Hitman: Enemy Within Read Online Free PDF

road next to the first checkpoint, where Marla had dropped them on her way out.
    The grader blocked the road farther on, but if Marla had been able to bypass the machinery with her Mercedes, then 47 knew he could do so as well. There was a slight bump as the big off-road tires passed through the ditch that bordered the road, followed by a momentary roar as the agent gunned the engine and steered the rig back onto the gravel road.
    Then, with nothing to stop him, 47 hit the gas.
    The Big Kahuna was dead, but the operation could hardly be called a success, given how messy the outcome had been. So, rather than take a few days off as he had originally planned, it was time to go back to the motel and lick his wounds. One of which, judging from the persistent pain in his left arm, was quite real.
    He arrived at an intersection ten minutes later, paused to let a sixteen-wheeler pass, and pulled onto the two-lane highway. A barn, silo, and farmhouse were visible in the distance, but that was all that broke up the landscape, other than the green-apple orchards that bordered both sides of the road. In spite of the fact that he had been to theUnited States dozens of times, the assassin never failed to be amazed by how large the country was. After eliminating a target inBelgium , he could generally be inGreat Britain a few hours later, but not here. Whenever he had an assignment in the States, some sort of base was necessary.
    In this particular case, Agent 47 had staged his activities at a second-rate motel on the outskirts ofYakima,Washington . The sort of mom-and-pop enterprise that had been largely replaced by low-cost hotel chains over the last decade, but still existed here and there, and suited him to a tee. There were exceptions, of course, but most of the small motels didn’t require ID at check-in, and they rarely had surveillance systems. Not to mention the fact that it was often possible for guests to park directly outside their rooms.
    But before 47 could return to the slightly seedy embrace of the Blackbird Inn, there were some things to get rid of.Including the Mel Johnson disguise and the newly ventilated truck. So as he approached civilization, he turned into a sprawling apartment complex and pulled into the most remote slot in the parking lot. Perhaps The Agency would be able to recover the vehicle before the manager had it towed. If not, the cost of the truck would be added to the fee paid by the person or persons who wanted the BK dead.
    The Colombians perhaps?
    Probably, although 47 didn’t really care.
    Fingerprints weren’t a concern as he prepared to abandon the vehicle, since he had worn gloves throughout the operation. Nor was DNA likely to be an issue, since the agent wasn’t about to leave any cigarette butts, pop cans, or used Kleenexes in the cab. So all he had to do was pull the cleanup kit out from under the seat, and use the contents to remove both the beard and the blood that had dried on his wounded arm. Having pulled a plain blue T-shirt down over his head, 47 checked to make sure that his left sleeve was long enough to cover the bullet wound. He dumped everything except the DNA-bearing wipe into a plastic sack, which went into a gym bag next to the machine pistols and the DVR. As 47 exited the truck and made his way across the parking lot, he looked like an average guy on his way to a workout at the gym. It was a short two-block walk from the apartment complex to the motel, which was good, because Americans rarely walked when they could ride. That made pedestrians something of an oddity, and oddities are memorable, which was the last thing the assassin wanted to be. The black Volvo S80 was right where he had left it, in front of room 102. Rather than look out of place, as one might expect at a low-rent hostelry like the Blackbird Inn, the sedan wasn’t even the most expensive vehicle in the lot. That honor went to a white Escalade parked a few doors down. Because just about anyone can buy a fancy