Download - Walkthrough To Hitman Series

direct a field assassin–the woman had been indirectly responsible for more than a dozen hits in
the Med. The woman's real name was Cassandra Murphy, and according to the data supplied by
Mr. Nu, she'd been born in Belfast. She was thirty-six years old.
Adding to the challenge was the fact that he would have to gain control of the woman in order
to communicate with her, which would probably be more difficult than simply shooting her.
According to the information he had been given, the target was currently living on a houseboat
moored in Lake Union. Years ago, there had been more of the floating domiciles, but a variety
of government regulations and economic pressures had reduced the waterborne community to a
few hundred water-level homes located on the lake and in neighboring Portage Bay.
It wasn't clear how 47's superiors had been tracking Marla's movements prior to the massacre in
Yakima, but there wasn't any doubt as to why, since The Agency routinely kept track of anyone
who had ever been employed by one of its competitors. Especially those having links with the
Puissance Treize.
As he followed a side street down to the waterfront and the small parking lot that served the
houseboats, a couple of problems quickly became apparent. The first was the cyclone fence and
gate that had been put in place to prevent thieves, sightseers, and other undesirables from
making their way out onto the community dock. The second was the fact that the area was so
open that there was no place from which the assassin could safely observe his target's comings
and goings prior to making a move.
A red Mercedes was parked in the lot, though, and while there hadn't been an opportunity for
him to memorize the license plate, the assassin would have sworn that it was the same vehicle
he'd seen parked outside the barn in Yakima. A thick patina of dust seemed to confirm that
theory, as 47 executed a U-turn and left the area.
It was nearly dark by that time, the streetlights were on, and the orange-red sun was in the
process of dropping behind the Olympic Mountains as the assassin searched for a place to stay.
There weren't any mom-and-pop-style motels in the downtown area, but Agent 47 happened by
a seedy motor inn on the west side of the lake. It met all of his requirements. According to a sign
in the lobby, the proprietors were willing to let rooms by the hour, day, week, or month. So he
registered as Mr. Metzger, paid for five days in advance, and carried his suitcases up to a
second-floor room.
The door opened into a claustrophobic space that was all too reminiscent of other hotel rooms
he had stayed in over the years. The relatively early hour, along with the rhythmic thump, thump,
thump of a bed hitting the wall next door, suggested that his neighbors were taking advantage
of the motel's hourly rate.
The energetic couple was still at it when 47 left shortly thereafter to return to the Volvo.
His first task for the evening was to find dinner down by the water. That was easy enough to
do, since there were plenty of restaurants along the lake's south shore. It was while he was
looking for a place to park that Agent 47 stumbled across a nonprofit organization dedicated to
the preservation and use of wooden boats. The organization also offered some boats for rent.