The driver talked about how he had dropped out of high school and never attended college. He’d been driving for the last fifteen years of his life. His wife had left him because she said he drank too much, which made him drink more. By the end of the conversation, Paulino felt more like a psychologist than a contract killer.
Still, he remained in character, acting sympathetic to the man’s woeful existence. When the driver finished, Paulino asked if he’d be interested in smoking a cigarette. The man accepted, and the two got out of the car and stepped around to the front near the fence where the row of trees blocked the view to the road twenty yards beyond. Paulino removed a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and offered one to the driver, who took it graciously.
Paulino took a step forward to light the cigarette for the man, and as he reached up to flick the lighter, withdrew a small pistol from his jacket. The silencer on the end of the barrel allowed only a few clicking sounds to escape the weapon. The puffs of smoke wafted away in mere seconds. The driver’s horrified face grimaced in questioning pain as he fell to the ground in a heap. Blood began to course through his white dress shirt as he gurgled his last few labored breaths. Paulino looked around casually as if nothing had happened, and then proceeded to light his own cigarette. He leaned against the car for a moment, watching the area with cautious eyes, making absolutely sure no one had seen his deed. About half way through the smoke, he flicked it to the ground and mashed it with his shoe, twisting the heel to make sure the fire was out. After taking another quick look around, he stepped over to the body and grabbed it by the wrists. He pulled it over to the car in the adjacent parking space and tucked it neatly under the front bumper. Satisfied that the corpse was out of plain sight, he slid into the driver’s side of the still-running car and pulled out of the spot.
Now, standing in the main terminal, Paulino waited patiently for his marks at the end of a long corridor that he’d been told connected to the private port of entry. He hoped the real driver’s ridiculously long conversation hadn’t caused him to miss the two Americans, but he doubted it had. Paulino had left Italy with a decent head start, and the flight had been a short one. The man his employer worked for definitely had style, and money. The plane had been one of the most opulent modes of transport he’d ever seen. Paulino hoped whoever was supplying Bourdon with money would be interested in hiring him on again in the future.
Two men came into view, walking toward him on one of the people movers. They matched the images Paulino had pulled up on the Internet: a shaggy blond haired guy about six feet tall, and a slightly shorter one with darker hair and broad shoulders. It had to be them.
As they approached, Paulino put a welcoming smile on his face and displayed the cardboard sign proudly. “Mr. Wyatt, Mr. Schultz?” he asked, effortlessly losing his Italian accent and mimicking the way he’d heard Greeks speak on previous occasions.
“That’s us,” the blond man answered. “I’m Sean Wyatt, and this is my lovely assistant, Tommy Schultz.”
The one named Tommy shook his head and rolled his eyes. He offered his hand, which Paulino took and shook firmly, but gently enough to appear subservient. He played the role to perfection.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you both. I understand I am driving you to the marina. Correct?”
“That’s right,” Sean said. “We appreciate you doing this on such short notice.”
“Not a problem,” Paulino said with a smile. “I know a quick route to get you on the water as fast as possible. Would you like me to take your bags?” He was surprised to see how light the men were traveling, merely carrying one backpack each.
Tommy waved off the offer. “No thank you. We got it.”
“Very well, sir. If you will follow me, I’ll take you to the car, and we can be on our way.”
The three men made their way through the terminal toward the entrance. As they walked, Sean asked if it was a busy time of year for the airport.
Paulino made up a convincing enough answer, explaining that many people tried to get out of the cities and come to Corfu when the weather got warmer. Since it was still only spring, things were still a little slow in the area, but he expected it to pick up in the summer months. The Americans seemed satisfied with the answer and didn’t say anything else. Paulino led the way to a black Mercedes Benz near the front of the airport parking area, and popped the trunk open with a remote key.
“I’ll put your bags in the trunk, if that is all right with you,” he said, reaching out both hands.
Sean and Tommy nodded and handed the driver their backpacks. Tommy walked around and got in the car behind the driver’s seat, while Sean entered the other side. When both men were in the car, Paulino carefully packed the bags into the trunk. He looked up over the brim of his eyes to make sure the men in the back of the car couldn’t see him, and then unzipped the front pouch of one of the backpacks. It was empty, which meant the owner probably wouldn’t check it: a perfect place for the homing beacon. He reached into his pocket and produced the tiny metal disc, slipped it into the backpack’s pouch, then zipped it closed and stood back up. He gently closed the trunk and walked around to the front door, giving one last look around before getting behind the wheel.
He steered the car into the traffic lane and followed the line of other vehicles out of the airport pickup and drop-off area. Once they were on the main road, Paulino continued to play his role by striking up a conversation. He hoped the two Americans wouldn’t drone on like the real driver. Not that it mattered; he wasn’t really going to listen to anything they said. He knew exactly how to play people in social settings. He’d make it look like what they were saying was fascinating or compelling. His body language would say all the right things, along with a few robotic responses he’d put together. To the talker, it seemed like he was paying attention, but the fact was, he hardly ever did.
“So, are you two here for a little excursion around the island?”
Sean was staring out the window. He’d never been to Corfu before, and whenever he visited a new place he always liked to observe his surroundings, the people, and the culture. “We’re not exactly here on vacation,” he answered cryptically.
“Oh?” Paulino answered. “You’re here on business? A boat like the one you rented is an odd place to take care of business.” He hoped he hadn’t pushed the line of questioning too far, but it seemed like the natural progression for the conversation.
“We’re researchers,” Tommy explained shortly.
“Researchers? So you’re scientists? What is your field of expertise? Marine biology?”
Sean was more than happy to let Tommy handle the questions from the friendly driver. “We’re archaeologists here on a special assignment.”
Paulino raised his eyebrows. “Sounds exciting. How long are you here for?”
“Not long, hopefully. We’re here to investigate a site and then head back home.”
“That sounds like a long way to come from America just to check out a location.”
Sean finally decided to pop in and try to end the conversation about their project. “Our job is to map the area. Once that’s done, the rest of our team can come in and take care of the rest. It’s how our organization works.”
Paulino accepted the explanation, not wishing to push the issue further. He didn’t need to know why the men were there. He had essentially taken care of his end of Bourdon’s assignment. The homing beacon was already in place. Bourdon had already deposited half of the hundred thousand into Paulino’s account via electronic transfer. After dropping off the two Americans at their boat, he was to meet Bourdon on the other side of the marina. He would then receive the rest of the money. It was almost too easy.