Prey

He loaded his clip into the Beretta 8000, an Italian semi-automatic handgun fitting for the task at hand. The eight round magazine slided into place with an audible click that ricocheted throughout the darkened warehouse. Thankfully his mark wasn't here yet, as such he remained undetected; crouching behind storage crates in the night's embrace.

He heard the car before he saw the headlights gleaming through the side door. He could tell that there was only one car approaching, and he knew that another was to arrive shortly. The headlights shone into the warehouse, even though the car had stopped and it's occupants were making their way inside.

He knew he could peer out and observe the first batch of arrivals, but he had no need. He would make his appearance soon enough. Delicately checking his equipment, he made sure his emergency escape plan was viable. He felt for his hip, and his had met the five and a quarter inch tube that could potentially save his life.

The occupants of the first car said nothing, but they easily made noise. He could tell that there were only two people, besides himself, in the warehouse; and one of the enjoyed smoking. He wasn't one to judge, but he didn't much care for the habit.

Five, or so, minutes had past, and not a word was said. Then the sound of an approaching vehicle driving up the dirt path could be heard, a second set of headlights illuminating the, now rather well lit, warehouse confirmed the arrival of his mark.

Soon after, the sound of a single pair of feet walking towards the middle of the floor could be heard as clear as day.

"I take it, you have my money." This was a statement rather than a question, and it came from one of the first arrivals. The speaker's accent was a thick Russian assault, punctuating the severity of this meeting.

"Yes, yes I do." This one, the mark, French."And you have the package." Once more, a statement rather than a question.

"You don't doubt me, do you?" With that the silent observer peered round from behind his sanctuary. The three men in the room all looked as though they were not virgins when it came to this branch of shopping.

The mark stood a comfortable distance from his business partners. He was clad in the uniform of the Armée de Terre, excluding any discernible patches denoting regiment or rank. The mark was holding a steel briefcase that shone in the glow of the headlights.

The other two were more casually dressed. Both dressed in denim and leather. One, the one who didn't speak, was holding a briefcase of a similar fashion.

"Do you know something?" The French man asked

The onlooker was curious, He suspected that the reason these two conversed in English was due to the fact that there was no other common language for the two to share.

"I know a great many things, but I have the feeling you are going to tell me something I do not." the cold Russian tongue bringing an air of malice to the already cold encounter.

"It's always wise to come to these type of meetings with reinforcements." With that, he drew a Barretta 92FS, the standard French military sidearm, from his hip and fired. Two exclamations Perforating the silence of the night.

"I know you're here assassin. Flee whilst you can."

He debated taking his shot, but something distracted him. He felt the ground beneath his feet vibrate as if an earthquake had decided to rear it's head. Then, from nowhere, one of the walls was greeted by an AMX-10P. The newly created hole spawned a squad of eight, all clad in the same uniform.

"Get the packages, and kill the assassin."

That's when he decided to abort the mission.