A sudden movement caught his attention.
The second door of the building to his left slowly cracked open, forming a vertical crease of black in the stark white façade. As he watched, a hand appeared from the dark interior and quickly waved before vanishing.
“There,” his driver muttered, nodding his head towards the door. The small gesture caused his body to quiver like a massive ball of gelatin. A low growl bellowed from beneath his thobe. The driver gripped the leather steering wheel and leaned forward, groaning with effort.
“Right, well that’s my cue,” he replied as he opened the back door and slid out of the plush interior and into the full heat of the sun. He closed the door and immediately heard a precise metallic click as the large vehicle dropped into gear and sped off. A cloud of sand and dust followed in its wake as he watched it leave. Assuming complete faith in the plan given to him, the Mercedes and its flatulent, cotton-wrapped driver would be back in ten minutes to pick him up.
He walked casually across the wide empty street and paused just outside the door, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his khaki pants. A moment later the door cracked open again, then quickly widened enough for him to enter. He smiled and stepped cautiously into the black void before him.
Cool air immediately licked his skin as the door closed behind him. The sound of a heavy deadbolt clicked loudly. He took off his sunglasses and looked around. The cramped room contained only a small, flimsy black conference table and a handful of outdated chairs. Its bone-white walls were heavily scarred with smudges and dents. Beneath it all, a hideous spread of cerulean blue shag carpet worn by years of traffic laid sadly.
“Nice place,” he remarked, smiling at the two men sitting at the conference table.
Behind him, the man who had shut the door gestured for him to sit down. He then moved towards the other side of the table and stood rigidly behind his two seated colleagues.
He sat down at the table and quietly studied the faces across from him. Their dark Middle Eastern features notwithstanding, all three of the thirty-something men looked similar enough to be brothers.
“Thank you for coming,” the man standing behind his two colleagues said without smiling.
“It’s my pleasure,” he responded, his voice warm and sincere.
“May we get you a coffee or tea?” The man seated to his left asked with a smile. He appeared to be the youngest of the three, with large, intelligent eyes and boyish, coffee-colored features. Unlike his somewhat malnourished looking colleagues, the man’s well-muscled frame was apparent under his crisp white dress shirt.
“No, thank you… I’m fine,” he answered, returning the smile.
“Then let’s begin,” left-seat replied sharply. With that his colleague seated next to him produced a large manila envelope from an unseen case beneath his chair and gently placed it on the table. His dark hand lingered on it protectively. “Four subjects in four cities,” left-seat said as he pointed to the envelope. “The details of each are contained here.”
He glanced at the envelope and nodded. “Cause?” he asked politely.
“Our preference would be accidents for at least two,” standing-man responded, his deep brown eyes studying him closely. “Of course, we leave some discretion to you. Certainly you know more about this than we do.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t necessarily say that.”
“We were certainly impressed with your work in Assam.” left-seat said with another brilliant flash of teeth.
He glanced at left-seat with surprise. “Assam?”
“We apologize for not telling you before,” standing man replied, a glint of humor in his eyes. “Assam was a test. We wanted to see exactly what we were paying for first.”
The three men smiled collectively.
“I see,” he replied, feigning surprise. “Well, I’m glad we’ve met your standards. Of course, Assam was just a typical assignment. We’re capable of much more, should the need arise.”
In truth, Assam had been anything but typical. It had taken more than two frustrating, rain-soaked weeks before everything had fallen into place. The fact that he’d pulled it off at all was incredible. And the last minute use of a tuk-tuk and an untraceable fire-accelerant was, in his own humble opinion, rather brilliant. If his craft was ever recognized as an art form, Assam just might go down as his ceiling of the Sistine fucking Chapel.
Left-seat composed his face and continued. “The subjects include three males and a female. One Middle-Eastern, two Caucasian, and one Asian. Photos and your requested details are contained in the envelope.”
“May I?” he asked, reaching his hand for the envelope.