Isobel Castillo's fingers trembled as she rewrapped
the video tape that was part of the day's mail. Turning the package over in shaky
hands, she glanced at the clock over the front door she'd closed and locked fifteen
minutes earlier and made an immediate decision. Her contact for the past few weeks
had just called to inform her he would be delayed at least thirty minutes, compliments
of an unexpected flat tire.
"Put the tape in a safe place," he'd
stressed before he disconnected. "I'll be there as fast as possible."
There were many places right there in the office she
could choose as a holding place until their meeting-the wall safe for one--but for
some strange reason she felt vulnerable this night, like a fish in a bowl with all
those storefront glass windows that attracted the curious like lures.
Since they'd agreed to meet in the apartment upstairs
anyway, it seemed only logical that she should go up and safely store the package
there. She would still have ample time left to come down to the office again and
finish sorting the mail before she went back up for the meeting.
Barely five minutes after she'd returned to the office,
she heard the unmistakable squeak of the rusted hinge on the storeroom door. She
whirled around, her heart pounding wildly, her hand groping frantically behind her
for the iron pull on the middle drawer of her desk. Before she could reach inside
for a weapon her assailant stepped deep into the small room.
He was dressed entirely in black, a bulky winter coat
dwarfing his frame in an attempt to conceal his identity. He could have saved himself
the trouble. Even with the distorted physique and the dark stocking pulled over
his face she knew who he was. If she could just keep him offguard until she found-
But he was too fast for her. The gun he pressed against
her heart went off only seconds before he slipped the knife from his pocket. Isobel
Castillo's lifeless form slid silently to the floor.
Bending down, her attacker made a swift slash across
her throat. Righting himself, he protected his fingers with a handkerchief from
his pocket, lifted a large unopened manila envelope from the desk by one corner
and laid it face down on the floor next to the body.
Then, using the handkerchief as before, he lifted
a slim ballpoint pen from a holder on the desk, carefully chose a clean spot to
kneel, and dipped the pen in the widening pool of blood. The symbol he drew on the
envelope would have meaning only to those who understood the ritual of sacrifice.
After wiping the pen clean, he stood and replaced it carefully in its holder.
Ten minutes later, after an exhaustive search of the
office, he left by the same back door he'd entered, empty-handed and blind with
rage. When he stepped out on the sidewalk from the narrow alley on the side farthest
away from the building next door, his villainous costume hidden in an unmarked bag,
another man was entering the iron gate on his way to Isobel Castillo's Bourbon Street
apartment.
Neither man saw the other come or go.