A thin, tall, blond man with dark and hungry eyes waited quietly, patiently, like all men who have waited for change wait. He folded his gloved hands and closed his eyes as he waited on the bench he had been sitting on for the last three hours. Patience would give him what he needed, patience would give him everything he wanted too. It required discipline and effort to remain where he was and so he remained, tireless. The hunt had begun in Crescent City, the hunt had begun when he was born.

Nepal was a landscape of people that wove in and out of each other, obscuring his targets, making it that much more challenging to find them.

It had taken him three days to extract the information from the pilot. Three long days. His skills were honed, polished to a point, but he wanted that bitch to feel the hooks and barbs, the pain of it worrying deep inside of her. This he wanted. His dark eyes opened, traced the faces of the crowd, followed the shining shaved head of a Buddhist monk, caught the bright flash of orange robes and the glint of round glasses that reflected the late afternoon sun. There was an undercurrent of calm in this place, calm that was threaded with potential violence.

Anything could happen in a place like this.

He caught motion, a different cadence, the swing of a woman's hips, the curve of her back, the waistline of her perfectly filled jeans. Sun lightened hair caught the wind and swirled like a banner, exposing the column of her neck as her browned arm rose. She was holding up fruit, her head canted to the side, her lips flashing and curling into a relaxed smile. The lines of her body were easy and he realized she felt no threat in this place.

Soon.

He would have to move soon.