On the dimly lit second-floor terrace of a hotel, a tall man in a suit took a cigarette from his pocket. He leaned against the railing in a relaxed pose, but gripped the cigarette tightly. Then he tilted his head slightly and looked toward the hotel's side windows, where lights flickered.
The scene behind one of those windows caught his attention. He finished the cigarette in his hand, but instead of tossing the butt to the ground, he dug his fingernail into the middle of it, tore open the unburned portion, and lit it with a lighter.
Only when the flame was about to reach his fingertips did he toss the smoldering cigarette butt to the ground and grind it with his toe, making sure no fingerprints would remain.
He walked steadily into the hotel, greeted the approaching attendant, entered the elevator, and adjusted his suit.
With a ding, the elevator doors opened. He stepped out, his shoes making dull sounds against the carpeted guest floor. He crossed the somewhat dim hotel corridor and arrived at the door to Room 3103.
Knock, knock, knock. He rapped on the door several times, but there was no response from inside. The man took a note from his suit pocket and slipped it beneath the door. After a while, the lock clicked softly. He entered and saw an elderly man with a somewhat stern expression.
"You're the contact Doctor sent?" The old man looked him over and said, "You look like the kind of person Pierce's men would find... Come in."
He turned and started toward the room, but after only two steps, he felt something pressed against his back. The old man, who had spent half his life making waves in the world of espionage, immediately realized it was a silenced pistol.