Day 66 – The Royal Assassin

Word Count: 1185

Slide, click, steady, aim. The haze from the hot summer’s day shimmered above the melting tarmac of St James’ Park. It was a jungle out there. Thousands upon thousands of unpredictable creatures meandering the streets, the back alleyways, the Tube. No one could anticipate their next moves. No one could judge by the way they walked which way they were coming from and where they were going to. But Liz was trained in this very thing. Liz could hear the gentle unrelenting hum that most would miss; she’d instantly recognise the frequency and deduce its origin. Liz could watch a stranger walk along a crowded street and decode his personality, his history and his intentions. Liz could deceive; Liz could lie; Liz could run and Liz could hide. She was the elite of the elite; a trained killer, a secret assassin and she was the crown above them all.

Liz sat, head hidden by Ray Ban’s and The Daily Telegraph, in the driver’s seat of an old Ford. Headscarf wrapped around her greying hair, she adorned the perfect disguise. The mauve anorak merely served as icing on the cake of such an exquisite design of deception. Liz had become the little old lady from round the corner. Liz was the little old lady out for her Sunday drive, newspaper in tow and bread in the back for which to feed the swans.

But Liz maintained both eyes beyond the boundaries of the Telegraph and the windscreen. Her target? Middle aged gold digger, wife to a man of great wealth and fortune. To Liz, though, this was purely a job. Her actions served no further purpose than to successfully complete the request between herself and her client. There were no ulterior motives and there was no room for failure or shifting of the goal posts. The target had to be eliminated, by any means.

Half past two. Camilla was due to leave the hotel at quarter past. She was late. Liz’s precision perfect plan was beginning to sweat underneath the pressure. Liz was not a failure. She had never missed a hit yet. But her targets were usually more predictable than this one. Liz dowsed herself in a fresh wave of perfume to cool the heat from both the intense temperatures and the anxiety. For the past fifteen minutes she had barely allowed herself to blink. She paid no need to any distractions. Her cross-hair was firmly fixed upon the hotel front door, from which Camilla should soon be exiting from.

Liz, though still quite some distance away, was close enough to observe every movement around the hotel entrance area. She could see the valets driving up from the car park underneath and steer them towards the patient guests waiting in front of the hotel for them. For hours she had been sitting here and for days before that, sussing out the territory and taking detailed notes of who was on what shift and how long each valet took. Timing was imperative.

At long last a blue dressed slender figure appeared from the door and descended the white steps. Liz threw the newspaper into the passenger seat and turned the ignition on. But before she could pull out, a man was standing directly in her way. He was wearing one of those horrendous fluorescent costumes and carrying a black box. He seemed to be hesitating to move. Liz flicked her hand out of the way. He was not moving. She noted the anxious expression on his face and panicked that he’d clocked her.

The man edged around the car towards the driver’s side. Liz kept one eye on the trembling traffic cone and one eye on her moving target, who was now shaking hands with a large congregation of be-suited men. The man knocked on her window. Liz’s heart sank, this was the last thing she needed. She wound the window down and concentrated on her East End accent.

“Yeah?” she said, pretending to chew gum.

“Uh, ah, er, ma’am, I’m, I’m s-s-s-orry, b-b-ut you’ve p-p-p-arked on a d-d-double l-l-ine…”

“Shit,” she said rather verbally. From out of the corner of her eye she could see Camilla’s car being collected from the car park. She didn’t have much time.

Liz reached under her seat and pulled out her Desert Eagle, silencer attached. The parking inspector jumped back – still hesitantly – as she casually drew the gun across her chest and pointed it out the window – stepping on the clutch simultaneously. Click, steady, breathe, pull.


And release.

Both the trigger and the breaks were released at the same time and her little old banger screeched into first gear, leaving the now-limp body of the parking inspector to fall like a domino to the ground.

The Ford seemed to be vibrating unusually with the speed at which she was going. Perhaps this was not the most recommended of gears to use at her current acceleration, for she was closing in on her victim fast. Liz’s swerve to avoid a would-be crash of several cars was followed promptly by an orchestra of horns. From her rear-view mirror she smirked as she saw Camilla’s car being trapped behind in her wake. One hand on the wheel, one hand on the gun in her lap, she rollicked towards the hotel.

The closer she got, the less likely it looked that she would make the hit quietly and efficiently, as was her modus operandi. But there was no backing out now. There was no way in which she could steer clear of the scene and attempt another go later. The hit was now and the execution imminent.

Shouts and screams notified Camilla to turn round and see her own death’s chariot scuttling towards her. But by then it was too late. Though her bodyguards tried to reach her in time to grab her away or take the bullet, Liz had already swerved up beside her and thrust her gun out the open window at her.

For a second it was just them. Just the two of them in a world that had been vastly slowed down around them. Liz knew Camilla could see passed the Ray Ban’s to the all-too familiar eyes. But Liz cared not. This was a hit, regardless of who called for it and what she herself gained from it. It was business. Though unlike any previous hits, this time Liz took a second to savour it.

Click, steady, breathe, pull.

“Up yours, you cow!” she screamed at Camilla as the bullet blasted through her intestines and through her spine and out through her back, blood erupting everywhere in volcanic proportions.

Liz stepped on it, enjoying Camilla’s final moments in the rear-view mirror and speeding on down the road. She had precisely four minutes in which to ditch the car, dispose of the gun and change into the final costume of the day, but after the hit she just performed, returning to Buckingham Palace would be a piece of cake.

~ by S.G. Mark on December 12, 2011.

One Response to “Day 66 – The Royal Assassin”

  1. hahahaa

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