Free Edge of Apocalypse by Tim Lahaye, Craig Parshall Page B

Zimler smiled, handed the passport back, and turned toward the balcony.
    "A good view of the Piata Revolutiei, wouldn't you say, Yergi?" He motioned the professor over toward the open French doors.
    Yergi, of course, was already familiar with the view. In fact, he had taken Elena to the restaurant located on the same floor of this very hotel on their first date. He'd wanted to impress her, and it had obviously done the trick. What she didn't know was that Yergi had a student who worked at the restaurant who had offered up a free meal in exchange for a passing grade.
    Still, the view was spectacular, and it was indeed turning out to be a beautiful day.
    Then Zimler added something unexpected: "Oh, look over there, is that your car...being towed?"
    Yergi scurried toward the open doors and glanced in the direction of the street on the north side of the square.
    "No, I don't think...I'm afraid I don't see what you are talking about--"
    Before Yergi could turn around, Zimler, now behind him, looped a garrote over the man's head and around his neck--like a noose.
    Yergi's first reaction was to grab at the steel cord constricting his throat and try to dislodge it. Panic set in instantaneously. He desperately wanted to breathe, but couldn't. He then reached back and seized the arm of the Algerian. It was like steel. He was beginning to lose consciousness in the grip of his assassin.
    Zimler knew from years of experience that the process of extracting life from a body in this manner would take less than two minutes.
    Vainly the Romanian attempted to cry out to the people below who were within earshot of the room's open balcony doors, but he could only manage a few faint gurgles. He continued to grab futilely at his neck and the Algerian's arm.
    Zimler pulled harder.
    Yergi's knees buckled.
    The waves rolled gently toward the shore under the Adriatic sun. The day was very still. Yergi could smell the sea air; feel the warmth on his skin. And there she was, Elena, with her American baseball cap, waving at him and smiling. It would be the last image to cross his mind.
    A moment later, the struggling stopped...along with his breathing. Yergi's lifeless body slumped to the ground.
    The assassin calmly rose to his feet, brushed off his wrinkled linen pants, straightened his silk shirt, wound the cord in a loop, and placed it back in his pocket. He then plucked the passport from the Romanian's hand and grabbed the satchel from the table.
    Again, making sure the hallways were clear, Zimler hooked the Do Not Disturb sign around the doorknob before closing the door firmly behind him with his latex-protected hand.
    Quickly returning to his own room, Zimler stripped off his shirt, pants, and shoes and shoved them into a plastic bag, which he then stuffed into his Louis Vuitton suitcase. He dressed in another set of clothes and headed downstairs to the lobby to check out.
    "Pleasant visit?" the hotel clerk inquired in a thick Romanian accent.
    "Very," Zimler responded, smiling broadly.
    The assassin calmly walked out of the hotel and down the street. In an alley three blocks away, behind the Calea Grivitei, he slipped the plastic bag from his suitcase and placed it in a trash dumpster just as a garbage truck turned onto the street for its weekly pickup.
    Minutes later, in the back of a cab heading south on the Blvd. Dimitrie Cantemir, the Algerian opened the satchel and removed a portion of its contents. The photo resume of Joshua Jordan was the first item to catch his attention.
    Zimler's eyes narrowed into laser-sharp focus as he studied the target.
    He then put the resume and other papers back into the satchel and closed it up.
    "Please hurry," Zimler remarked to the cab driver, "I have a rather busy day ahead of me."

FIFTEEN
    Washington, D.C.
    Inside the White House, the violent images flashing across the panel of Internet television screens deeply troubled President Virgil Corland. He shook his head and wondered exactly how much PR damage was