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Chapter 29
The man moved as slowly and quietly as he could. He was already more tired than he remembered being and hadn’t made it over the wall. He knew that if he timed it right the target would be walking from the house to the pool to swim his mile at exactly four-thirty AM. He glanced at his watch. It was 3:44 AM. He had to move now.
He had thrown the rotten salmon into the dog run forty-five minutes before. Unless they were unlike any blue heelers he had ever known, they had sampled the rotting fish and then rolled on it and then ate some more. The man had to hurt the veterinary technician to make sure the dose wouldn’t kill the dogs. He would pay for that in the next life.
He waited for the camera to sweep past the spot where he was lying in the bushes and then climbed the tree as quickly as he could. His foot made it hard to balance, but he did, walking out on the branch until he was just past the fence before he dropped into the yard. He tucked and rolled, but still felt something give. He ignored the pain in his right knee and made for the pool house.
No barking, so his trick with the dogs must have worked. The man came to the gated garden, paused to steady himself and vaulted the gate, landing silently. He reviewed his memorized plans. The man he was after would be in his gym, sweating through a weight routine. His would wait until his target walked to the pool and slam his head on one of the statues near the pool. He would then go back into the house and rob the place of a few easily fenced pieces, pull the research records he needed, plant the virus and be back over the wall. The lawn service truck he boosted was parked four blocks away.
The man assumed his position in the shrubs near the pool. Finally, at exactly the expected time, he heard the door to the gym open and close. He waited until the man sounded as if he was about ten feet away and rushed from the bushes.
As he lunged up out of the shrubbery, time slowed. The first thing he noticed was the man’s complete lack of surprise. Then he noticed the 9 mm Sig Sauer centered on his chest. By then he had taken another step. He took one more step knowing he was dead. In the few parts of a second that he had to think about anything he regretted something even more than his coming death. He had failed again. Now the devil would continue his work. He hoped he would be rewarded for his belief and effort and not be punished too badly for his past sins. He felt the bullet shred his skin, flesh ribs and heart. He was already dead when he took his last step and two more bullets entered his chest within inches of the first.
As he lay there in a pool of his own blood, his bladder and bowels emptying, he did not see the man who had shot him calmly reach into his bathrobe pocket and pull out a towel. His target walked over to where the body lay and pulled up the dead man’s shirtsleeves looking at both forearms. One of his target’s hands was in a latex glove. The man who had been his target, holder of twenty-seven biotech patents, and former Marine, never an ex-marine, decided that it was obvious that the man was right handed. He was.
He placed the 9 mm Browning in the man’s hand and aimed it at a statue just behind where he had been standing and calmly squeezed off three rounds. The statue had been smuggled out of Afghanistan on a flatbed truck. It was a wonderfully serene Buddha. It was surprising how serene the statue looked considering it had been shot up by the Taliban. There were already eleven bullet wounds on Buddha. He didn’t think Buddha would mind three more. The sound of sirens screamed through the air. The man stood and calmly called 911 on his mobile.
“This is Dr. David Brecht. I am at number one Brecht Lane, Woodside. Someone tried to break into my house and nearly killed me. I shot him in self-defense. He’s dead as hell.”
Then he looked down at the body and thought Drug my dogs, will you? Break into my house, will you? Not any more you won’t!”