| "Searching for Him" | |||
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Maiden Hotel May 14, 2008, 06:27 hours Lima Time He awoke a few minutes before the alarm went off, giving him time to prevent the incessant beeping from starting. He revelled in waking early; he felt that it gave him more of the day. He focused his eyes on the fan on the ceiling, picking out the detail on the mount, the lines of the blades which were currently still. It was good practise, honing his night vision so that when he called upon it it would not fail him. He spent a good amount of time just looking around the room for the comfort of the bed; he'd kicked the sheets off to allow his body time to acclimatise to the temperature of the room. Once he was satisfied with his state of awareness he made his way to the small bathroom, a box-shaped room of about two metres square with a sink next to the toilet at one end and a shower cubicle at the other. He removed the boxers he had been wearing and stepped into the shower, making sure there was a towel hanging on the door before turning the water on. He deliberately selected the coldest temperature to see how his body would respond at the early hour, and he found himself surprised at how well it took the punishment, though he had long known how well adapted to cold climates he was. He considered himself something of a cold-weather specialist, and so after the initial few seconds of adjustment he found the freezing spray rather invigorating. After completing his bathroom duties he set about packing the few possessions he had taken out, putting the silenced pistol in its special place in his hand-luggage but keeping the kris dagger in its sheath, which was in turn strapped to his arm, hilt towards his hand so he could produce it swiftly should the need arise, something he doubted because he had a feeling that his target was not around these parts still, but he had to check nonetheless. Nikolai's Hometown May 14, 2008, 0855 hours Lima Time He managed the journey to his hometown well, not once dwelling on his memories or breaking his concentration by looking for familiarities and differences. He ignored the sounds and smells for the moment, not wishing to welcome nostalgia just yet but still mindful of the fact that his mission would require him to learn this environment once more, to adapt to it like he had done in so many different places now, for like the lion knows his range and subsequently the best hunting grounds so would he. He continued down the street, the cap hiding his face slightly. He rubbed his hand over the hair that had begun to form on his face, a further disguise which he intended to fully utilise. The more he thought about it the more he realised that he was as prepared as he could be at that point in time. He was not leaving anything to chance. Walking into a local shop he selected several bottles of still water and number of chocolate bars, paying for them with the few coins he had on his person. His reconnaissance would last a few days if his target were at his home; if not he would break contact for the night and resume the next day. After that he would have to try other methods, and he already had a few ideas .For the moment though he would have to contend with doing something that came hard to him: waiting. He entered the housing estate at a brisk pace. Turning round he found himself marking a boundary between `the world' and his hunting ground. Though just a line in his mind the boundary proved to be a useful tool. Such was the nature of the area he found the line more and more applicable, as he were entering a war zone. The two years that he had been away had not been kind on the locale; many of the houses were empty and derelict, remnants of a time when the people who had lived here had been prosperous. Was that true? He wasn't so sure. From what he could remember the area was already in decline when he left. He thought back to the people he used to see walking about the place, picturing their faces, evaluating them. They hadn't been from the higher end of the social spectrum, that was for sure. The area had been for those who could not afford decent housing, and so it had developed into a slum. Still, that suited him. His movements were much more refined now, caution was the word as he neared the house of his target. There was a derelict house on the other side of the road only a few metres further down. After a careful check to make sure he wasn't being watched he slipped over the small fence and into the small passageway that linked the back garden with the front. There was a door here, long since closed for the final time. He pressed his weight against it and, after creaking in protest, the door splintered open and he was able to gain admittance. It was dark; the house had no electricity and the windows on the bottom floor had been boarded up, allowing only a few cracks of light to venture forward into the gloom. A torch would have been useful but he had decided against it, preferring to rely on his night vision to navigate. His eyes sought out the stairs, and he located tem after a few seconds searching. The cracked boards caused him to evaluate, and after careful consideration he proceeded up the staircase, wary of the weight he was placing on the weakened wood. Having successfully reached the top he made his way into the room that faced his target's house. There was little in the way of furniture; a broken wooden chair and a wardrobe that lacked doors. Walking over to the window he realised that he could have a problem. If he watched from the window in daylight there was every chance that his outline would be seen, so he had to figure a way around it. He walked out of the room and into what was once a bathroom. There on one of the walls was a cracked mirror, though it was in good enough condition to serve his need. Returning to his observation post he placed the mirror on the wide windowsill, angling it so that he could watch the house in the mirror from his position in the shadows of the nearest corner in the room. Everything was set-up; the mirror, his position, his provisions. Now came the hard part: watching and waiting. Return |
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