Download - Walkthrough To Hitman Series

enough to accommodate the four-wheel-drive Dodge pickup truck that was parked within. It
was a few degrees cooler inside the shed, but 47 didn't have time to enjoy the difference as he
jumped into the cab and brought the big V-8 back to life.
Dirt sprayed the back wall as the assassin gunned the vehicle out into bright sunlight, turned
onto the dirt road, and traveled for about twenty feet before he was forced to apply the brakes or
hit the body that was partially trapped by the Harley. Then it was time to put the binoculars
aside, exit the 4X4, and round the front end of the truck. After checking the contents of
Johnson's saddlebags, the next task was to work them free.
Once the leather bags were stowed in the cab, he hooked the pickup's winch cable to the
chopper, and dragged the nine-hundred-pound bike behind the shed. The trip was kind of hard
on what remained of Johnson, but the dead biker didn't seem to mind, even though his body
flopped free halfway through the process.
As soon as the wreckage was safely out of sight, 47 freed the winch cable, and took the time
necessary to back the truck into the shed before returning to the bridge. He had been assigned to
work in the asylum's slaughterhouse at the age of ten, so the assassin was used to looking at
dead bodies, and felt nothing beyond a sense of annoyance as he scanned the roadway for the
top of Johnson's head. Fortunately the chunk of skull and upper jawbone were still tucked inside
the minimal half-helmet that so many bikers preferred. The bloody mess lay next to the road
where it had come to rest and it was a simple matter to kick dust over the bloodstains and drop
the brain bucket into the watercourse below.
With that chore out of the way, it was time to remove the now-sagging wire and coil it up as he
made his way back to the point where the badly mauled corpse lay. Having stowed the wire in
his back pocket, the assassin got a good grip on the back of Johnson's vest and began to drag
the body toward the shed. He was only halfway to his destination when a large cloud of dust
appeared to the south. It seemed that something big–and potentially nasty–was on the way.
The assassin weighed 187 pounds, and even without the top portion of his head Johnson topped
225, so it wasn't easy to haul the dead biker across the intervening space. Agent 47 tripped and
fell over backward, as the sound of the diesel grew louder. Genuinely concerned now, he
scrambled to his feet, sought a new grip, and put everything he had into towing the body to the
shed. As darkness wrapped itself around 47 a huge motor coach topped the nearest rise and
thundered onto the bridge.
There were plenty of holes in the side of the ancient shed and the assassin peered through one of
them as the maroon bus rolled over the very spot where Johnson had been killed fifteen minutes
earlier. He saw the rig bounce slightly as it came off the bridge deck and heard gravel rattle as it
flew back over the bridge. An expensive mural had been painted along the side of the coach. It
featured a biker on a chopper, a coyote howling at the moon, and jagged mountains in the
background.
All of which goes to prove that crime pays, 47 mused. Especially drug trafficking.
Satisfied that his actions had gone undetected, 47 began to go through Johnson's pockets. The