“Okay,” she said slyly, “but I want fifty euros up front.”

The man smiled. “You’re a very smart young woman. Let’s adjourn to the café, where I can give you the first half of the payment without anyone taking notice.”

Maria liked that idea, because Sintra was a small town, and she didn’t want to be seen accepting cash from a foreigner, especially not out here on a main street. Even a whisper of scandal would cause Maria’s father to whip her with his belt. Because in his view, his daughter’s virginity was the only asset she had.

So the two of them went to the café, where the man slipped fifty euros to the maid under the table, and ordered coffee for both of them. The conversation lasted for more than an hour, because the reporter from Le Monde was not only fascinated by the most mundane details of Maria’s job, but by the people she worked with, as well as their interpersonal relationships.

Therefore she was exhausted by the time the interview finally came to a close—and the fellow passed another fifty-euro note under the table.

“Thank you, Maria,” he said sincerely. “You’ve been very helpful. Now remember, I won’t mention your name in the article—and you must remain silent, as well. Otherwise you could lose your job.”

Maria nodded, came to her feet, and glanced at her watch. It was dinnertime! And Maria wasn’t there to help. Her mother would be furious.

Still, the interview had been worth it, and the maid felt happy as she hurried away.

Having determined the internal layout of the house, along with the habits of those who lived there, 47 was that much closer to being ready. But one problem remained, and that was how to enter the mansion, and do so at the correct time. Which, based on information provided by Maria, would be during the day. The most difficult time of all.

The assassin drained the last of his coffee, left the café, and waddled up the street.

The assassin was worried—and had good reason to be, he knew—as the minutes and hours continued to tick away. More than half the time allotted to him by Mr. Nu had already come off the clock, and there was still a lot of work left to do. Finding a way to enter the mansion during the day was proving to be difficult. No, impossible, since none of the schemes he had considered proved feasible.

Take the “magazine” man, for example. His name was Pedro, and based on the research that the assassin had carried out, he was a retired carpenter who pulled in a few euros a day by driving his beat-up sedan into Lisbon at four in the morning, buying newspapers and magazines that wouldn’t arrive in Sintra until late that afternoon, then delivering them to the mansion so Thorakis could scan them while he ate his breakfast. That raised the possibility that 47 could bribe the man, pose as his son, and come along for the ride. Then, once the guards were used to seeing the new face, the rest would be easy. Except that Pedro never spent more than five minutes in the house, which meant his fake son wouldn’t be allowed to either, which left the assassin back at the starting point.

A couple of other possibilities were eliminated in the same fashion. That left the operative with growing frustration, and he was beginning to wonder if his whole plan was going down the drain.

Finally, he decided that the simple approach would be the best. Once most of Sintra’s citizens were asleep, he would enter the mansion during the hours of darkness, hide until daylight, and carry out the assassination. Then, rather than flee, he would return to his hiding place and remain there until the ensuing ruckus was over.

Assuming the plan was successful, the Greek’s death would look like an accident, which meant no one would come looking for him. Once nightfall returned, Agent 47 would sneak out of the house again, and slip over the wall.

From what the assassin had observed, Thorakis’s security had been allowed to lapse somewhat. Perhaps due to the cost and the business setbacks Maria had mentioned. According to her, the number of guards was one-third what it had once been, and the Greek had stopped monitoring the cameras twenty-four-seven. Perhaps he hoped their very presence would fool an intruder into thinking the place was secure.

He needed to find a way to neutralize the damned dog, though. Not kill it, because that would put the security guards on high alert, but incapacitate the animal for a while-long enough for him to get in and out.

The answer was the sedative that 47 had stolen from a local veterinarian’s office along with a variety of things meant to cover what the assassin really wanted. And, because the vet doubled as the local animal control officer, the assassin had been able to steal a dart gun as well.

Thus equipped, it was time for a dry run. This was one of the most important assignments of his career, and he wasn’t about to leave anything to chance.

Having left the Scaparelli outfit back at the hotel, Agent 47 eased his way down the hillside behind the house and bellied up to the stone wall. It was late, so most of the lights were off, and with the exception of the dog and two security guards, the entire household was clearly in bed.

The German shepherd was allowed to roam free, so it wasn’t long before the dog rounded a corner and paused to sample the night air. Agent 47 heard the animal growl deep in its throat, knew a bark would follow, and took careful aim. The air pistol could fire only one hypodermic dart at a time-which meant that the first shot would have to be dead-on. It was a lot to ask at night, especially since he was using an unfamiliar weapon.

The bark was already starting to form itself in the German shepherd’s throat when 47 squeezed the trigger. There was a soft phut as the dart flew straight and true, followed by a startled yelp as the needle entered flesh and delivered a 5:1 combination of ketamine and xylazine into the dog’s circulatory system. The animal took three staggering steps, wobbled as it tried to remain upright, and collapsed. Which was perfect.

But had anyone heard?

Agent 47 hesitated for a moment, blood pounding in his ears, before vaulting over the wall. The guards would find the dog-that was a given-but how soon? The challenge was to recover the dart and enter the house before the animal was discovered.

One of many things the operative had learned from Maria was that the security cameras went unmonitored during the day, on the theory that there was no need for electronic surveillance as long as the guards were patrolling the grounds. Was the same true at night? Agent 47 would find out soon enough as he raced across the yard to the point where the semiconscious dog lay, plucked the yellow-feather dart out of the animal’s side, and slipped it into a pocket. This small detail was crucial. With nothing else to go on, the guards would conclude that the animal was sick, and hopefully focus on him rather than search for an intruder.

Moments later a male voice was heard calling for the German shepherd and it became steadily louder. The assassin felt something heavy land in the pit of his stomach as he made for the back door. Would there be sufficient time to pick the lock? No, 47 was pretty sure that there wouldn’t be, as he put his hand on the doorknob and twisted.

The knob turned, the door opened, and he was inside!

What about the alarm? Surely Thorakis would have one. But no, the house was as quiet as a tomb, with only the ticking of a grandfather clock to break the otherwise perfect silence. This suggested that the person who was in charge of security was entirely too reliant on the human factor.

Worried lest he make noise, or track telltale dirt through what Maria claimed was a spotlessly clean house, 47 removed his shoes, tied the shoelaces together so he could hang them around his neck, and ghosted from room to room.