Free A Game for Assassins (The Redaction Chronicles Book 1) by James Quinn

then that he pitched his assassination team idea. If you want my opinion, based on my own experience, I would say he looks like a mercenary who was given an intelligence operation.”
    “Okay, leave it with me, I'll check him out see if his name rings any alarm bells back at Langley. Keep him on the dangle, okay? Encourage him, see what you can find out, but don't commit yourself to anything,” suggested Deakin, steering the car back onto the main road.
    “Understood,” said Marquez.
    They passed an open-backed military truck, carrying a dozen soldiers with all their weapons on show. Both men tensed until it had passed them. Deakin kept an eye on the truck in the rear view mirror until it disappeared from view. “That's Mobutu's boys, flexing their muscles. Now, to other business. The target. How's that going?”
    “So far, excellent. The go-between is arranging a meeting, where and when is still to be decided. It's a case of sitting and waiting it out.”
    “But they seemed keen? They bought the story you fed them?”
    “They appeared to. I would guess that they're trying their best to check out my bona fides.”
    Deakin laughed. “Good luck with that one. They'll hit a wall. No, I think curiosity and the fact that they can feel the proverbial noose tightening around their necks will bring them around. Now, to one other piece of business.”
    Marquez perked up. The waiting game over the past few days was beginning to take its toll on him. Spying, he knew was a game of patience, but sometimes he just yearned for the thrill of action.
    “I have a couple of gifts for you, or more accurately for our friend the target. An asset from Langley brought them in directly to the Embassy today. Do you understand?”
    Marquez nodded. This 'asset' was evidently someone from the CIA's Technical Services Division, bringing in the chemical agent that was to be used against Lumumba.
    “Good,” said Deakin. “Open the glove compartment.”
    Marquez opened it and found a tube of ordinary-looking toothpaste. The brand name was 'Gleamer', a generic title from a fictitious company. There was also a loaded Colt. 45 semi-automatic.
    “The pistol's for you, keep it with you at all times more for personal protection than anything else. You can't be too careful around these parts. The toothpaste is for our friend. Looks normal right? Well, it isn't so don't you go touching it, or be tempted to brush your teeth with it,” said Deakin.
    Marquez slipped the tube back into its cardboard container and placed it in his inside jacket pocket.
    “It's odourless and untraceable to most toxicology tests,” said Deakin. “At least, anything that the people in this part of the world would be able to find. A pea-sized amount is enough to kill him.”
    “How does it work?”
    “It attacks the respiratory system, then the heart; the target will be dead within twelve hours, so I've been led to believe. You had any ideas about how to administer it to the target?”
    Marquez shook his head. “Not yet, it's too early to say. I'll know more once I've had my first meeting. Possibly as a gift parcel from my supposed principals in Europe. Failing that, I'll have to see if anyone in Lumumba's entourage is susceptible to a bribe and introduce it that way.”
    Deakin liked that plan. If the poisoned toothpaste was going to be the method of assassination, they were the most likely scenarios to ensure its success. “Good,” he said. “After that, all our problems will be over.”
    * * *
    The phone call to his hotel room came early the next morning. It was Patrick Kivwa, Lumumba's go-between and legal advisor. His voice sounded tinny and under stress. “The meeting is on, later today. A driver will pick you up in front of your hotel at midday. Bring your passport with you, so that the guards will let you through. You have one hour to talk. After that, the driver will take you back to the hotel.”
    Promptly at 11.55am, Marquez stood and waited in the baking