She made her selections from the satchel and placed them on the rooftop before caching the bag under a rusted-out air-conditioning unit. Returning to her new toys, she tucked the sheathed stiletto into her belt, under one of the supposedly decorative ornaments that were actually her custom-styled throwing stars. Then she slipped the band of the thermal goggles over the hood and glanced around the rooftop once to confirm their quality. Satisfied, she pushed the lenses up onto her forehead, where she could pull them down in a hurry. Running gloved fingers over the Beretta Model 70, she confirmed that the serial numbers had been seared out with a laser, as specified. She initiated the self-test and nodded once in satisfaction as the LEDs signaled the laser sight in full true, the sound suppressor at ninety-seven percent efficiency, the magazine full, and the trigger pressure set at a hundredth of a pound less than she had requested. The fixer who supplied this gear was reliable; she wanted to remember him in case she had future business in the city by the bay. Having checked the Beretta, she slung it over her right shoulder. The weapon would enable her to finish the business quickly and without a trace. Once she was gone, it would be just another crime of random street violence.