Sunday 12:25 Pierre Elliott Trudeau International Airport, Montreal, Quebec, Canada
Nathaniel arrived at the airport with plenty of time to catch the 4:15 back to Ottawa. He checked in, waded painfully through security, and headed straight for Maison de la Presse in search of any western Canadian newspaper he could find.
The small headline halfway down ‘Hiker Falls to Death from Mountain’ leaped off the page as he approached the counter where the newspapers were kept. He scooped the paper, dropped a handful of change onto the counter where the cashier was busy attending to a long line of customers, and tucked it under his arm until he was seated in the corner near his gate where he scoured the paper for news.
Nathaniel imagined at first glance that the hiker was Kaito Hui’s personal target. He frowned as he read the article. The victim was not Harvey Metcalf. It was a young, yet to be named hiker, female, in her early twenties. This made no sense. Had something gone terribly wrong with Kaito’s planned execution? He finished the article and recollected what Kaito had explained about his personal target. Had he misunderstood what Kaito told him? He didn’t think so, but he reread the article in search of any hint that would refresh his memory.
Frustration at Kaito’s reckless behaviour returned. “Damn,” he whispered aloud and quickly looked across the busy concourse. The crowd around him had grown larger and buzzed with restlessness as the departure time neared. No one seemed to take any notice of him. He dropped his eyes back to the paper and reread the article another half-dozen times. What had his friend done? He’d have to wait for more details to surface.
He shuffled over the next few pages in search of telltale signs within the reported articles that suggested another of the targets had been taken out. Page two listed a small, almost insignificant auto accident.
Crash Closes Trans-Canada Highway
Nathaniel always knew what to look for. A simple headline, discreet, tiny and, almost always reported as accidental and commonplace.
A late-night crash just west of Canmore closed the Trans-Canada Highway eastbound for a number of hours Saturday night. A rental car with a single occupant drifted off the road, struck the bridge railing, and rolled a number of times before landing in the Bow River. The driver, a male of approximately 50 years of age, was pronounced dead at the scene. No other vehicles were involved, and police are still investigating. Alcohol has not been ruled out as a contributing factor. The name of the victim has been confirmed but is not being released until next of kin have been notified.
Nathaniel nodded. Alcohol has not been ruled out. No, he didn’t suspect it would be if this was Kaito’s other target—the Russian diplomat they spoke of last night. In fact, he was pretty sure the authorities would find the driver was abhorrently over the legal blood-alcohol limit. It was how these things were done. It was how he would have done it had the task been his. The manner of death always fit the victim’s lifestyle and history. Staging an accident due to excess consumption of liquor by someone who is known to have driven while intoxicated on many previous occasions would never raise any flags for further investigation. At least this one looked clean.
Nathaniel closed the paper and looked at the time. The paper was the early edition brought out east on one of the early flights from the west. It would still be a few hours before any substantial details behind both accidents made it to the press.
And still there was that third target, Garrod Shaw. Kaito had not mentioned or even hinted at how he was to be taken. It bothered him. He opened the paper back up and continued to scan the pages.
There was a report of an apartment exploding in northwest Edmonton. It was a natural gas explosion, cause yet unknown. Explosions of any kind were uncommon and were to be avoided—and for good reason. Primarily, the target was often only maimed and incidental injuries to innocent victims were frequent. Heavy investigations always followed.
A taxi driver was murdered overnight in Regina, Saskatchewan, a motorcyclist died after crashing into a cement truck on a highway near Hannah in eastern Alberta late Saturday, and a man swimming after dark drowned at Sylvan Lake in central Alberta. None of these appeared to be the third target. Kaito’s last target never drove a taxi, nor did he drive a motorcycle. The drowning victim was reported to be in his early twenties.
He read on. There were two more from Saturday night—one stabbing outside a bar in Calgary causing death and a drug overdose near the Saskatchewan border in a seedy hotel near Oyen—and on Saturday afternoon, a heart attack victim on the Greyhound bus travelling from Lethbridge to Cranbrook. Details on all three were limited.
“Possible,” he mumbled. He’d have to wait for more details.
A loud, overhead announcement broke Nathaniel from his train of thought. He folded the newspaper and placed it on the seat next to him. He dug out his boarding pass from his inside coat pocket, and merged into the mob headed towards the gate for the flight now boarding for Ottawa.