I started my trek through the swamps at midnight, going slow. Broadwell knew that the southern edge of his warehouses were undefended, so in addition to normal airport security, he had his own security patrols that went around all of his warehouses. Still, I had good training, and slipped out of the water at just after three in the morning. The narrow blacktop road was quiet, and I ditched the heavy waders and outer heavy waterproof jacket for what I carried in my backpack, a pair of wrestling shoes that gave me both grip and flexibility.
I got into Broadwell's office through a window in the back of the building, picking the lock. Slipping inside just fifteen seconds before a searchlight from a security patrol bathed the back of the building, I took a moment to calm my nerves and slow my breathing. While I doubted that he had any men inside the building, I couldn't be sure.
Broadwell's office was cluttered, the man hated using computers. He had an overwhelming paranoia of storing anything on computers, even those that weren't networked, convinced that someone could hack into them at any time. I may have played a part in that, actually, considering some of the things I'd told him during the times I had done contracts for him. It was ironic, then, that I was going to use a network connection in order to kill the man.
Looking over his desk, it took me a few minutes to find Broadwell's day planner. I looked up that day's schedule, and saw that he had a lunch appointment at one in the afternoon. The morning however was clear, and I knew he would be in his office, overseeing his men loading and unloading his illicit packages. I had noticed the crates already in the warehouse, and wondered how many contained cocaine, heroin, or meth, and how many contained other materials. Thankfully he didn't have any human cargo in at the time. With Petrokias' death, those shipments were at least temporarily suspended.
I got down on my knees and slipped my package underneath his antique desk, which filled half the damn office it was so large. I had once joked to Broadwell that he could keep a midget under his desk and not find him for a week, to which he had replied to me, "Snowman, I've found that after a hard day at work, nothing beats getting a blowjob while I fill out my paperwork. With this desk, I can do both very easily."
Like I said, my former associates were not good people. In any case, I put the shaped charges in the lower corners of the desk, angled in such a manner that when they went off, they would scatter a rain of shrapnel into Broadwell's legs and lower torso, kind of like a miniature Claymore mine.
The final touch was the trigger. In my old life, it would have been far too easy to just put in a simple timer, one that would go off at about ten thirty. But I wanted to make sure, and I also wanted to make sure that Broadwell was the person taken out. My message wouldn't be anywhere near as effective if my bomb killed a secretary who just happened to be using the boss's desk to answer the phone when it went off. So, I connected the trigger to a WiFi capable video camera. Piggybacking off the signal that the airport used, I could monitor it from anywhere I wanted, and with just a click of a mouse, trigger the bomb to go off.
I checked the connection on a prepaid smartphone and made my way out. The exit was more difficult than getting in, because I couldn't go through the marshes again. With daylight coming in soon I instead made my way building to building, over two miles to a FedEx processing center. At seven, the shifts changed, and I walked out the front gate towards the employee parking lot, flashing a fake ID badge to the security guard as I went.
Two rows from the back of the lot, Tabby was waiting for me behind the wheel of a used Ford that was another one of my small fleet. She was wearing a baggy sweatshirt and track pants, and looked like a normal working class girl. "Wow, you've got camouflage skills," I said, plopping down into the passenger seat. "No offense, but you look like a regular girl."
Tabby laughed and rubbed her head. "None taken, it was what I was going for. Besides, if you're saying that, you also mean you think I look pretty when I'm doing my normal thing. So everything is set?"
"Yeah, we're good. We need to check the feed in about three hours. According to his schedule he'll be there by himself."
Tabby made a right turn and headed away from the airport. "And if someone else is there?"
"It shouldn't affect anyone on the other side of the desk, but we can take our time," I said. "We just trigger it when he's in there by himself for the added margin of safety. I'll tell you a rule that one of my teachers had told me. Indiscriminate killing only works to paralyze your enemy in the short term. Targeted eliminations though, they create long term effects."
Tabby thought about it, and nodded in understanding. "I learned something similar in business. If you just throw more money across the whole company that you need to turn around, all you end up doing is strengthening the things you want to get rid of along with the things you want to keep. So you end up with just a more expensive crippled company. But if you can target your changes, you can create a long term effect that reforms the company."