Twenty minutes later, Hunter had quietly cleared every guard and every chained attack dog within the area he could observe.
He stowed the AR15 and switched back to two suppressed handguns.
Then he climbed down from the water tower and headed straight for the villa at the center of the desert estate.
With the outer security already wiped out, he encountered no further resistance on the way in.
Soon, he reached the villa.
The windows and doors were shut tight, but after circling the building once, he found one window that had not been fully secured.
He slid it open, climbed through, and landed inside.
The room was small, with only a bed, a wardrobe, and a shoe cabinet.
On the bed, he noticed a figure lying there.
Moving closer, he saw it was a middle-aged woman.
Hunter stepped to the bedside with his pistol ready, switched on the light, and pinched hard beneath her nose.
The woman woke with a jolt.
Still groggy from sleep, she caught sight of a man in a hood, holding a suppressed pistol, and immediately tried to scream.
"Do not make a sound if you want to live."
Hunter was already prepared. He clamped a hand over her mouth.
"I ask. You answer. Lie to me, and you die."
Seeing the gun pointed at her head, the woman nodded frantically, tears already running down her face.
Hunter asked, "I came here for money. I heard the owner of this place has a diamond necklace worth hundreds of millions."
"Where is it kept?"
The woman shook her head at once.
Hunter pressed the suppressor against her forehead and eased up on the grip covering her mouth.
"I... I do not know... I am only a maid... I do not know..."
Hunter gave a cold snort and asked again, "Then which room does the owner stay in?"
The metal suppressor was still touching her head, and the freezing pressure made fresh tears spill down her face.
"Second floor," she blurted. "West side. The room marked Captain's Quarters."
"Mr. Bank and his wife sleep there."
Hunter studied her eyes and expression carefully. Satisfied she was not lying, he suddenly chopped her neck with the edge of his hand.
After knocking her out, he killed the light and slipped out of the room.
He found the stairs instead of the elevator.
He was not taking the lift. It could be locked down remotely, and if it were, even Hunter would have a hard time forcing his way out quickly.
He searched for the stairwell and went up to the second floor on foot, wary of being discovered.
Outside, in the estate grounds, the situation was already falling apart.
Seven or eight night patrol guards had been quietly dropped by Hunter. None of them had gotten back up.
The security team hired to protect Willy Bank's estate soon noticed something was wrong.
Several men left the guard posts and started searching the grounds.
They found the bodies of their teammates. Every corpse had been pierced by bullets or bolts, each kill clean and immediate.
At once, the guards realized the estate had been breached. A professional assassin had likely slipped inside.
Not long after Hunter entered the second floor of the villa, a piercing alarm finally tore through the estate.
"Shit."
Hunter's hearing was sharp enough that even through the villa's insulation, he caught the alarm outside.
He immediately quickened his pace.
He jogged past room after room, and before long he found the target's room.
At nearly the same time, a door a dozen meters away on the second floor suddenly swung open.
Four half-dressed figures, all armed, burst out.
The instant the five of them saw each other, Hunter reacted without hesitation.
He had one suppressed pistol in each hand.
He snapped both guns toward two of the men and fired.
Pop. Pop.
Muted shots.
Two men staggered as two red holes bloomed in their chests. They collapsed on the spot.
Their companions reacted fast, ducking back into the room while firing toward the hallway.
Bang.
Bang.
Pop.
Pop.
Hunter hugged the wall and returned fire.
His other hand moved behind his back. The suppressed pistol disappeared into his private space and was replaced by a grenade.
He brought it to his mouth, bit off the pin, and after counting a few seconds, threw it toward the room where the two men had retreated.
Bang.
The blast ripped through the doorway and cut the gunfire off instantly.
Hunter did not waste time checking whether they were dead.
He kicked the door open and flashed inside.
Inside what appeared to be Willy Bank's bedroom, a soft orange nightlight glowed without being too harsh.
In the corner, under the glow, Hunter saw it.
A diamond necklace, studded with multiple enormous gemstones, was displayed on a rubber mannequin torso at a vanity table.
It was the kind of treasure that could make every woman on earth lose her mind.
Hunter allowed himself a brief note of approval, but he knew time was short.
He strode to the bedside and found a white man in his sixties lying there, along with a sexy woman who looked no older than thirty.
Because the room was so heavily insulated, neither of them had heard the gunfire or explosion outside. Both were still asleep, blindfolds on.
"Sorry."
Hunter offered Willy Bank a completely insincere apology.
After crossing over into this world, he had developed very little in the way of conventional morality.
If he had, he would not have become a professional killer and enjoyed it.
He lifted the blindfold and confirmed the man was indeed Willy Bank.
Then he grabbed one of the pillows and pressed it over the casino mogul's head.
He fired three shots in rapid succession.
Once blood started to spread, Hunter trusted his aim and moved at once to the vanity table.
He took the diamond necklace, worth two hundred and fifty million dollars, along with two other boxes packed with jewelry, rings, and other valuables, and stored them all in his private space.
He opened the window, glanced outside, and confirmed no one was waiting below.
Then he climbed out, dropped from the villa, and sprinted straight for the perimeter wall.
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