After Jinny left the room, Pablo remained standing in his place for a while. He could still sll her perfu in the air. He could still rember the sway of her buttocks as she left.
"A very useful woman." he muttered to himself. "More than useful."
He smiled. Then he returned to sitting on his bed. He opened the map again. He now knew what he had to do.
He would burn the warehouse. All he was waiting for now was for the weapons to arrive to be distributed to the revolutionaries, and then he would go.
---
Two Days Later
Reinold arrived on the appointed day. They did not talk much. Pablo received the second batch of weapons. He shook Reinold's hand and left him.
He called his n in the south. He ordered them to send soone to collect the weapons. That sa day, the guns, swords, and cannons were on their way to the revolutionaries' camps.
Pablo remained at the headquarters. He gathered Marco, Shigo, and Jinny.
"I will be away for a day or two. Just keep things running here."
Marco looked at him. "Is there any danger?"
"No. Just... a personal matter."
Marco did not believe him. But he did not press. He knew Pablo never did anything without a reason.
Jinny looked at him for a long ti. She knew. She said nothing.
Pablo left the headquarters at night. The reason he did not tell them was that he was sure they would try to stop him or would ask to accompany him.
Their accompanint would raise suspicion. He would go alone. He would not fight anyone. He would sneak into the warehouse. He would use his ability to burn the weapons and leave.
---
Pablo walked all night. He avoided the main roads. He walked through fields and small forests. He knew that military patrols were everywhere.
Before dawn, he arrived at the outskirts of the northern city. He was tired, but he did not stop.
He found a high place overlooking the warehouse from a distance. He sat there for hours, watching. He counted the number of soldiers. He calculated the tis of guard changes. He looked for a gap.
He did not find one.
Then he decided on a different plan.
---
The next morning, Pablo put on simple clothes. He covered his head with an old hat. He went to a small café on a street near the warehouse.
The place was modest. Old wooden tables, worn-out chairs, and the sll of cheap coffee filled the place. The custors were working class: laborers, soldiers in plain clothes, itinerant vendors.
Pablo sat in the back corner. He ordered coffee. He held an old newspaper he had bought from a vendor on the way.
He began to read. But his eyes were above the newspaper. He watched the warehouse's main gate. He watched the soldiers' movents. He watched everyone who entered and left.
He spent his entire day like this. He rarely moved from his spot. He drank his coffee slowly, ate so food, and continued reading and watching.
He noticed sothing.
Around midday, a guard ca out of a small door next to the main gate. He was not wearing his full military uniform. He was only wearing military pants and a simple white shirt. He looked like he had just woken up. His eyes were half-closed. He was yawning.
The guard headed to another café at the end of the street. He bought coffee and a newspaper. He stood talking to the vendor for a few minutes. Then he returned.
Pablo did not move. He waited.
Another guard ca out again four hours later. Sa route. Sa café. Sa habit.
"This is it." Pablo muttered to himself.
It seed that the guards assigned to guard the gate took turns among themselves.
---
Night fell. The streets were nearly empty. Pablo was still in the café. Sa table. Sa corner.
The ti was just past midnight. He saw another guard co out again from the small door.
This ti, there was no one in the street.
Pablo left so coins on the table. He stood up quietly. He left the café. He followed the guard from a distance.
The guard did not notice. He walked slowly, yawning, muttering incomprehensible words. He was tired. He was thinking about his morning coffee, about returning ho after his shift ended.
He did not feel Pablo behind him.
At a dark corner, between an abandoned building and the warehouse wall, Pablo approached.
One blow. To the back of the head.
The guard did not scream. He did not understand what happened. He fell to the ground unconscious.
Pablo looked around. No one.
He dragged the guard into the alley.
Pablo took off the guard's clothes. They were a little dirty, but suitable. He put on the military pants, the white shirt, and the light jacket. He put the guard's cap on his head and pulled it down to cover half his face. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough in the darkness.
He took the guard's cold coffee and his folded newspaper.
With a thought from him, a small whirlwind of wind ford, spinning rapidly, slitting his throat easily.
He looked at the body. He lifted it and carried it to the nearby garbage dump. He threw it among the trash bags. He threw so dirt and ash on top of it. No one would find it before morning.
He stepped back. He looked at himself. He looked like any ordinary soldier.
He took a deep breath.
He headed toward the small door. He pushed the door. He entered.
He was inside the warehouse.
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