Download - Walkthrough To Hitman Series

Thus, the moment Agent 47 appeared on the far side of the craterlike vats, Fahd began to fire.
One or two of his VIPER's 9 mm slugs may have struck the assassin, but from what Fahd could
tell neither did any real damage. Either way, Fahd had emptied his pistol and was busy fumbling
for a second clip when the assassin fired in return.
What felt like a sledgehammer struck Fahd's shoulder, snatched the fat man off his feet, and
dumped him into a vat full of blue dye. The liquid felt cold as it closed over his head and set fire
to his wounded shoulder.
He struggled to right himself, and the moment that the Moroccan's feet made contact with the
bottom of the vat, he pushed himself back up. Fahd spluttered as he broke the surface, opened
his eyes, and immediately wished he hadn't as he found himself looking into the barrel of a shiny
gun. There was a flash of light, and Fahd was gone.
The police arrived a few minutes later, but the mysterious European had disappeared, leaving
four bodies in his wake. All of whom were tied to Ali bin Ahmed bin Saleh Al-Fulani; a man
who gave generously to police charities and was known to place a high value on his privacy. So
the corpses were given over to their respective families, funerals were scheduled for the
following day, and the deaths were ascribed to gang activity. Which, sadly enough, was on the
upswing.
SEVEN
FEZ, MOROCCO
Ali bin Ahmed bin Saleh Al-Fulani's study was quite large. Complex geometric designs had been
painted onto the ceiling, and floor-to-ceiling bookcases covered most of the wall space not
occupied by the three arched windows behind his desk. A set of six intricately carved,
hand-painted, Moorish screens served to partition off the east end of the room, where a prayer
rug and a day bed were kept, and three richly polished antique doors had been used to decorate
the wall. They were made of cedar and bound with strips of brass.
But Marla Norton had other things on her mind, and was only vaguely aware of her
surroundings, as she entered her sponsor's office and went to stand in front of his desk. There
weren't any guest chairs, and wouldn't be, unless orders were issued to bring some in.
Al-Fulani was a big man with a broad forehead, heavy brows, and a prominent nose. He was at
least fifty, and some said sixty, but his face was smooth and tight. He owned dozens of
Western-style business suits, but it was rather warm that day, which was why he had chosen to
wear a full-length, Gulf-style, white thawb instead. It made Al-Fulani look princely, which Marla
suspected was one of the primary reasons why he wore it.
The Moroccan was genuinely fond of Marla, even if he considered her a Western whore, and
smiled as he looked up from the report that he had been reading.
“Yes, my dear, what can I do for you?”