Download - Walkthrough To Hitman Series

The Moroccan was well aware of 47's presence–and the hunter was about to become the
hunted.
Darkness had fallen on Fez, and Marla Norton felt frightened, as she looked out through the
open window to the busy boulevard three stories below. The evening air was warm, heavy with
the rich odors of the food that the street vendors were hawking, and busy with the sounds of the
city.
While fear wasn't something she was accustomed to feeling, it was an emotion that the
Puissance Treize agent had experienced a lot lately. Which was absurd, given the fact that it
was she who was lying in wait for the man called 47. Not the other way around.
The trap consisted of the three-hundred-foot stretch of sidewalk located in front of Al-Fulani's
brightly lit mansion. The twenty-six-room, eight-bath home boasted a Mediterranean-style
ceramic tile roof, a white façade, and several ornate balconies. Clusters of bottom-lit palm trees
bracketed both sides of the home, and provided the structure with a sense of glamour. They also
lit the surroundings, making it more difficult for intruders to get past the guards.
The most important component of the trap, however, was a “retired” Royal Marine named Ted
Cooper, who was a graduate of the British Army's famous Joint Sniper Training Establishment,
and was officially credited with six confirmed kills in Iraq. An accomplishment Cooper had been
advised to keep to himself, lest the Islamic militants catch wind of it, and decide to even the
score.
Of course, Al-Fulani's chief of security–a man named Ammar–had other assets in place as well,
three of whom were walking along the busy boulevard with him. Thus, if Cooper failed to spot
Agent 47 from above, Ammar and his men would nail him down below.
That was the plan, but there were still dozens of people to screen as they came and went, and it
was Marla's opinion that the members of Al-Fulani's security staff were far too cavalier where
47 was concerned. In spite of her repeated warnings, they clearly considered themselves to be
superior to the European abruti (moron) that the silly female was so frightened of.
And maybe they were right.
In the wake of the disastrous shoot-out in Yakima, her unsettling meeting with Mrs. Kaberov,
and the loss of her home, Marla's self-confidence was at an all-time low. And now, having fled
Kaberov's predictable rage, Marla found herself dependent on Al-Fulani's goodwill, which,
predictably enough, was based on her willingness to serve him both professionally and
personally. Regardless of her own desires.
This had been the case the night before, when Marla was “invited” to participate in a ménage à
trois with the Moroccan and a teenaged girl who had been snatched off the streets of
Johannesburg a week earlier. It hadn't been an especially enjoyable experience, but far better
than one of Mrs. Kaberov's .45 caliber “gifts.”
The thought was sufficient to drive the young woman back to the powerful scope that had been