Going Ashore

"Don't be nervous." Number One patted his shoulder. "He was standing too far away, so you couldn't tell where his gaze was focused. There's no way he could have spotted you."

The boat moved through the night. Number Five went up onto the deck and watched the massive coast guard vessel recede into the distance, brightly lit as it vanished into the sea mist like some monstrous beast.

The waves rose again that night. Number Five did not sleep at all, and just as dawn began to break, the boat reached shore.

It was a desolate dock, practically wilderness, with only a parking lot in the distance. The five assassins crossed the lot and were just about to reach the road when gunfire erupted.

The shots came from across the road. There were all kinds of calibers—rifles and pistols alike—and even tracer rounds. A small brick building stood nearby, like a public toilet. The five assassins had no choice but to take cover inside and draw their guns to return fire.

The firefight lasted over three minutes. Golden shell casings littered the room. Number Five felt as though the gun in his hand was scorching hot. No one inside had been hit, and he had no idea whether anyone on the other side had been hit either. It was too dark; they were firing blind.

"I'll cover you. Get out of here, now," Number Two said. "They should be cops. If we don't leave, we'll be surrounded."

"What about you?" Number Five asked. "You won't be able to get away."

"It's my fault. The coast guard must have seen my eyes and tipped off the people on shore," Number Two said.

The roar of an engine suddenly rose, and a black Toyota came shooting out of nowhere before slamming to