After weaving at a steady clip through the people on the main concourse, Nick went left. Only a handful of people were still at the railing, enduring the windy cold air. They left, jamming hands into coat pockets, and lowering their heads in a hunching effort to stay warm as Nick passed them. Fog already hid Angel Island and Alcatraz from sight. Nick hurried to the wooden railing, following it along to where trash receptacles and benches stood near a railing corner. Nick walked to the corner, looked back at the lighted main concourse, and walkway to the right. Satisfied, he carefully deposited Tracy’s purse on end against the right side of the receptacle as he faced it. He immediately ran back the way he had come at full speed until reaching the concourse, avoiding anything that looked like a surveillance camera. Slowing to a brisk walk, Nick saw the three men approaching, having just walked out of the San Francisco City Wear store. He passed them, turning around after going by. Trailing the three, Nick listened with interest to their conversation in Arabic. The men assumed no one could understand either the language or the subject. A wry smile formed in self-satisfaction, finding out what caused Tracy to take an unexpected dip in the Pacific Ocean. Wait until Gus hears about this.
Nick shadowed the men, threading into groups of people near them. When they stopped for a moment, Nick walked casually within listening range, but out of their direct line of vision. They had been drinking. It showed in their body language, so he planned to exploit that particular handicap. When they moved over in front of the Poster Arts store, Nick broke away to check out the displays while they talked, gathering more entertaining information. When they made their move, Nick tagged along in the flow of people, although that stream was thinning measurably because of the weather. He moved over next to the buildings on his right as the trio came to the end of the concourse and turned left, following the discarded purse’s signal. Not wanting to lose out on any conversation, Nick moved in behind them without their heeding his presence in any way. They were focused on Nick’s planting of the purse. Nick withdrew the twenty-five million volt stun baton he always carried inside his jacket. The moment one of the men began searching the trash receptacle, Nick moved in, planting the one nearest him in a heap over the concrete bench, and the other one at his feet. The stocky one by the trash realized in fearful acceptance what was happening. He reached inside his coat, but Nick stunned him unconscious into the railing’s corner. Nick then gave each of his other victims an extended taste of high voltage attitude adjustment.
Nick then crouched next to them for a moment, watching for tourists wandering down to see the ocean, but with the fog becoming an ever increasing factor, no walkway visitors appeared. When he was certain he wouldn’t be joined by witnesses to his plan, Nick placed the first two men on the concrete bench, leaning against each other. He frisked them, taking their wallets before moving to the one sprawled in the railing corner. Nick gave him another dose of high voltage juice before relieving him of his wallet.
Nick took out his regular cell-phone, and took pictures of each one with clear facial concentration. He then took the 9mm silenced Glock out of Nabih Zainy’s holster he had been reaching for, and placed it in his right hand. “Good choice, pal.”
Nick then searched the other two. The taller one also carried a silenced Glock. Nick grinned. Well, all right. Checking his other seated victim, Nick found only a silver handled Italian Stilletto knife. “I like this, partner. You won’t be needing it. You’re going to be the only innocent victim.”
Nick took off his glove momentarily, and pocketed the knife. He then moved to Zainy at the railing, taking aim with Zainy’s Glock at Abbar. “How dare you come unarmed to a gunfight, you dirty rat.” Nick then fired two silenced shots into Abbar’s head.
Abbar fell over backwards off the concrete bench. Nick moved to Canaan, placing his Glock in hand, firing first a round into Zainy’s shoulder. “You nicked him, but you must do better partner.” Nick fired another round with Canaan’s finger into Zainy’s heart.
After propping Canaan with some difficulty, Nick hurried over to Zainy. “Did you see what that bastard did to you? We’ll show him, pal.” Nick helped Zainy fire two rounds into Canaan’s head. The body jerked upright momentarily, and then collapsed sideways onto the bench. “Nice shootin’, Skippy.”
Nick backed away, surveyed the scene, and for a split second felt sorry for the San Francisco police department making sense out of his deadly theater. Nick waited patiently as the bodies convulsed through their death throes. When he was certain the three men were dead, Nick retrieved Tracy’s purse, and exited the scene along the walkway away from the concourse. Nothing could be done to insure the right people discovered the scene, but he didn’t want to be seen anywhere near it by accident. When he could, Nick moved over to the main concourse through the Wines of California.
Inside the Wines of California, he opened Tracy’s purse once again and extracted the encased hacking chip. When he went through her purse the first time, Nick glossed over the small odd shaped casing. He extracted the tiny memory chip from the case and pocketed it. He bought a rare and expensive bottle of wine he recognized, a Berringer private reserve. Out on the concourse once again, he moved quickly to the Embarcadero, where he got into a cab destined for Lew’s Fish Shack. Nick let the bugged chip case fall to the street after wiping it clean. He then stripped all the credit cards, pictures, and money out of the wallet, placing them in his right coat pocket. Tracy’s purse he stuffed into the zipped inner lining of his coat. With his cell-phone and mini flashlight, Nick took pictures of all the credit cards, along with the driver’s license.