The man stood out among the District 12 residents. He was wearing a tailored suit, which was unheard of even for the mayor. Eyes turned as he walked towards the guards in front of the Victor's Village.
But after a minute, people didn't seem to bother. Work was work, and a man in expensive clothes wouldn't distract them from it.
But all heads swung around at the sound of shots and cries of dying men.
Vladimir Makarov was a man you wouldn't want to displease. He looked contemplatively at the man on his knees, begging at his feet.
"Please, Makarov! Don't kill me! I won't disappoint you again."
A silenced gunshot rang out in the room. The man slumped down and fell to the floor. With his gloved hand, he bent down and picked up the bullet casing.
Makarov always knew how to keep the government agencies off his back. In all his operations, he would use untraceable bullets. Of course, there were times, such as the Zakhaev Airport massacre when the situation didn't require it.
He walked out into the frosty night air of Moscow in the winter. There was a van waiting for him outside with its doors open. He climbed into the back as it drove away into the frigid night.