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from a second floor window as the guard passed below.
Fifteen minutes later Agent 47 entered the Ville Nouvelle. From there it was a short walk to the
Al-Fulani mansion, where 47 made his way to the main gate, and waved Abadati's ID card as he
passed the guardhouse. The operative waited for what seemed like an inevitable challenge, but
the gate guard had seen what he expected to see. Which was the eternally dependable Waleed
Abadati, showing up early for work.
Now that he had successfully penetrated the outermost layer of Al-Fulani's security, a single
swipe of Abadati's key card opened the basement door. That provided 47 with access to the
locker room where staff stored their personal belongings, and ultimately the subsurface corridor
that would take the assassin to his real objective a stairway that led from the basement up to
Al-Fulani's study. The passageway, which was intended to function as an emergency escape
route should the mansion come under attack, was to see on the diagrams downloaded from The
Agency.
Which meant the assassin should be able to enter Al-Fulani's private office, overpower the
businessman, inject him with Sodium Pentothal, and ask two extremely important questions:
Who had penetrated The Agency and who were they working for? It would be awkward, since
time would be limited, but with Marla running Al-Fulani's personal security detail, 47 had given
up all hope of spiriting the Moroccan away. Ever since the incident with the fuel truck her
precautions had been extremely thorough.
Since Abadati was habitually early for work, Agent 47 had a full thirty minutes to enjoy before
anyone would question his whereabouts, and perhaps another fifteen minutes before a search
began. With that in mind, he entered the employee lounge, gave thanks for the fact that it was
empty, and proceeded out into the hallway. An elderly janitor was swabbing the floor, but he
didn't bother to look up as the uniformed guard passed and slipped around a corner.
Agent 47 knew where the hidden door was supposed to be, but when he arrived there, it was to
discover a wall covered with panels of gold fabric. After a quick scan to ensure he wasn't being
observed, 47 began to push and prod at the panel where the door was supposed to be.
There was no response at first, and the agent had begun to worry when he heard a click
followed by a whir as the door swiveled open. That released a rush of air laden with the faint
odor of incense. He stepped through the portal, and was about to turn and close the door when
a sensor took care of that task for him. Pleased with his progress so far, Agent 47 paused to
remove his shoes before climbing a flight of narrow wooden stairs to the floor above.
Ali bin Ahmed bin Saleh Al-Fulani was seated behind his desk, with his back to three arched
windows, as Marla stood in front of him.
There's no doubt about it, the Puissance Treize agent said earnestly. The Otero brothers
were sent to kill you. Not one of the other VIPs who occupied the stage.
Yet they failed because this Agent 47 person managed to stop them, the businessman mused.
Why would he want to do that?
Six intricately carved Moorish screens served to partition off the east end of the office. Beyond
them, in the alcove where Al-Fulani took his naps, one of the richly polished antique doors that
decorated the back wall opened on silent hinges as Agent 47 entered the room. The assassin's
feet were silent as he padded over to the screens and peered through one of them onto the scene
that lay beyond.
Damn it! Al-Fulani was present, all right, but so was Marla, and the clock was ticking. Still,
there was always the possibility that she would leave, so it made sense for the operative to wait.
There's no way to know for sure, Marla replied gravely. But it's my opinion that he wants to
capture you, perhaps to interrogate you. And that would be difficult if you were dead.
Yes, the Moroccan agreed bleakly. It would. But I have news for you. Good news. We're
about to leave Fez, which will make your job much easier!
Marla wasn't sure whether leaving Fez would make her job easier, but she could hope. So she
forced a smile.
Really? she responded. Where are we going? Somewhere cool, I hope.
No, I'm sorry, Al-Fulani answered sympathetically. It's pretty warm in N'Djamena this time
of year. But the desert in Chad has its own kind of beauty and Agent 47 will have no idea
where I am.
Having said that, the Moroccan businessman rose and circled the desk.
Come, my dear, Al-Fulani said playfully, as he offered his arm. My limousine awaits!
But I don't have the appropriate clothes! Marla objected.
Ah, but you will, Al-Fulani assured her soothingly. We'll stop by your apartment on the way
to the airport.
There were other things to worry about, including her team's readiness for such a journey, but
Marla knew her sponsor well, and he wouldn't want to wait, so she'd have to make
arrangements on the fly.
The twosome were gone a few seconds later, which left 47 with no choice but to retrace his
steps, and escape the mansion as quickly as he could. Fortunately the stir caused by Al-Fulani's
sudden departure was such that the assassin was able to exit the basement undetected, and
make his way to the south side of the property where Abadati was normally stationed. What
could have been a tricky moment was eased by the fact that the other guard was tired, and eager
to go home. He said something in Arabic, then laughed at his own joke, as he turned to leave.
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