47- Peanut Allergy Kill

  Thorakis studied the table carefully. Though frequently given to excess where food was concerned, he had a severe allergy, and was therefore particular about what he ate. That was why a personal chef prepared most of the Greek’s meals when he was home, accompanied the shipping magnate wherever he went, and stood guard in the kitchen when Thorakis ate in restaurants. Having noted that the sleek-looking chef was there, standing a discreet distance away, the businessman knew the food would be safe as he took the chair opposite Douay.
...

  “Thank you,” the man said matter-of-factly. “Please remove all of your weapons and place them on the table. Once that process is complete, I’m going to search you. Or you can leave the property, if you prefer. The choice is up to you.”

  “I have no objection to being searched,” 47 said, as he placed each weapon on the table in front of him. “In fact, I would like to commend you on your professionalism.”

  The man nodded politely, but clearly didn’t care what the visitor thought, as he came around to run his hands over 47’s body. That was the point he came across the atomizer.

  “What’s this?” the man wanted to know, as he held the bottle up for inspection.

  “Sunblock,” the agent answered expressionlessly. “I have a tendency to burn.”

  The ex-paratrooper nodded, spritzed a bit of the liquid on his wrist, sniffed and—apparently satisfied—put the atomizer back where he had found it.
...

From there he climbed the stairs and was standing on the landing above when a girl appeared at the other end of the hall. Having made use of the back stairs himself, Agent 47 knew they led up from the kitchen, which was consistent with the tray the youngster held in her hands.

  The operative saw a teapot, a matching cup, and a plate with a silver dome over it. The teenager placed the offering on a table, paused to make sure the tray was square with the edge of the table, and turned back toward the stairs.

  Agent 47 took a quick look around to make sure no one was visible, hurried down the hall, and lifted the domed lid. Then, still holding the cover aloft, he aimed the atomizer at the perfectly tossed salad. The bottle made a gentle wheezing sound as peanut oil misted the air and drifted down to coat the greens below.

  Having replaced the lid, the operative turned back toward the front of the house. He was halfway down the front stairs, on his way to retrieve his belongings, when he heard the door open and Miss Desta emerge to get her salad.

  The assassin was more than a mile away when Aristotle Thorakis took Miss Desta in his arms, nuzzled her hair, and began to kiss her.

  A few minutes later, as they were just starting to make love, the Greek’s throat started to constrict. His face turned red, it was no longer possible for him to breathe, and he struggled to speak.

  But Thorakis couldn’t get the necessary words out. He made gasping noises, clawed at his throat, and began to thrash about.

  Miss Desta, frightened, rolled out of bed and ran to the intercom. Unfortunately the former model didn’t know enough Portuguese to effectively communicate with the staff in the kitchen. Valuable time was lost while half a dozen members of the shipping magnate’s domestic staff rushed upstairs to see why Miss Desta was screaming hysterically.

  The chef was among them, and even though he couldn’t imagine how such a thing could have happened, he recognized the symptoms for what they were. Fortunately an injector preloaded with epinephrine was sitting on top of the dresser next to the businessman’s wallet.

  Maria watched in open-mouthed horror as the chef removed the locking cap from the EpiPen and rammed the exposed needle into his employer’s meaty thigh. There was an audible click as the spring-loaded device delivered the correct dose of medication into muscle.

  But unfortunately for Aristotle Thorakis, his mistress, his family, and the Puissance Treize, the shipping magnate was already dead.

  Fazio and his peers were present to witness the moment when the medics arrived, after which the famous businessman’s body was removed from the house.

  As for the proximate cause of the Greek’s death, that was clear, although no one could figure out how a small amount of peanut oil had found its way onto Miss Desta’s salad, in spite of all the precautions taken in the kitchen.

- Hitman: Enemy Within, Chapters Prologue and 20