"Ma'am." The guard motioned for Love to walk around Kingsley.
Love did as instructed, showed her identification and key, and was cleared into the complex.
"I'm so sorry." Kingsley said as Love walked around her.
"Good luck." Love nodded at the guard and walked to her building.
The typical assassin's creed was to strike your target and vanish without a trace. Abigail Love didn't see it that way. It was much more than just a job. She enjoyed playing with her unsuspecting prey. Luring her victims into a false sense of security. Luring them to their doom. All of this felt thrilling. Tantalizing. It made the kill almost orgasmic. Little did Teresa Kingsley know, she had less than two days left to live. Just the thought made Abigail Love shiver.
Jake had never worked with the carrot-topped man but the warning Francesca had given him was right; his cocky demeanor was annoying. The tall thin engineer, known to him only as Matt, had worked for Elmore Wiley going on two years and had only one job function, pilot Wiley's miniature spy drones.
Last year's drone was Wiley's electronic wasp equipped with an infrared video camera, microphone, and operated on three tiny watch batteries. Obsolete in comparison to Wiley's latest invention, which Matt called Skeeter, a spy drone the size and shape of a mosquito, also equipped with a video camera and microphone. The nanotechnology Wiley used allowed the mosquito replica to operate on a miniaturized single cell battery, which also served as the drone's torso. Although Skeeter didn't have infrared capability, it did have a needle capable of drawing a DNA sample, delivering a toxin, or injecting a micro RFID under the skin of its intended victim. The radio frequency identification device would allow the target to be tracked within a two-foot tolerance. Just like a real mosquito, Skeeter was propelled by flapping its silicone wings allowing it to hover, climb and descend, and travel at a speed of eight miles per hour in no-wind situations.
Matt opened his case and pulled out a small box similar in size and appearance to that found in a jewelry store. He opened it and held it out for Jake to see. "Pretty cool, huh?" Matt snapped it closed.
Earlier Jake had parked the black van belonging to Commonwealth Consultants in the back parking lot of the Hampton Inn on Richmond Highway just north of the Belle Haven Country Club fence.
"Boden's tee time is in ten minutes, can you make it?"
"Just let me do the flying, Navy boy, and we'll be fine. Now hold out your palm."
Jake's initial urge was to punch the arrogant man in the face but he suppressed the feeling, knowing it would not sit well with Wiley. He held out his hand, palm up. Matt placed Skeeter on Jake's palm and turned to his command console.
Matt flipped three buttons and wrapped his hands around two joysticks. "Now watch and learn."
Skeeter's wings vibrated and the tiny drone lifted off Jake's palm. "Here we go," Matt said. The drone darted out the van's open side door.
Jake stared at Matt's monitor and watched the ground pass underneath. The video was clear but somewhat grainy, certainly good enough to qualify for the task at hand. The drone flew over a small tributary then lifted over a row of trees and across the expanse of fairways at the golf course. Within seconds, the clubhouse came into view in the distance. It surprised Jake that his aging target could even swing a golf club without falling over. But it was a routine the man only missed when the weather was inclement or he was out of town.
"Does this thing have a zoom?" Jake asked.
"I wish. I'll have to fly it up close and personal for positive identification. That's why you're here. If I pop the wrong target, then you're to blame." Matt laughed.
Francesca was right. Matt was a prick.
Jake held his tongue and continued to watch. The view on the screen showed the clubhouse getting closer, a row of golf carts lined up at the tee box. "Guess you'll have to check each one. Start with one closest to the tee." Jake instructed.
"Yeah, I think I got that much figured out."
Matt piloted the mosquito drone past the first two golf carts. Nothing but a bunch of old men he didn't recognize. As the drone passed in front of the third cart, Jake saw something. "There." He pointed to the screen. "Fourth cart. The man with a cane, check him out."
"Roger that," Matt replied.
Jake watched Matt maneuver the drone around the third golf cart and sweep in front of the fourth. "Can you give me a close up of the man in the passenger seat?"
"Of course." Matt's hands expertly tilted the joysticks from side to side as the view on the screen seemed to finesse the man's face into a full face image.
"That's him," Jake said. "Now what?"
"Now comes the tricky part." Matt explained. "I'll land Skeeter on his back collar for a moment." The view on the screen showed the camera sweeping around the target's head and when it was lined up with the back of the man's head, it landed on the back of a pale blue collar. "One limitation of Skeeter's camera is the inability to sweep. We can only see straight ahead. And unfortunately Skeeter weighs a little more than a real mosquito, so when I come off his collar and land on his neck, he'll feel something and try to swat it. I have to land, pull a sample, and get out of there before Skeeter gets squashed."
"Has that ever happened?"
"Once," Matt admitted. "Knocked Skeeter to the ground. I was able to locate him later though and retrieve the sample."
"What's next? Land on his neck?"
"No. That's how I got caught. I've found the best place to land is behind the earlobe."
"Behind the ear?" Jake asked. "Won't he hear it?"
"Possibly, but he won't hit himself in the ear. The tendency is to just wave a hand by the ear and then pull it away. When he pulls his hand away, I'll fly Skeeter out of there."
"Do it," Jake said.
"Extending the needle…and here we go." The monitor showed movement toward the man's right ear. The bottom of the ear lobe came into view then filled the screen. "Extracting a sample…retracting the needle, now wait. One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three. Now, let's get him out of there."
As the image pulled away, the target's hand was seen waving in front of the drone's camera. Then the image cleared the golf cart.
"Piece of cake," Matt said.
"Let me see his face again."
The image on the monitor rotated around and the target's face came into view as Matt maneuvered Skeeter in front of the golf cart.
Senator Richard Boden.
"Nicely done, Matt. Now get Skeeter out of there."
Abigail Love lay on a beach towel by the pool, her mind running through her mental checklist of things she had to do to prepare for the hit on Martin and Teresa Kingsley. She was staying in a room on the fourth floor of the East Tower and Kingsley and his wife were on the seventh floor of the West Tower. Guests were only allowed access to the building they were staying in unless accompanied by an owner or guest of the adjacent tower. The only common areas were by the pool and at the grill. Logistically an issue, but one for which she had accounted.
She wore big tortoise shell sunglasses with UV lenses to protect her eyes from the harsh Caribbean sun. She studied the rooftops and balconies; they might be her only choice.
A shadow blocked the sun from her face and she turned her head to see who it was.
"Well, hello again," Teresa Kingsley said.
"I see they let you inside." Love pulled her glasses on top of her head and squinted at the bright sun. Kingsley was tall and thin. She wore a sheer white tunic revealing a black bikini underneath. Her long dark hair and brown eyes accentuated her good looks. For a woman of fifty-four, Love thought Teresa Kingsley looked spectacular.