No one hears the bang as Greg exits the elevator. He staggers back into the elevator as the bullet strikes his forehead. No one hears the ding as the glass elevator door slams shut. And Greg is gone. Forever.

The old diesel locomotive that, at this very moment, with a heavy thud, sets carloads of brand-new Arbed steel beams in motion is a godsend to Clarence.

The cross in the scope sticks on Greg's head like his shadow. Then the hum of the machine breaks through the night as the elevator begins to move.

As Greg strolls toward the elevator, increasingly relaxed, Clarence feels the cold steel of his Bergara carbine against his cheek seven floors higher. The .22 Long Rifle has always been a reliable companion. Greg always takes the elevator, never the stairs. Even on the way down.

Greg has had a long but hugely satisfying day. He managed to fool everyone and to make sure that suspicion can fall on each of them but himself. As he walks across the sparsely lit station plaza, he listens to his footsteps echoing in the canyons amidst the Belval Plaza buildings.