with the half-full garbage bag dangling from one hand. Having opened the Volvo with the remote, Agent 47 slid inside, placed the garbage bag on the seat beside him, and started the car. Two minutes later he was out on the street trolling for a Dumpster. It wasn’t the perfect means of disposal, since whatever one person put into one of the big bins another person could remove, but it was better than leaving the materials in his room. Dumpsters located behind restaurants were best. Once the contents had begun to rot, the smell was so bad even the homeless wouldn’t enter them.
    Having disposed of the Johnson disguise behind theGreenJadePalace , but not being in the mood for a sit-down dinner, Agent 47 bought a couple of hamburgers from a local drive-through. It was his opinion that food purchased from small, independently owned burger joints was always better than the stuff the big chains churned out.
    Back in his room, 47 flipped through the channels until he located a soccer game. Not because he cared who won, but for some sort of company, as he unwrapped the burgers and ate another meal byhimself . One of what?Hundreds?Thousands?
    There was no way to know.
    Eventually the game ended, so he stripped down and hung his clothes in the closet. Then 47 prepared to sleep on the floor. He was well aware of the fact that if a counterassassin forced the door open, the first thing they would do would be to put a few slugs into the bed. So, rather than run that risk, he took his place on the floor, where an intruder’s first shot would miss him. A hard surface, but no worse than the pallet he’d been required to sleep on as a child.
    The Silverballers were comforting—and he was asleep five minutes later.

Chapter Three
    SEATTLE,WASHINGTON ,USA
    As Marla parked her Mercedes in an underground garage and entered a well-appointed elevator, the Puissance Treize agent had a feeling she didn’t experience often. She was frightened.
    And with good reason.After being promoted to Assistant Sector Chief, and posted to thePacific Northwest , she had been ordered to rid the Big Kahuna’s organization of an undercover FBI agent, and protect the crime boss from an assassin. And she’d been successful up until the moment when she decided to out the assassin. That’s when things went horribly wrong, and people began to die, including the man she’d been sent to protect. It wasn’t that Marla really cared. In fact, those who had died no doubt deserved their fate. But not on her watch.
    Now, Marla was on the way up to meet with her new supervisor, a hard-eyed woman called Mrs. Kaberov, who, in spite of her polished exterior, had once been a member of the dreaded KGB, the Russian State Security Committee, before the Puissance Treize had hired her away.Which was why it felt like an ounce of liquid lead was sloshing around the pit of Marla’s stomach as she left the elevator, crossed a beautifully decorated lobby, and entered the private club. The restaurant was called The Pacific Rim, and it boasted a sweeping view ofSeattle ’sElliottBay and the snowcappedOlympic Mountains beyond. A prissy maître d’ was there to greet her and lead her to what was unarguably the best table in the restaurant. That’s where Kaberov sat, gazing out over the sparkling bay, as she spoke on her cell phone. A cruise ship was pulling away from a nearby dock as it departed forAlaska and a green and white ferryboat was about to dock as Marla stopped just short of the table. Her supervisor’s white hair was pulled back into a tight bun and she looked stylish in a simple blue knit dress fromSt. Johns . Tasteful gold jewelry and the Hermès handbag completed the outfit. Marla,