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lamp as he took his place beneath it. The man opened a folder, withdrew a sheet of paper, and
held it up for a side-by-side comparison. The fax was modeled on a similar document The
Agency had recovered during a raid on a Puissance Treize safe house in Moscow three days
earlier. The first paragraph, which had been authored by Diana, was the equivalent of an
introduction.
 Mr. François Gerrard will arrive prior to 12:00 p.m., and should be given full access to the
premises so that he can make plans for a Class III extraction. Please grant him your full
cooperation.
And, because both the photo and the description of Gerrard matched the man standing in front
of him, the former soldier began to relax.
 Could I have your identity code please?
 It's BXY-892, Agent 47 replied.
The code was correct, so the security officer slid the fax back into its folder, and rang a bell.
The woman who responded was none other than a harried looking Maria. With the departure
imminent, Thorakis had probably been very difficult that morning and 47 imagined that the last
thing she needed was a visitor to take care of. And because the man in front of her looked very
different from the photographer Tazio Scaparelli, she never appeared to make the connection.
Fortunately for Maria, the man in the gray suit had no need of her services, and having said as
much, he began to prowl the premises after she took her leave.
Agent 47 eyed his watch. Based on the information he had obtained from Maria earlier, he knew
that the kitchen staff were required to prepare a green salad for Miss Desta each morning, and
leave it outside the master bedroom at precisely 11:30. With rare exceptions, it was the
ex-model's practice to remain incommunicado until 1:00 p.m., when she was ready to greet the
world.
Assuming the salad rule was still in force, the assassin had five minutes to get upstairs and
position himself in the vicinity of the master bedroom. With that in mind, he produced a small
notebook, made some meaningless notes in it, and returned to the main hallway. From there he
climbed the stairs and was standing on the landing above when a girl appeared at the other end
of the hall. Having made use of the back stairs himself, Agent 47 knew they led up from the
kitchen, which was consistent with the tray the youngster held in her hands.
The operative saw a teapot, a matching cup, and a plate with a silver dome over it. The teenager
placed the offering on a table, paused to make sure the tray was square with the edge of the
table, and turned back toward the stairs.
Agent 47 took a quick look around to make sure no one was visible, hurried down the hall, and
lifted the domed lid. Then, still holding the cover aloft, he aimed the atomizer at the perfectly
tossed salad. The bottle made a gentle wheezing sound as peanut oil misted the air and drifted
down to coat the greens below.
Having replaced the lid, the operative turned back toward the front of the house. He was
halfway down the front stairs, on his way to retrieve his belongings, when he heard the door
open and Miss Desta emerge to get her salad.
The assassin was more than a mile away when Aristotle Thorakis took Miss Desta in his arms,
nuzzled her hair, and began to kiss her.
A few minutes later, as they were just starting to make love, the Greek's throat started to
constrict. His face turned red, it was no longer possible for him to breathe, and he struggled to
speak.
But Thorakis couldn't get the necessary words out. He made gasping noises, clawed at his
throat, and began to thrash about.
Miss Desta, frightened, rolled out of bed and ran to the intercom. Unfortunately the former
model didn't know enough Portuguese to effectively communicate with the staff in the kitchen.
Valuable time was lost while half a dozen members of the shipping magnate's domestic staff
rushed upstairs to see why Miss Desta was screaming hysterically.
The chef was among them, and even though he couldn't imagine how such a thing could have
happened, he recognized the symptoms for what they were. Fortunately an injector preloaded
with epinephrine was sitting on top of the dresser next to the businessman's wallet.
Maria watched in open-mouthed horror as the chef removed the locking cap from the EpiPen
and rammed the exposed needle into his employer's meaty thigh. There was an audible click as
the spring-loaded device delivered the correct dose of medication into muscle.
But unfortunately for Aristotle Thorakis, his mistress, his family, and the Puissance Treize, the
shipping magnate was already dead.
Fazio and his peers were present to witness the moment when the medics arrived, after which
the famous businessman's body was removed from the house.
As for the proximate cause of the Greek's death, that was clear, although no one could figure
out how a small amount of peanut oil had found its way onto Miss Desta's salad, in spite of all
the precautions taken in the kitchen.
At the exact moment when CPR was suspended, and then while Thorakis was being loaded
onto a stretcher, Agent 47 was standing on the ramparts of Pena Palace, a fairy tale like keep
that sat atop a peak not far from the remains of the Moorish castle where Hans Pruter's body
was beginning to rot.
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