Tuesday. Brighton, United Kingdom.
ALEKSANDR LEBEDEV PEERED THROUGH his scope. Not at the warehouse he'd begun his day watching, but a side street. He'd noticed the cluster of men during one of his routine visual sweeps. The three men he could see now through the open door of a van were clearly military. Like himself, they had a way of holding themselves and moving that spoke of lifelong relationship with death.
"What are you up to?" he muttered into the early evening.
This job had come to him weeks ago. He'd begun preparations, shadowing the man and woman as closely as he dared.
Truth was, anyone could take a few bills to kill someone. It took a lot more skill to not only assassinate someone, but to erase them from the earth.
That was Aleksandr's specialty. He considered it professional courtesy for the hacker and his sister. They'd worked so hard to become ghosts, flitting about the world, doing the impossible. The least he could do for them was seal that legacy away.