Taken
@hxtmxn
He’d placed two men to each exit, which still left a small platoon of men to follow him into the hotel. He posted one at the reception desk (from her expression it was the most interesting thing to happen to her while on the job and, while nervous, she seemed to find the armed man at least easy on the eyes; he shrugged, he couldn’t blame her), and several others, one at every other level, along the stairwell. He went to the elevator himself. Sure, it looked loud and showy, but all twenty-six of these men were under strict orders not to make a sound.
He pressed the button for the thirtieth floor and stepped back, waiting and watching the top panel of the elevator and feeling the car rise in every cell until he adjusted.
After almost two minutes, the elevator came to a stop at level thirty, and he stepped out and turned left. He moved slowly and gently; the people he worked for had strong reason to believe 47 would hear an approach, and he’d been given specific orders to be cautious. He stopped at the hotel room door and glanced at the keycard lock. From a sleeve he removed a previously prepared skeleton key and swiped it. The light blinked green, and he opened it slowly, as if prepared for any number of 47′s probable precautions. He encountered no resistance from the door, but that didn’t mean he didn’t trigger a silent alarm. He knew in case he did that he’d have to work quickly. He closed the door behind him and padded over to the bed, where 47 lay, still sound asleep. He removed a needle from his breast pocket and bent over 47, clapping a hand over his nose and mouth as he injected him with a sedative and watching 47 go limp just seconds after waking up.
One minute and roughly five seconds later, with the bodybag containing the unconscious Agent slung over his shoulder, he gestured to the man standing guard at the landing to pull everyone in, and followed down the stairs.
Two hours later, he slid the bag off of 47′s body and propped him, none too gently, up in a chair while the men tied him down. He sat in a chair of his own and allowed himself to take in the Agent’s face: pale and angular like his own, but earlier he’d glimpsed blue eyes where his had been green, and 47 had thicker eyebrows. Only minor differences, really. 47 was more built, more solid, than he was, and preferred suits, it seemed. Well, he couldn’t really hold 47 accountable on that end, as lab-issue scrubs had a nasty tendency to get really old and blasé rather quickly. He crossed his legs and waited patiently for 47 to wake up.
