It was 8 hours before the meeting between operations and the secret service. The smoking man had the information back from records and had identified three potential targets. He proceeded to call the Inspector. The Inspector was in his office, preparing for the meeting in the morning.

‘What do you have?’ - The Inspector asked.

‘Three potential targets guv - all three have previous and one of them worked for us before on a bust at the docks.’

‘Very promising - tell me more.’

‘Name is Colin Pinder - worked at Victory docks as a longshoreman for 12 years. Cycles to work. War veteran - winning side. Served with the militia - no major battles or commendations. Previous arrests for D&D and one for public disorder. Worked with operations, and provided information regarding a shipment of ammonium nitrate that was unregistered with the port. No link to the Unit was established, but it is definitely in the state security mandate.’

‘Good. Anything else?’

‘Lives in a tenement over by the old stadium. Single room, pays monthly - no children, and no record of a spouse.’

‘Very good comrade.’

‘What’s the next step, guv?’

‘How did Parker get on at the flophouse?’

‘No drama guv. He turned up and asked for Tony, his old mate. Seems like waste management did a good job, no one seemed to know him.’

‘Very good comrade’ - the Inspector leaned back in his chair and composed his thoughts - ‘Next steps comrade, you and Parker head over to the target's shithole and stake the place out. When he leaves for the nightshift - which should be at about 11:15’ish if he is cycling - gain entry to the flat and confirm the target’s living arrangements. Plain clothes tonight comrade; no badges and no forensics.’

‘Yes guv.’

‘Call me once you have confirmation that the target is living alone..’

‘Yes guv.’

The Inspector hung up. The smoking man found Parker, and they went to the locker room to change.

The car was parked about 50 meters up the road from the target’s tenement. The smoking man was smoking. Parker was looking down the street - it was 11:05 PM.

It was quiet. Dim yellow light from the occasional streetlamp illuminated the road. The giant, crumbling remains of the stadium stood opposite the target’s building.

They used to play sporting events in the stadium - thousands of fans would come from all over the city and country to cheer their team. There were drinks - beer and soda - and hotdogs and popcorn. Families would go, wearing scarfs in their team’s colors, all out to enjoy a day or night. Concerts as well - thousands of people listening to music played by famous musicians and bands. They paid expert grass growers to cut the grass in elaborate patterns - and paint white lines on the grass. Some of the richest men in the world would buy these stadiums and the teams that played in them. The men had so much money, they could buy anything they wanted. But buying a sports team was difficult and expensive - so the rich men bought the sports teams to show the world just how rich they were. These rich men paid fortunes to other men to play sports, and would collect expensive players the same way an art collector might collect paintings. They did all of this to try and win a trophy. The trophy itself wasn't worth much at all. But if they won this trophy, it would symbolize to all the other rich men that they were the most successful rich man in the world.

11:13 PM

‘We might have movement’ - Parker said.

The smoking man looked down the road - not moving his head. A man in overalls was wheeling a bike from the side of the tenement building. The man fiddled with the back of the bike and a dim red light came on. A fiddle at the front and a bright white light came on. The man seated himself on the bike and peddled off, away from the smoking man and Parker.

‘Let’s give it 10 minutes’ - said the smoking man.

11:25 PM

The smoking man threw his cigarette out of the car window and then got out of the car. Parker climbed out the driver's side. They both looked up and down the street. Still quiet. Both men walked away from the car and towards the target’s tenement.

They approached the front door which had a sign on it that stated ‘NO OVERNIGHT GUESTS’. The smoking man and Parker put on black latex gloves. The smoking man tried the handle to the front door, and it creaked open. The hallway inside was dark.

‘2C’ - the smoking man said to Parker.

They moved inside the hallway making no noise, waiting for their eyes to adjust to the darkness. Once their night vision developed, they moved towards the staircase and climbed it to the first floor. The building was silent. Moving along the first floor landing they turned the corner to the stairs to the second floor. They began to climb the stairs to the second floor when a door further down the hall opened - filling the landing with a gloomy yellow light.

The smoking man and Parker crouched down - their hands going for their sidearms. They paused - hands on weapons, waiting to see whether there would be any drama.

‘Alright love - see you in the morning’ - a man in overalls was coming out of a unit. The door was further down the hall, towards the top of the stairs going down to the ground floor. The man closed the door, and the dim yellow light was drawn back behind the closing door - and then it was dark again. The man then walked down the stairs to the ground floor. The smoking man and Parker heard the front door creak open, and then closed.

They waited a while - crouching on the stairs. Then they continued up to the second floor. On the second floor was a shard of yellow light coming through the window at the end of the hall, facing the decaying stadium.

‘2C’ - whispered the smoking man, outside of a unit.

Parker tried the door handle. It was locked. He looked at the lock - ‘Mortice, old, no drama.’

The smoking man stood facing the top of the stairs, and moved his head up and down the hallway. Parker pulled a lock pick from inside his jacket and worked on the lock. There was silence for a few seconds, followed by a soft click.

Parker returned the lock pick to the inside of his jacket. The smoking man turned and Parker tried the handle again. Click.

Parker pushed the door open - and the smoking man stepped inside, hand on his sidearm. Parker stepped in behind the smoking man, closing the door behind him.

They stood in silence - not moving a millimeter. It was dark in the unit. They were listening for breathing, snoring, or the faint movement of someone moving in a bed. Nothing. They waited longer.

Inside the entrance to the unit was a toilet, half bath tub, and a wash basin. Parker peered in; it was filthy and empty. The smoking man stepped forward. Parker drew his firearm and readied it. The room was 4 meters by 4 meters - and no one was home.

It was a filthy, glum room. The air in the unit smelled of mold, sweat, and stale cigarette smoke. Thick blackout curtains hung over the window - a favorite of night shift workers. The smoking man pulled a high brightness pen flashlight from his pocket. He shone it around the room. A bed - with filthy bed linen. An old wooden table and two chairs - one of the chairs piled with dirty clothes. A counter with an electric double hob - one small frying pan containing rancid animal fat sitting on the hob. An electric kettle. No fridge. Dirty plates and cups. Dirty laundry scattered on the floor. On the table was a bottle of Victory whiskey - two thirds drank and an ashtray overflowing with finished cigarettes. The smoking man took a cigarette from the ashtray and checked the brand - Double Happiness, Chinese - from the ships at the docks. On the counter were several empty bottles of whiskey. An overflowing garbage can. No photos or pictures on the drab walls. No books. No radio. No television.

‘Alright, we’re done here’ - said the smoking man - ‘Leave the door unlocked, let’s give the good news to the guvnor.’

It was 8 AM - and an hour after the meeting had ended between operations and the secret service.

The night shift had finished at the Victory docks. Colin Pinder had spent the night unloading mangoes from Pakistan. He had two in his pocket - yellow, sweet, and juicy. Colin Pinder wheeled his bike through the pedestrian exit from the docks and shouted to some comrades as he mounted his bike and headed up away from the docks toward Victory Road.

Colin Pinder was looking forward to getting home - eating the juicy mangoes and having a few downs of whiskey before sleeping. He cycled through the streets of Victorious in the morning sunlight. Colin Pinder could see the decaying stadium in the distance. He paid it no attention - giving it as much thought as the feral cats in Rome do the Colosseum.

It was 8:45 AM.

Colin Pinder dismounted his bike outside the tenement and wheeled the bike around the side of the building to the shed where he kept it. Colin Pinder walked up to the back entrance of the tenement and opened the creaking door - it slammed behind him. Colin Pinder walked up the dim hall to the stairs, and climbed up to the first floor. He walked along the landing and then turned and climbed up the stairs to the second floor.

Colin Pinder stopped outside 2C, and dug in his pocket for the key. He placed the key in the lock and turned it - click. He turned the handle and walked into his unit, turning and closing the door. He then placed the key back in the lock and locked it - click. The unit was dark - Colin Pinder turned and walked into the unit, pulling out the two yellow mangoes. Behind Colin Pinder, Parker had slipped out of the filthy bathroom and was following him into the unit.

Colin Pinder reached out and clicked on the overhead light. He looked up - and the smoking man was standing there.

‘Shhhhhhhh’ - the smoking man gestured, putting his finger to his lips.

Colin Pinder turned, and Parker was there with his firearm readied.

Both the smoking man and Parker were wearing black latex gloves and white paper hair nets. On their feet were yellow paper shoe covers.

Colin Pinder turned back to the smoking man.

‘Don’t worry about us comrade - we’re just here to ask you a few questions about your friend from the docks, Tony Wilkes’ - said the smoking man, smiling - ‘Have a seat comrade.’

Colin Pinder moved cautiously to the table and sat in a wooden chair.

‘Nothing to worry about Comrade Pinder - just routine questions. Have you seen Comrade Wilkes recently?’

‘I...no...I...I...haven’t seen him for a couple of days, comrade sir’ - Colin Pinder stammered.

Colin Pinder noticed that the room had been tidied somewhat. The dirty clothes piled on the other chair were folded in a neat pile on the floor. The floor had been cleared of the dirty clothes, and the ashtray had been emptied. Two clean whiskey glasses had been placed on the table, and the bed had been made. Sitting on the bed was a brown leather attache case.

‘Let’s have a drink comrade’ - said the smoking man.

Colin Pinder was surprised. ‘What..?’

‘A drink comrade, pour a couple of whiskeys.’

Colin Pinder did as he was instructed. He put the juicy mangoes down on the table and picked up the bottle of Victory whiskey and poured two glasses.

‘Drink comrade!’ - Ordered the smoking man, still smiling.

Colin Pinder took a sip of the whiskey.

‘And a cigarette - have a cigarette comrade.’

Colin Pinder pulled out a packet of Double Happiness cigarettes. He placed one in his mouth. He turned to look at Parker, who smiled at him.

‘Use these matches comrade’ - the smoking man said.

The smoking man took a clear evidence bag from his pocket, unsealed it and handed Colin Pinder the packet of matches.

Colin Pinder took a match from the packet, struck it, and lit the cigarette.

‘Good’ - said the smoking man.

The smoking man sat in the empty chair and pulled three other evidence bags from his pocket. The first evidence bag contained a clear plastic sheet. The smoking man removed the clear plastic strip from the bag and peeled away a protective layer.

Colin Pinder sat and watched the smoking man - glancing back to Parker who smiled again.

‘Are you expecting any visitors, comrade?’ - The smoking man asked, not looking up and concentrating on what he was doing.

‘No..I don’t think so’ - said Colin Pinder.

The smoking man placed the clear plastic strip against the second whiskey glass, and rubbed the surface with his thumb. He peeled away the clear plastic strip.

‘Good. Here, have a look at this.’

Parker came over and knelt down. He had a 10x loupe magnifier.

‘There are at least two good solid partials there - which will do the job’ - Parker said after studying the whiskey glass.

‘Excellent - that’s the hard bit done’ - the smoking man smiled at Colin Pinder.

The smoking man opened the next evidence bag, which contained a police evidence swab. The Smoking man broke the seal and pulled out the swab. He rubbed the swab along a small bit of the top of the whiskey glass.

‘Your cigarette, comrade’ - said the smoking man.

Colin Pinder was transfixed by the smoking man - and he had forgotten his cigarette. A long stalk of ash had grown, and he flicked the ash into the ashtray.

‘Thank you comrade sir’ - Said Colin Pinder.

Next the smoking man opened the last evidence bag. Inside was a smaller zip lock bag containing a cigarette butt and some ash. The smoking man emptied the contents of the zip lock bag into Colin Pinder’s ashtray.

The smoking man collected the evidence bags and swab and placed them in a larger black bag he pulled from his jacket pocket marked ‘BIOHAZARD’.

‘Is that all clear?’ - The smoking man asked Parker.

Parker looked around on the floor and behind the chair - ‘Clear.’

‘Alright - now that’s all that’s taken care of, I can tell you a story comrade’ - said the smoking man, smiling.

The smoking man stood up and handed the biohazard bag to Parker. He walked over to the bed, and clicked open the attache case. He opened the case, removing a black 9mm Glock 17 handgun with a silencer. The gun was contained within a clear plastic bag, which was closed with the plastic clamp.

The smoking man walked back to the table and sat down - placing the gun in the plastic bag on the table in front of him.

‘This gun is called “the thing we don’t talk about”, comrade. This gun has a long history - and many of the people I work with have looked high and low for this gun. You see comrade, this gun has been involved in 17 murders. 17 unsolved murders. The people killed with this gun have been party members. Party members who have sniffed around too much and who would - maybe - cause problems for the People’s Ministry of State Security and Policing, which we serve. We investigate the murders, run ballistic checks, and all roads lead back to this mysterious gun. We chalk it up to “political assassinations” by the Unit. Do you know about the Unit?’

Colin Pinder nodded nervously. He took a sip of his whiskey and lit another cigarette.

‘There are 17 open homicide investigations relating to this gun, comrade. This gun doesn’t get used very often - and only for very special occasions. This gun wouldn’t be out and about on a day like today - but today is a special day comrade.’

Colin Pinder smoked his cigarette - staring at the smoking man.

‘You see, my partner and I’ - Colin Pinder turned to Parker, and Parker smiled back - ‘we got into a bit of trouble a few nights ago. Our unit had been getting a little bit trigger happy in the pursuit of the People’s justice. The body count was piling up - and the minister got a bit angry about the whole situation. The minister of state security told the commander. The commander told the superintendent. The superintendent told the chief inspector. The chief inspector told the inspector, and the inspector told us - “no more killings of innocent proles” or some other bollocks. Well, there was an incident the other night and we were forced to create a cover story for why we shot an innocent prole - your mate Tony Wilkes - seven times. We created this cover story to get us out of trouble - you see when you get a warning all the way up from the minister, and you carry on without heeding that warning, you tend to end up at a place called the farm. Do you know what the farm is? - Colin Pinder shook his head - ‘The farm is a place where they send people who they want to disappear, but that is another story I don’t have time for today. Now this cover story seems to have grown a life of its own. That’s not a problem - for us, we don’t care if we are on a wild goose chase or the real thing. Avoiding the farm is the important thing, and we get paid the same whether we’re doing real police work or not. But this thing that has grown a life of it’s own - has a single, solitary loose end. And this is where you come in, comrade.’

‘I don’t understand - what do you want me to do?’ - Colin Pinder asked, glancing from the smoking man to Parker, and back again.

The smoking man stood up and picked the gun up inside the plastic bag. He pointed the gun at Colin Pinder’s head, and shot him through the forehead.

‘Just the one?’ - Parker said.

‘I think one will be enough comrade, pretty sure he won’t recover from that’ - said the smoking man.

The back of Colin Pinder’s head had exploded against the wall behind him.

The smoking man walked back to the bed, and placed the gun back in the attache case and clipped it shut. The smoking man picked up the attache case.

‘Are we clear?’ - He asked.

‘Yes, all clear’ - said Parker.

Parker and the smoking man moved towards the door. They removed the hair nets and shoe covers and placed them in the biohazard bag. Parker unlocked the door, and opened it a crack - peering down the landing towards the stairs.

‘Clear?’ - Said the smoking man.

‘Clear’ - Parker replied.

The smoking man and Parker slipped out of unit 2C and moved down the stairs to the first floor. They paused as they approached the first floor landing, peering towards the stairs down to the ground floor.

‘Clear’ - said Parker.

They hurried down the stairs and out the front door, and across and up the street to their car.

They placed the attache case in the back seat, and then got in the car. Parker got into the driver’s seat and turned on the ignition.. The smoking man pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

‘Let’s go - stop at the first public phone box you see.’

Parker drove off, and looped around the back of the decaying stadium. They headed back into the city. After driving for about ten minutes, they stopped at a public phone box.

The smoking man got out and walked to the phone. He placed a half-a-shilling in the phone and dialed a number.

‘It’s done...no...no drama...yes guv...heading there now.’

The smoking man hung up the phone and walked back to the car - ‘The docks.’

Parker drove the car off and they headed onto the city towards the Victory Docks.

The smoking man walked into the docks office and up to the receptionist. Parker stayed in the car.

“Is he in?’

‘Yes...yes...would you like me to call him for you comrade sir…?’

‘Come with me.’

The smoking man hurried up the stairs and walked to the manager's office. The receptionist walked behind, trying to keep up. The smoking man opened the door to the manager's office without knocking. The manager was on the phone.

‘Erm...I’m going to have to call you back comrade…’ - the manager said, hanging up the phone.’

‘Wait here’ - the smoking man said to the receptionist, closing the office door.

‘So good to see you again comrade sir’ - said the manager.

The smoking man pulled out his gun, grabbed the manager by his tie and slammed him against the bank of filing cabinets. He cocked the sidearm and placed the barrel against the manager's forehead.

‘Is there something wrong with your memory, comrade?’

‘I...I...I...I’m...sorry...I’m….sorry...comrade....sir…’

“When was the last time you saw me?’

‘Ne...ne...never...comrade...sir…’

‘When was the first time you ever saw me?’

‘Now sir, comrade sir. Now!’

‘Did I come to this office yesterday and collect any files?’

‘No, comrade sir - no you did not sir.’

‘I came to your office today, comrade - right now, and collected 12 personnel files from you - is this right?’

‘Yes....yes comrade sir...right now...yes’

‘Did any policemen come here yesterday?’

‘No sir...comrade sir...none.’

‘Did any policemen speak to the night shift supervisor on the phone yesterday?’

‘No comrade sir…’

The smoking man lowered his sidearm and released the manager from his grip. The manager didn’t move.

‘Know this comrade - if we ever meet again it will be the last day of your life, and the last day of your life will be a day you beg for death’ - the smoking man holstered his sidearm - ‘Get out and send her in.’

The manager slowly moved towards the door - arms still raised in submission. He opened the door and moved out of the office. He nodded at the receptionist and signaled with his head for her to come into the office.

The receptionist entered the office.

‘Close the door’ - the smoking man said, lighting a cigarette - ‘Sit.’

The receptionist sat down in one of the chairs facing the desk.

‘Have you ever seen me before?’

‘No comrade sir’ - the receptionist replied, never taking her eyes off the floor.

‘When was the first time you saw me?’

‘Today, comrade sir - just now.’

‘Was I here yesterday?’

‘No comrade sir.’

‘Look at me’ - the smoking man sat on the desk - ‘do you know what we do with pretty young girls like you?’

‘No comrade sir.’

‘We have dogs, comrade. Special dogs that have been trained to do things. These special dogs are trained to do things to pretty young girls like you. Would you like that comrade?’

The receptionist cried silently..

‘I might come for you, comrade. And if I come for you it will last for months, and months, and months. And when you are broken, and you think it cannot get any worse - it will get worse, and then worse again.’

The smoking man dropped his cigarette on the floor.

‘Hope I do not come for you, comrade.’

The smoking man stood, walked across the office and opened the door. He walked down the hall, down the stairs and out to the parked car.

‘Back to the ministry’ - he said with a sigh.