He could hear the beginnings of the Mardi Gras approaching. Jude Grant was here because he was paid to be here. The costume of colours and glitter on his face, together with the wig that lay on the bed, would be a perfect shield to his detection.

The contract had come quite unexpectedly. His home was now Paris but any chance to do business in his home town was welcome. Would he be noticed? Not likely. He had changed quite dramatically in appearance. A brutal fitness regime and cosmetic touches made him invisible to the few enemies who might remain.

It had been a week since his arrival in downtown Sydney and his local knowledge led him to The Rest Hotel in Surry Hills, about mid way along the route of the Mardi Gras. His room on the third floor was directly opposite what would soon be the room of his target.

His target, John Richards, was a big man. Supposedly, heavily involved with drugs and prostitution and moving in on the Chinese Triad that normally "controlled" this patch. Brave indeed, but apparently he had been effective Why else the contract?

His seat at the window had a clear view of at least a half of the room Richards would be accommodating. Plenty of scope to get the shot he needed. There would only be one.

The crowd spewed closer. A black limousine pulled to the curb ahead of the crowd and John Richards stepped out. Two minders fussed around him. Grant wanted them out of the way. Clear access to and on the road was an absolute. He was to blend in. Disappear.

Grant steadied his tripod and rechecked its scope and trigger mechanism. Figures entered the targets room. He could take all three but that was not the plan. Richards then appeared in his scope. But Grant's goodbye to Richards was stifled by the knock on his room door."Room Service."

Bugger, this place couldn't run the front desk let alone room service. He had been compromised. Quickly stepping from the window and crouching in the corner he directed his pistol at the door. How many? One or two-more and he was in big trouble.

The door creaked, slowly, hesitating and then a volley of shots shattered the window. The assailant was exposed and Grant fired two shots. They found their mark. If there were others they would have been in the room by now.

He did not wait, and as he leapt towards the door he grabbed the wig and directed to the fire escape. The street was his saviour. The crowd swallowed him and his safe house was close. Perhaps, it was not so safe anymore. He was no longer the hunter but the hunted.

Time for a new plan.