Chapter 2025 - 1458: Silent Assassination (Part 3)

Grey Wolf didn't answer.

The "accountant" took a deep breath, seemingly forcing himself to calm down.

"I'm a lawyer..." he said, his voice slightly steadier than before: "A registered Swiss lawyer, practicing in Zurich for twenty-three years. I'm protected by Swiss law, I'm protected by the Swiss Bar Association. If it's money you're after, we can talk. Whatever your people offered, I can offer double. Triple. Name your price."

Grey Wolf looked at him, not saying a word.

The "accountant" searched his face, seemingly trying to find any gap for negotiation.

"Are you Americans?" he asked, "Russians? French? Or British? Are you with a private military company or an intelligence agency?"

Grey Wolf still said nothing.

The "accountant's" Adam's apple moved.

"I have to know." he said, his voice finally showing a slight tremble: "I have to know who. It's a rule, right? I've met many people like you, I know the rules. Before dying, you have to at least know why. You have to know who."

Grey Wolf took a step forward.

The "accountant" instinctively shrank back, the chair hitting the wall with a dull sound.

His glasses were askew, revealing the brown eyes behind the lenses.

There was fear in them, but more of unwillingness.

A person accustomed to controlling everything suddenly finds himself unable to control anything; the feeling is harder to accept than fear.

Grey Wolf looked at him, suddenly smiled.

"Think for yourself." he said.

The "accountant" was stunned for a moment.

Then, Grey Wolf raised his right hand.

In his hand was a SIG Sauer P226, 9mm caliber, with a silencer attached to the barrel.

The black metal reflected no light under the desk lamp, like a black hole absorbing all light.

The "accountant's" eyes widened.

His mouth opened, wanting to say something.

Pop—

A soft sound, like opening a bottle of champagne.

A small hole appeared at the "accountant's" brow.

Very small, very deep, very round. Almost no blood, just a faint red circle at the edge.

His head tilted back, hitting the wall.

Then his whole body slumped forward, face smashing onto the desk, knocking over that freshly brewed cup of coffee.

The coffee cup shattered on the ground with a crisp cracking sound.

Coffee spilled out, steaming, flowing across the desk, dripping onto the carpet.

Some dark brown liquid seeped across the tabletop, soaking into the stack of documents, turning the numbers into blurry patches.

The "accountant's" face buried in the now cold coffee, looking as if he were asleep.

The computer screen was still lit, displaying an open Excel spreadsheet, filled with dense numbers, with the cursor still blinking in the last cell.

Grey Wolf put away the gun and glanced at "Squirrel."

"Squirrel" had already taken out the spray can from his backpack and began spraying everywhere "accountant's" hand, the edges of the desk, the doorknob, the cover of the fuse box—places where they might have left fingerprints.

It was a special enzyme spray, colorless and odorless, capable of decomposing 99% of DNA residue within an hour.

Grey Wolf walked to the window, opened a gap in the blinds, and looked outside.

The street looked just the same as it did five minutes ago.

Someone was walking a dog, an old lady pushed a shopping cart past, a queue formed at the bakery door, and in "Black Forest" café's outdoor seating, two tourists were studying the menu.

The windows of the clock tower were dark, "Poison Snake" couldn't be seen, but Grey Wolf knew he was there, his scope aimed at this window, finger resting on the trigger guard, ready to cover their retreat at any moment.

Everything seemed so normal.

Grey Wolf lowered the blinds, turned around, and surveyed the office.

The "accountant" lay motionless on the desk.

The Christmas tree stood quietly in the corner, its leaves gently trembling in the warm air from the air conditioner.

The picture on the wall was slightly askew, probably from the "accountant" crashing into the wall earlier.

"Let's go." Grey Wolf said.

"Squirrel" had already packed up, zipped his backpack, and walked to the door, pressing his ear to listen for a few seconds.

"No one."

He opened the door and slipped out.

Grey Wolf took one last look at the office.

The "accountant's" face was buried in coffee, half of his side face showing. His glasses lay on the desk, the lenses reflecting the glow of the computer screen.

Grey Wolf closed the door and headed to the elevator.

Seven fifty-eight.

The elevator doors opened on the first floor.

Grey Wolf walked out, and as he passed the guardroom, he heard the sound of the television inside.

Still the Swiss channel, still the host's voice, reporting today's weather: clear, with a high of twenty-two degrees, perfect for outings.

He pushed open the glass door and walked into the morning of Zurich.

Sunlight had already spilled onto Niederdorf Street, the cobblestone street dappled with shadows.

A young woman pushing a stroller passed by him, the child in the stroller grinned at him, showing two newly grown front teeth.

Grey Wolf nodded and walked towards the parking area.

"Squirrel" was already in the car, sitting in the driver's seat, having started the engine. Grey Wolf opened the passenger door, sat inside, and closed the door.

The Volkswagen Touran smoothly pulled out of the parking space and merged into the stream of cars.

Grey Wolf took a plastic bag from the glove compartment and started peeling off the fake mustache from his face.

The mustache was glued on with medical adhesive, and it hurt a bit to rip off, but he was long accustomed to it.

The adhesive left red marks on the skin, which he wiped with a wet wipe, slowly fading away.

Then he removed the pair of plano glasses, took off the dark gray suit, and changed into the navy-blue windbreaker prepared in the plastic bag.