The Last Assassin

entrance to the hotel, seven stories of taupe-painted plaster and balconied windows overlooking Barcelona and the Mediterranean beyond, a bellhop opened the door and welcomed me. I paid the driver, looked around, and got out. I had no particular reason to think Delilah or her people wanted me dead — if I had, I never would have agreed to meet her here — but still, I stood for a moment as the cab drove away, checking likely ambush positions. There weren't many. Exclusive properties like La Florida aren't welcoming to people who seem to be waiting around without a good reason. The hotels assume the lurker is a paparazzo waiting to shoot a celebrity with a camera, not a killer possessed of rather more lethal means and intent, but the result is the same: inhospitable terrain, which today would work in my favor.
    The bellhop stood by, holding my bag with quiet professionalism. The grounds were impressive, and he must have been accustomed to guests pausing to enjoy the moment of their arrival. When I was satisfied, I nodded and followed him inside.
    The lobby was bright yet intimate, all limestone and walnut and glass. There was only one small sitting area, currently unoccupied. It seemed I had no company. My alertness stayed high, but the tension I felt dropped a notch.
    A pretty woman in a chic business suit came over with a glass of sparkling water and inquired after my journey. I told her it had been fine.
    'And your name, sir?' she asked, in lightly Catalan-accented English.
    'Ken,' I replied, giving her the name I had told Delilah I would be traveling under. 'John Ken.'
    'Of course, Mr Ken, we've been expecting you. Your other party has already checked in.' She nodded to a young man behind the counter, who came around and handed her a key. 'We have you in room three-oh-nine — my favorite in the hotel, if I may say so, because of the views. I think you'll enjoy it.'
    'I'm sure I will.'
    'May I have someone assist with your bag?'
    'That's all right. I'd like to wander around a little before going to the room. See a bit of the hotel. It's beautiful.'
    'Thank you, sir. Please let us know if there's anything else you need.'
    I nodded my thanks and moved off. For a little while, I 'wandered' around the first floor, checking everything — eclectic gift shop, low-key bar, comfortable lounge, spacious stairwells, abundant elevators — and found nothing out of place.
    I took the stairs to the third floor, paused outside 309, and listened for a moment. The room within was quiet. I placed my bag and empty glass on the ground, took off my jacket, crouched, and loudly slipped the key into the lock. Nothing. I held the jacket in front of the door and opened it a crack. Still nothing. If there was a shooter in there, he was disciplined. I shot my head over and back. I saw only a short hallway and part of a room beyond. I detected no movement.
    I stood up, eased the Benchmade from my front pocket, and silently thumbed it open. 'Hello?' I called out, stepping inside.
    No answer. No sound. I let the door close. It clicked audibly behind me.
    'Hello?' I called out again.
    Nothing.
    'That's weird… must be the wrong room,' I muttered, loudly enough to be heard. I opened the door and let it close. To anyone hiding inside, it would sound as though I had left.
    Still nothing.
    I padded down the hallway, toe-heel, pausing after each step to listen. My newly purchased soft-soled Camper shoes were silent on the polished wood floor.
    At the end of the hallway, I could see the entire room but for the bathroom. The closet door was open. Probably that was Delilah, knowing I would approach tactically and wanting to make it easier for me, but I wasn't sure yet.
    There was a note on the bed, conspicuous in the middle of the flawless white quilt. I ignored it. If this had been my setup, I would have put the note on the bed and then nailed the target from the balcony or bathroom while he went to read it.
    The glass doors to the balcony were closed, the curtains open, and I could see no one was out there. Probably Delilah again, lowering my blood pressure.
    All that remained was the bathroom, and I started to relax a little. The worst part about clearing a room, especially if you have only a knife and the other guy might have a gun, is traversing the 'fatal funnel,' where the enemy has the dominant position and a clear field of fire. In this case, narrowing down the ambush points to just the bathroom reduced my vulnerability considerably.
    I