The Assassin (Max Doerr Book 1) by Jay Deb

chin. “You will do well under him, Max, I’m telling
you.”
    “The
operation is in Central Park.” Doerr let out a sigh. “Central Park, guys. I
can’t imagine the commotion it will cause. So many kids play there. Imagine the
psychological impact it will have on them.”
    “We
have to do the tough thing.” Victor leaned forward, and his brown beard hung
over the middle of the table. “We are meant to be tough. We can’t be
bothered by the thought of some kid getting scared. Maybe they should be scared;
they should have a taste of reality. Now let’s make a toast.” The men raised
their drinks.
     
      
    SAMUEL
AND DOERR were riding in a limo, shielded from outsiders’ view by the tinted
glass all around. It was October, and the city was getting ready for the upcoming
winter. People walking the streets wore jackets, and no one had sandals on.   
    Samuel
and Doerr sat side by side. The limo crawled along Seventh Avenue toward the
park. Doerr’s mind was racing. His thoughts veered from Billy to the M107 rifle
in the duffel bag sitting in the rear seat, from the face of the target to the pandemonium
that would certainly follow after the man was gunned down in the park.
    The
limo came to a sharp stop at a red light on Fifty-Fifth Street. Outside, two
kids walked, holding their parents’ hands.
    The
limo took a sharp right turn on Fifty-Ninth Street. Horses and carriages lined
the street, ready to show tourists around the city. Doerr saw one stallion restlessly
shift its weight from one leg to the other. One owner fed hay to his horse with
one hand and patted its face with the other.
    Two
blocks later, the limo took a left turn; Doerr watched the buildings pass by.
“Hey, stop here,” he said to the driver. “We need to stop, back there.”
    Samuel
tapped his shoulder. “Relax, Max. That old building the agency had is gone now.”
    “What
do you mean?” Doerr pointed behind him. “The agency had two floors in that
building. What happened to them?”
    “We
sold them a year back.”
    “Then
where are we going to take down this guy from?” Doerr asked with a frown.
    “Don’t
worry, I got the perfect place,” Samuel said as the limo stopped in front of a building.
It looked like a residential place. A sign outside read ‘Call 212-315…to lease.’
    Doerr
could see the limo’s reflection on the glass walls of the building. A blond old
woman came through the revolving door. Etched on the glass was ‘Sillman Realty.’
He realized it was a condominium complex. “What are we going to do from here?”
    “Come
on; follow me.” Samuel got out, the duffel bag in his hand.
    Doerr
could see the gate to Central Park on the left. He followed Samuel out of the
limo. “We’re going to do it from here?”
    “Yes,
come on.”
    Doerr
followed Samuel through the revolving door. The fat security guard, in a blue
uniform, gave him a stare. Doerr walked right behind Samuel into the elevator. “Man,
whose place is this?” Doerr was becoming more and more uncomfortable.
    Samuel
looked him in the eye. “A friend of mine. Okay?” Samuel pressed the button
marked sixteen, and the elevator started moving up.
    Doerr
felt the pull. “What’s your friend’s name?” he asked. The elevator stopped with
a jerk, and both men got out.
    Samuel
struggled to carry the duffel bag. He limped, and then he stopped at a door; a
metal plate with 1604 etched on it hung on the door.
    Doerr
stood next to Samuel, put his hands on his waist and pointed to the door. “I am not going in there till I know who owns this place.”
    “Okay,
relax.” Samuel dropped his shoulders. “Her name is Irene, and we have been
friends for a while. She is very rich but also patriotic. I asked for her permission
to use this place for an hour.” Samuel kicked the ground and shrugged. “Now,
can we get on with this?”
    “Can
you show me a picture of her?”  
    “Okay.”
Samuel sighed. He put his hand inside his pants pocket and pulled out