For the past month, Cameron had been studying Benjamin Cole. An entrepreneur who had exploded out of nowhere to start taking control of some the most exciting new tech companies to come out of Silicon Valley. He was tall, striking, wore immaculate clothes and had this smile that let everyone in on the joke. He was also Cameron's final exam.
The Pacific Educational School for Challenged Youth (PESCY) had been Cameron's home for the past seven years, ever since his militant father caught him with a crack pipe at age ten. Unbeknownst to that father, the school taught more than discipline and the three R's. They called them the five S's: Espionage, Stealth, Sniping, Shootfighting, and Escape. For those seven years, he had had minimal contact with his family and had concentrated on earning top marks at PESCY. All that stood between him and finishing at the top of his class was fulfilling this contract on Benjamin Cole. For a certain level of society, hiring PESCY for a job like this was similar to taking your kids to the barber college for their hair cuts: the job would get done, but it wasn't always as neat as you wanted. Cameron had been hoping to exceed those expectations.
Then had come the dossier. Cole was too perfect. Cole had grown up with an abusive father, too. Cole had led a second life as a mob accountant, similar to Cameron's PESCY world. Cole had broken out of that life and made something of himself. He liked to ride bikes competitively. He did not drink alcohol, but preferred the same brand of fruit smoothy that Cameron liked. And he just looked so good; each of the hastily snapped pictures seemed to stare into Cameron's soul.
As Cameron started to stalk Cole, to learn more about his habits and his life, Cameron began to admire the man more and more. He started to change small things in his own life: started buying the same brand of razor, to style his hair the same way (though his blonde hair did not hold the part quite as well as Cole's brown hair did). Cameron had been isolated from real humans for seven years, people with warmth and humor. It should not have surprised anyone that he became attached to the first one he encountered.
Cole finished talking to some business associate and stepped into his car, an understated Audi convertible. The car spoke of wealth, but did not shove it down everyone else's throat, just like the man himself. In Cameron's eyes, he was perfect. So maybe he had used someone's money and was a little late in paying it back, Cole was making better use of it than whatever underworld sleazebag had hired PESCY to take him out.
Cameron bowed his head and sighed. Now he would have to tail Mister Cole to his house and see if there was something that he could do there. Either to complete the contract or something else. In his dreams, they were talking, laughing in front of a fireplace, getting to know each other. Maybe Cameron was cooking Cole a meal. It is surprising how much knife work and cooking have in common.
Then the car blew up.
Cameron jammed his eye back against the rifle scope and started scanning the crowd. It took him a second, but he found the trigger man: Mister Kowploski, his math and bomb-making teacher. Mister K stared right at Cameron through the scope and shook his head. Then the man you had just blown up the potential love of Cameron's life walked on down the street, away from the burning car, with his hands in his pocket.
Cameron did not bother counting to five before pulling the trigger.
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