The Project 02 - The Lance

encrypted message, the "update" his caller had mentioned.
    Carter was going to meet with an Armenian merchant in the Old City. The instructions were clear. Eliminate the Armenian and the possibility of that meeting ever happening. A picture of Carter, his contact and the address where the meeting was to take place were provided.
    Perfect. The Visitor was efficient. When Carter came to meet the Armenian, opportunity might present itself to take care of two problems at the same time.
    He thought about the day ahead. He went over the assignment in his mind's eye, a professional working through his game plan, visualizing the steps, the terrain, possible complications or obstacles.
    The Visitor shut down his laptop. He took out the silenced Ruger .22 he preferred for his work. Quiet, effective, with little chance of rounds penetrating places they shouldn't go, it was his favorite weapon. He got a kit and laid everything out in a precise row and began cleaning the gun. The smell of solvent and gun oil and the sheen of the deep bluing on the metal provided a peaceful, ordered sense of purpose, an existential meditation focused on the instrument of death in his hands.
    The Visitor thought of his home in Germany , in the mountains of Bavaria. It was so different from the barren, desert land of this Jew nation. Green trees and black earth, snow capped peaks rising like gods to the pure, blue skies. The smell of pine and the glory of alpine flowers blooming in the high country in the spring. Warm summer days. Fair women with rosy cheeks and wide hips.
    But his beloved Bavaria was corrupted, diseased.
    P oisoned by Jews and foreigners, mongrel races swarming like cockroaches over his beloved Fatherland, Germany's patrimony traded for a mess of porridge by spineless politicians catering to the Zionist Americans and their ilk.
    It wasn 't too late to reverse the damage. Soon, the Jews would be brought down. A long delayed completion of the final solution was coming to this nation of sub-humans called Israel.
    The Visitor hummed to himself as he wiped excess oil off the pistol.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

    At the German research station on the Princess Martha Coast in Antarctica, spring was in full swing. For the last four weeks the thermometer had soared above freezing. Global warming and the hole in the ozone layer were hot topics of conversation in the dining hall.
    The thinning ozone layer was Hans Schmidt 's field of expertise. Thirty years old, he was a rising star in the expanding science of environmental studies. Hans had an engaging, open face, hazel eyes and fair hair. He'd let his beard grow over the last few months, the reddish color hinting at his Viking ancestry. In a month he was going back to Germany to marry his childhood sweetheart, Heidi. Life was good for Hans.
    He'd dressed in high brown laced boots, sturdy pants over insulated underwear, two shirts and an open red jacket. He wore a fur lined hat with flap ears tied up on top. Antarctic weather could change to fury in an instant, even in the warmer months.
    He'd checked out a Sno-Cat and persuaded Otto Bremen, the head of the station and the chief geophysicist, to go inland with him to the mountains of the Fenriskjeften , the "Jaw of Fenris," named for the giant, ravenous wolf of Norse myth. It was still largely unexplored territory.
    Bremen was older, in his early fifties. He was stocky, shorter than Hans. His face was round and jolly, which made him a favorite for playing Kris Kringle at Christmas time. He had tufted eyebrows turning white over blue eyes and silver-rimmed bifocals set slightly askew on his large ears. He wore an insulated yellow parka with a German flag stitched on the shoulder and sturdy boots and pants.
    They pulled out of the garage cavern hollowed from the ice beneath the station and headed toward the mountains. The heater in the high cab of the Tucker Sno-Cat was on low in the fine weather. Hans cracked a window for fresh air. The Tucker was one of three identical vehicles donated to the station by Eric Reinhardt, a wealthy American businessman of German descent.
    The big Allison diesel engine rumbled in a contented drone. They headed over the snow and ice toward the mountains an hour away. With two 60 gallon tanks, a closed cab and plenty of storage, the Tucker was like a Rolls Royce in this part of the world.
    Bremen tinkered with another Reinhardt gift, an experimental device using ultra sound technology to detect mineral deposits. The Fenris