Raymond Benson - 2012 - Hitman: Damnation Read Free Page A

47 knew that he looked exceptionally
sharp. The assassin took great pleasure in what he wore. After all, there were
so few things in the world he did enjoy. With his tall stature, sleek bald
head, and an enigmatic bar-code tattoo on the back of his neck, 47 was indeed a
striking figure. His appearance was appropriate for the occasion, since the
party aboard Fernandez’s yacht was by invitation only. The island’s rich,
famous, and infamous were to be the exclusive guests. 47’s employer, a man he
knew only as Roget, had secured an invite for 47 under the name “Michael
Brant.” His cover was simple—he was a European of undeterminable origin who had
made a fortune in water. It was a subject 47 didn’t have to know much about—water
was water, and it was easily bottled and sold. He would have no trouble fooling
Emilio Fernandez, the playboy billionaire who owned the yacht. Fernandez, who
made his money through dubious means, normally resided in Nassau but spent most
of his time on the boat, traveling from island to island and throwing
extravagant parties.
                 47
didn’t care about Fernandez or the party. His only interest was Hector Corado . The intel assured him that the criminal would be aboard as Fernandez’s special guest.
                 It
was a good thing 47’s employer had warned him that guests would be frisked and
would have to pass through a metal detector at the dock before boarding the
barge. Thus, 47 had left any and all weapons behind. He was armed with only the
clothes on his back and a thin line of carbon- fiberwire ,
which wouldn’t be picked up by the metal detector or even a very intimate
frisking. In many ways, the Fiberwire was 47’s
trademark weapon.
                 Approximately
thirty people stood in the security line on the dock. Beefy guards armed with
automatic pistols on their belts ushered the men and women onto the barge after
clearance. Everyone was dressed to the nines. The men were handsome and exuded
power and wealth; the women were beautiful and exhibited entitlement and wanton
sexuality. The ferry had already made two round-trips to the yacht to deliver
party guests. Nearly three hundred people were expected aboard the massive
vessel. That was useful for 47. The more crowded the party was, the more likely
his job would go unnoticed. More important, the barge would continue to make
the return trip to shore every half hour for revelers who had reached their
partying limit.
                 As
the boat sailed slowly toward the yacht, 47 couldn’t help but be impressed. He
reckoned the Daphne was between three hundred seventy and four hundred feet
long and its tonnage most likely around five thousand. He’d been told the
Daphne traveled at nineteen knots per hour, which, given the size of the
cruiser, was quite fast. Built and designed by Lürssen in Germany and outfitted by Blohm & Voss, the
Daphne sported a large deck for parties, two swimming pools, and luxury cabins,
which were usually off-limits to anyone but Fernandez’s special overnight
guests. There was also a helipad, and 47 could discern the outline of the Bell
206 sitting upon it.
                 Corado’s helicopter.
                 The
party was already going full swing by the time 47 stepped onto the Daphne’s
deck, located forward, near the bow. A live band specializing in reggae and
calypso tunes blasted Bob Marley hits and other familiar numbers as couples and
non-couples alike covered the area designated as a dance floor. The liquor
flowed freely from open bars located at stations around the deck. Guests also
had no qualms about consuming drugs in front of anyone. Marijuana and cocaine
were in plain sight. After all, this was a private party, with no chance of law
enforcement showing up. None of this made any impact on 47. He had no interest
in dancing or recreational drugs. He occasionally drank but never in excess. What
captured his attention