“This is where he lives, I am sure of that…” she said in a low voice as they observed the silent house from afar. The front grass was freshly cut, and although it was already dusk, no light was to be seen through the windows.
“There are lots of them there, in the deep cellars, but we won’t see any until it is much darker.” They looked at the sky and the dark clouds accumulating above the property.
“How old do you think this place is?” he asked finally. Their presence was the outcome of a long search. The origin of the house, the people who had built it, how it was finally acquired by the Count, the whole history was shrouded in mystery.
“It goes back at least to Tudor times,” she replied, “although there is disagreement about the exact dates. The Count’s ancestors had something to do with silver mines in South America, and we know that today he is rumoured to be the CEO of a secretive private equity firm…”
“Now is the time. Whoever commissioned us must have good reasons. They knew this sort of operation don’t come cheap.” They smiled.
Calmly, methodically, they pulled out the Uzis from their sheaves, loaded the guns and undid the security, then they started walking toward the building. Their instructions were simple: there had to be no survivors.