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Pam Delano was used to this. Ever since the development of the device--whatever it was--started, she had to kill quite a few people. She was head of security. She was keeping the project secure.
She was a brilliant polyglot. She had a PhD in mathematics, a secondary degree in biology, could speak English, French, German, and Danish, knew multiple martial arts, was a highly skilled marksman, and a pilot. It was only logical someone like her would be chosen for such an important and highly classified project's main line of defense.
Weston Julian Diraberg. That was his name, apparently. In a way, she kind of wished she was never told. For the longest time, she knew him only by the alias of "Feldspar". Knowing his name made it more real for her, made it almost hurt.
But it does not matter. She was only doing her job. And quite well.
She was chosen not just because of her brilliance but her emotional detachment. She was so cold, so uncaring, so indifferent.
Delano's alias was "Homotherium". A primordial beast. Quite fitting, for someone like her. A fierce, foreboding cat.
Wes Diraberg was sweet. Highly naive, or so "Aleph" thought. He clearly was not as naive as they assumed, considering he figured out what was being built, and tried to destroy it, setting them back by months and months.
Pam was told to take him to Vienna, where the other Dirac-Sector scientists and engineers (Diraberg included, he was told that he was being switched to an outpost due to a safety concern) were told he was simply being transferred, and that something personal came up in his life, and he had to move.
She knows that now Aleph will have to find another mathematical theorist, but she knows that destroying the traitor who put the entire operation at risk is more important to him.
Routine as usual, she walks up to Diraberg's apartment, knocking on his door.
After what feels like an eternity, the clearly frazzled physicist opens, highly confused. "Y-Yes? D-Did I do something wrong..?"
"You're coming with me to Vienna, remember? It's urgent, you must go now." She lies so seamlessly through her teeth. Her voice is so soothing, so seductive, it's impossible to not believe her.
"A-Alright..."
---
They board Delano's personal plane, where she flies from France to Austria. Diraberg is thankfully fast asleep. It's better that way.
She pats her pocket to make sure she still has the pills.
When she lands, she shakes him, grabbing his hand. She guides him through a quaint park, where it's quite dark, but peaceful. It's a lovely night, really.
She waits until he's distracted, before she pins him down. He screams in pain.
She knows it would be easier to just shoot him, or even pin him and crack his neck, but then it would be too obvious he was assassinated, and could lead to the project being put at more risk.
She thanks everything that he is so weak, so frail.
"WH- WHAT IS G-GOING ON..?"
Delano only smiles.
She presses harder on his chest, before moving her hand to pinch one of his nerves so he's momentarily frozen. It won't kill him, or even hurt him, but it will make him still enough for her to do the real part of her plan.
She pulls the canister of pills out of her jacket pocket, shaking them in satisfaction.
Prussic acid. Used in early chemical warfare. It'll kill quickly. So, so quickly.
Her eyes glint sadistically as she sees the hauntingly beautiful blue colour of the liquid inside the capsules. She pulls on industrial grade laboratory gloves, and delicately lifts one out of the container.
She uses her free hand to pull open the frozen Diraberg's mouth. Even though he cannot move or speak, she can see the fear in his dark eyes.
She cracks the pill into his mouth, watching in complete, cold-hearted satisfaction as she watches the light extinguish from the once lively, brilliant scientist's eyes.
It's always unsettling to see the foam in the mouth appear, and once it does, she steps back.
She methodically places the rest of the pills in his now deceased hand, and drags his body to a nearby ditch.
It'll look like suicide.
She runs away, back to her plane.
Back to the Doppler Laboratories.
No one will ever know her name, but everyone will know Wes Diraberg as the "poor physicist that killed himself".