R I O d e J A N E I R O -- Drums, music, and cheers from the celebration masked the shot of the assassin’s gun. Dean was glazed by the bullet that had been meant for him. But instead the deadly projectile killed Jet, a shot to the head. Her mask hid the mortal wound. Beneath the shroud, the hollow point bullet penetrated her temple, its trajectory burst a hole through the back of her skull as if it were mere plastic. Her sensuous body went limp. Jet was dead. Her scant bikini was drenched with her blood.