Free Fiduciary Duty by Tim Michaels Page B

the thing was or what it did.
    Around 11:30 the throne room began to fill with well-dressed people. It wasn’t difficult to spot the security personnel among the civilians. I realized with a start that I was gnawing on one of my knuckles and forced myself to stop. Everything was in place, I just had to be calm and wait. A moment later I caught myself gnawing on my finger again. I rubbed my hands on my face and took a deep breath. That seemed to help.
    At 11:55, two members of the Prince’s security team removed the red velvet rope from around the throne. Two minutes later, the Prince walked into the room. Wife number two was at his side. The crowd clapped politely. Cameras flashed. Silva was part of the small throng that followed the Prince. The Prince made a beeline for the throne and sat down. He was smiling broadly, triumphantly as he put his hand on the scepter. The smile remained frozen on his face for what seemed like ten seconds or so, and then slowly became a grimace. As that happened, the Prince tilted forward and sideways ever so slowly and then, all at once, collapsed onto the floor.
    It took them a moment to react, but once they did, the Prince’s security team was hyper-efficient. Within a few seconds a doctor was providing CPR and the guests were being herded out of the room at gunpoint. Through my little monitor, it was evident the doctor thought the Prince was gone. I pulled the battery out of the throwaway cell phone. It wasn’t going to be used any more. Then I started the SUV, got onto the BR-101 freeway, and headed north. Five minutes later, I dropped the cell-phone onto the road.
    I felt completely wired as I headed up the coast in the dark, all the windows rolled down and the sun-roof open. I was elated. I had pulled it off. A more sober part of me knew the Prince was only the start of the overall mission. But even the Prince job wasn’t quite done. There were still a few small details to wrap up, some evidence to get rid of, so I couldn’t be careless.
    I concentrated on my driving for a while, then thought back to the Prince’s death again. I remembered an article I had read by a sergeant in the Marine Corps. He claimed that people weren’t natural born killers, and boot camp was used to break down people’s aversion to killing. Having just killed someone, after meticulous and careful planning, I couldn’t say that I felt bad about it at all. There wasn’t a single part of me that had remorse, or regrets, or said “this is wrong.” The Prince, after all, bore some responsibility for what had happened to my family and there was no reason to believe he cared. In my mind, I had simply removed a callous person’s ability to do damage again, nothing more.
    And that sentiment was important to me. Some sick individuals might derive joy from other people’s deaths, and I wasn’t that way. A lot of people seem to feel the need for vengeance, but this certainly wasn’t about revenge. Killing the Prince had been a job, a necessary job, and truth-to-tell, a cathartic one, but it was just a job that had to be done. And I had done it well.

Chapter 10. Time Off
    Around 5 in the morning, I arrived in Barra da Tijuca, the southern outskirts of the city of Rio. Barra, as it’s generally shortened, is home to some of the trendier nightclubs in the city, as well as Rio’s Hard Rock Café. I found a padaria, a combination of bakery and coffee shop that was already open, and had a small loaf of French bread and butter which I washed down with strong Brazilian coffee. I waited another half hour, and then drove off. I stopped right outside Rocinha, the largest favela, or shantytown in Rio. I left the SUV double-parked, with the engine running and the key in the ignition. The mini TV and the unopened radio repeater were in the back seat but I took the radio transmitter.
    As I walked away carrying my small bag, I took off the rubber gloves I had been wearing in the car. Before I had gone a block, the SUV I