The computer beeped as the darkened figure worked at another console. The room was shrouded in darkness, with only three small candles and the flickering lights from the three computer screens providing any light. The room was fairly large, and the apple scented candles didn't waver in the stillness.
The man known as Nightshade looked across at the lap top, his expression was one of complete calm. The screen showed an internet chat room, with a private connection established. The top line held a single word.
"Proposal?"
Underneath it appeared a sentence in bright green against the black background.
"Retreive and deliver appropriate package to appropriate place alive and unharmed."
The figure leant back for a moment, then tapped the keyboard.
"Numeration?"
The screen cleared, and a figure began to take appear.
"$450, 000."
Nightshade raised his eyebrows in surprise. It was more than double his normal fee for a simple elimination. He leant forwards again, and brought the keyboard closer.
"More details required. This line is secure. Please provide exposition."
He leant back again and waited. After a moment, the sentence disappeared, and more of the bright green text appeared.
"Bridget Moynahan to be retrieved from her residence, and delivered unharmed to the Pier 46 warehouse, where half the money will be waiting upon delivery. Upon acceptance, $225 000 shall be deposited in your account."
Nightshade narrowed his eyes as a dark suspicion began to dawn on him. A simple kidnapping, for that much money, surely leant towards a double cross. He didn't have any qualms about kidnapping, only little practise. That didn't worry him, because he knew that it was nothing he couldn't handle. His fingers flew over the keyboard.
"Accepted. Time-frame?"
"Two days. Nine pm at the warehouse."
Nightshade transmitted his deposit account number and shut down the computer. He looked at his watch, then at the candles burning low. Down the far end of the house, a single window was beginning lighten with the dawn of the new day.
***
Kathryn Bridget Moynahan sighed as she sunk back into the overstuffed hotel chair in her apartment. The window was open wide, and the fan was blaring. Kathryn hated air conditioners, hated them with a passion. She looked out over the huge pile of scripts lying in front of her and sighed again. She could almost smell the chlorine from the pool four stories below her on the breeze.
She sighed again and stood up. She wore nothing but her bikini top and a sarong, in full holiday mode. There was virtually no one in the hotel, except for several of the cast and crew staying there for the re-shoots to her new movie. She smiled to herself as the radio eased out "Nightmoves" by Bob Seger, one of her favourite bands despite the aged music.
The breeze cooled the hot apartment slightly, reminding Kathryn of her resolve to do several laps before heading off to sleep. Her hair had grown long during the shoot, and she flicked it back over her shoulder, and looked to the mirror on the other side of the room. Despite the heat, she couldn't be bothered with tying it back.
There was an instant's movement reflected in the mirror, and suddenly a sharp pain in her neck. Kathryn turned around, and her hand felt a cloth covered face, but her eyes had already gone dark.
Nightshade brushed her long hair away from her face and frowned. The tall brunette had an achingly statuesque beauty, and he shook himself as he inhaled the apricot scent of her hair. The assassin looked around, and quickly turned off the lamp in the corner, plunging the room into darkness.
***
Nightshade quickly and efficiently drove through the streets. The words nondescript were apposite for all aspects of the car, from the average looking paintwork with a few scratches to the two or three dents in the bodywork, more scrapes than actual damage. Nothing more than another car out late in the night.
He heard the soft hiss of silk and leather, and handed a bottle of water over the back seat. There was a pause of about a second, before the young woman grabbed it and drank. "I apologize for the taste. It's actually a Brazillian root, and leaves a terrible aftertaste. It goes away after a few minutes, Miss Moynahan."
"Who are you? Where are we?" Her voice sounded slurred, even to her own ears, and Kathryn shook her head and cleared her throat, but the grogginess continued.
"My name isn't really that important, but you can call me Shade, if you want. As for where we are, we are on the way to see the man who hired me."
"You're a kidnapper?" Nightshade chuckled as he heard the whisper of her sarong on the back seat, then the tiniest click, as Kathryn tried the door handles.
"No, actually my profession tends to leave me without much direct contact with my targets. A Mr. Farrier wishes to make your acquaintance, and has paid me quite a substantial fee to facilitate it." The back of the car was silent, and Nightshade's eyes lifted to see Kathryn's dark eyes glazed in shock.
"Danny...Jesus." Her face was a mask of sudden fear, and she locked eyes with Nightshade. "He'll kill me. You have to let me go." Nightshade frowned.
"And yet I won't. I'm sorry, Kathryn, but it's not the sort of thing I normally do, expose myself to this degree. But Mr. Farrier is putting forth a great deal of money for your safe return." Nightshade turned off the main road and began to make his way down to the docks. A generic heavy nodded behind his ridiculous sun glasses as they pulled up at the gate.
"Four minutes down, turn left into Cavern Hill Cresent. Another fifteen minutes, you should be at the warehouse." Nightshade nodded as the heavy grinned appreciatively at the frightened young woman in the back seat. They drove for a few moments, and then she slid forwards towards the bars her kidnapper had installed across the divide.
