Oslo, Norway
Eric stalked down the sidewalk, navigating his way through the crowd. His Hardigg storm case was firm in his grip. With the skills of a professional, he avoided scrutiny from the CCTV surveillance cameras, knowing that they would have facial recognition software. His orders are clear; eliminate the banker. Unofficially, he was part of an off-the-books black box program inside the CIA. The intel he had gotten from his handler told him that the security detail favored MP5 submachine guns.
Erc immediately spotted an emergency staircase behind the hotel and dashed the staircase to the rooftop, where he would have the perfect advantage point. Already on his knees before the Hardigg storm case, he finished assembling an AR-30 sniper rifle, configuring it for.338 Lapua chambering, and slotting in a five-round box mag.
Through his scope, in the crosshairs, he watched the banker and his security detail saunter out of the Pareto Bank, clutching the briefcase in his grip. A gust of wind howled past him. He swiftly adjusted the elevation turret on his sniper rifle, figuring the bullet would drop and that he didn't need it.
He shot him as his head exploded like a watermelon, covering his security detail with blood and brains. Without hesitation, they spewed up weapons, searching for the shooter. Their eyes darted back and forth, scanning every building window to see where the sniper perch could be and where a bullet could have been fired from. The lead detail and the rest of the team blocked the body as the lead operator got down on his knees and checked their boss.
The rifle's bipod detached in seconds. He placed it back into the case as he closed it; he jumped to his feet, snatched up the shell casing, putting it into his pocket and his case, as he sprinted down the staircase, and veered around the corner, heading to the Lincoln Nautilus. He opened the back door, placed the case inside, and closed it.
He needed to get the briefcase the banker had; it was his only way of finding out why the banker needed a security detail. Grabbing the door, he slid into the driver's side and closed the door behind him. He sped up the street to the bank and parked a couple of blocks down from it. He studied the movements of the security team closely, watching how they handled their weapons. They were professionals, alright?
He grabbed his binoculars from the passenger seat as he zoomed in on the security agents' hardened expressions; they were probably instructed to shoot first and not ask questions. Placing his binoculars back onto the seat across from him, he knew that he would have to draw them away from the briefcase. Reaching into the rucksack, he pulled out a brick and some C4 explosive.
Placing the brick on the gas pedal, he grabbed the door handle as he attached the explosive to the vehicle. Snatching his case, he leaped out of the Lincoln Nautilus as it sped down the road straight at the security detail. He darted over to the building, ducking behind it. The agents opened fire at the vehicle.
He drew his Desert Eagle Mark XIX.50 Action Express pistol, training it on the vehicle. Eric cocked the hammer and pulled the trigger. The bullet rushed out of the muzzle at a speed of 2600 per second, slamming into the Lincoln, which detonated the explosive as the vehicle blew up into a fiery ball of flames. Knocking the security agents down onto the asphalt.
Eric dashed down the street, glancing sideways to see if any of the agents had gotten back on their feet. The agent slowly got up on his feet, grabbed his MP5 submachine, and bolted after him. He fired shots at him, bullets thudded against him, and he fired a shot at the agent. The bullet chipped the asphalt near its target.
The agent dropped his MP5, reaching into his sheath on his pants. He pulled out his Gerber Mark II dagger, gripping it by the handle. The expression on his face hardened as the agent lashed out at him. Eric sidestepped and caught the agent off guard, slipping his pistol in his hip holster. He felt the blade slash against his skin, quickly grabbing the agent's wrist. He violently twisted it, breaking the knuckles.
While he delivered a front strike to the agent's solar plexus with his knee, the dagger broke from the agent's hand.
He grabbed it, picked it up, and thrust it into the agent's chest. Then he yanked out the dagger and wiped it on the dead agent's sleeve.
Sticking the dagger inside his jacket pocket, he sprinted over to the briefcase clutched in the banker's hand, lying on the ground. It occurred to him that agents who were assigned to a banker didn't carry daggers or blades, mostly pistols, in their holsters. Getting down on his knees, he loosens the grip on the briefcase as he snatches it. Once back on his feet, he headed back over to the building where he had left his case.
Grabbing his sniper rifle case, he bolted over to a motorcycle he had spotted earlier and swung the case over his shoulder before climbing on. He cranked it up and sped down the busy traffic-congested street, passing by buildings on his way to the Aker Brygge. He roared into the fancy and expensive high-end residential area that had become popular for shopping, dining, and entertainment. And fun because of the museums with a view of the opera bustling with life. Strolling down Broadway, his eyes narrowed on a motorboat docked at the pier.
Eric headed to the port as he darted through the crowd, sauntering along; no one was paying attention to him. Which was good; after all, he was a cutout man, fully expandable. He was good at what he did. He jumped into the motorboat, sliding his rifle case under the seat before he started the engine on it. He sped down the harbor on the motorbike as the cool breeze and the warmth of the sun felt good on him.
He rounded the corner underneath the bridge as waves splashed against the motorboat heading to the thief. People strolled across the bridge, enjoying themselves.
Pulling up alongside the dock, he turned off the motor, stepped out, grabbed the briefcase, and tied it to the dock. Leaving his case on the boat, he knew that if he brought a gun into the hotel, the NIS (Norwegian Intelligence Service) would be there in a second.
He strode up the steps onto the landing, walking over to the coolest, most opulent hotel, The Thief. It had taken its name from Tjuvholmen, or Thief Island. It had at one time been a haven for smugglers, thieves, and scoundrels. Today, it was a trendy waterfront. He would use one of his Norwegian aliases that he had.
The woman scaled up the wall of the hotel, her grip hanging tight as she made her way up to the seventh floor. All she had was her target's code name, Red, and that he worked for the CIA. That was it. Luckily, she had done some recon on the hotel earlier and found out from their assets inside which floor he was on.
Grabbing the railing with her hands, she jumped over it, landing on her feet on the balcony. After that, she quickly pulled out her lock-pit kit. She picked out a pit and gently picked the lock, eventually opening the door. She entered a stylish Nordic room, closing the door behind her.
Entering through the massive automated doors into the Nordic marble lobby, he heard one of the receptionists say, "Welcome back, Mr. Berg."
He nodded at her as she walked over to the elevator, pushed the button, and waited. The doors slid open, and he stepped inside. He thought back to the security detail; there was something about the way they moved, and yet he couldn't put his finger on it. The doors opened on the seventh floor, and Eric strode out, walking down the corridor to his room. He grabs the doors and enters the room.
Before he could even turn his head, he noticed a shadow. His heart thuds in his throat as she strides up, reaching into her tactical mini-wig and producing a pistol with a suppressor on the end. Discreetly, as possible, she jams the barrel into his ribs and says, "Drop the briefcase now or I'll put a round into you."
He drops the briefcase and kicks it under the bed. His hands tightened into his fist as he whipped around fast, delivering a kidney punch to the assassin, sending her flying and knocking her out cold. The pistol flew out of her hand, hitting the ground. She regains her balance, jumping back to her feet and reaching for her Gerber Mark II blade from her sheath. She lunges at him with her blade in her grip
Eric sidestepped and caught her off guard as the blade slashed against his skin. He grabs her by the hair, slamming her into the wall. Her grip loosens on the blade. With one quick move, she swung her elbow strike, knocking him out cold. She darted for the open balcony door, dashing over to the railing of the balcony, and grabbed it as she scaled down the balconies until she spotted a boat docked at the dock.
He got back on his knees, feeling the pain, but that was okay. Reaching under the bed, he grabbed the briefcase and tossed it on the table near the balcony. He sat down in one of the chairs at the table and opened it up. After searching through everything, he finally came across an invitation to a private party.