Download - Walkthrough To Hitman Series

One such home was of special interest to the agent because it was located at the end of the
dock, directly across from the unit the target lived in. An elderly woman was kneeling on the
front deck, tending a flower box full of bright red geraniums, as 47 directed the boat in toward
her one-story houseboat.
“Your flowers are very healthy,” he said, as the gap between the two of them closed. “What do
you feed them?” The entire time he spoke, he remained aware of the target's houseboat, but saw
no sign of activity.
Even with the weather, there were several rowers out on the lake, and the woman must have
been accustomed to such compliments, because she registered no sense of alarm as the stranger
allowed one of his oars to rest on her wooden deck. Her name was Grace Beasley, and wisps of
gray hair stuck out from under the blue rain hat her dead husband liked to wear while golfing.
Her eyes were like chips of turquoise mounted in sockets of wrinkled skin. A plaid shirt and a
pair of black pants completed her outfit.
“I use regular fertilizer,” Mrs. Beasley admitted. “But the key is to pinch off the spent blooms.
That makes them flower again.”
“Well, it certainly works,” 47 said, admiringly. “By the way, might I have a drink of water? I
should have brought some, but I forgot, and it's a long ways back to the dock.”
The request seemed innocent enough, so Mrs. Beasley said, “Yes, of course. I'll be right back.”
She stepped through a sliding glass door that led into a comfortably furnished living room and
the small galley-style kitchen beyond.
A moment later he found her there, removing a bottle of chilled water from her refrigerator. A
large hand closed over mouth. Mrs. Beasley tried to scream, felt something bite her neck, and
instantly began to fall.
Agent 47 caught the unconscious woman and carried her into the single bedroom, where he laid
her out on the neatly made bed. To make doubly sure that she would remain immobilized for the
necessary length of time, he bound her wrists and ankles with some of her own nylons.
Confident that the elderly woman wasn't about to go anywhere, he set about his real task, which
was to enter the neighboring houseboat and have a chat with its owner.
A task that would be easier said than done, he thought, since his target was an assassin herself,
and was sure to have a variety of security measures in place. Just as he would.
So 47 turned out the lights in the living room, but left everything else as it was, knowing that
the slightest deviation from the way the old lady normally did things could attract attention.
First, he subtly adjusted the position of what had once been Mr. Beasley's favorite chair, placing
it where someone would have to actually press their nose against the glass in order to see him as
he settled back to wait.
Finally, after an hour had passed, the assassin was reasonably certain of two things. The first