Marx Girl

My eyes widen.

“Buzz Lightyear will be meeting his maker, and nobody will be the wiser. A problem erased.”

“A tragic accident,” the other man adds.

The men both laugh, and my hand flies over my mouth.

Perspiration burns my armpits as fear fills my every cell.

Holy fuck, they’re going to kill him.

10

Bridget

What do you do with information if you don’t understand it?

I’ve been sitting here in the same position for four hours. I don’t know if this is real or a hoax, or some kind of crazy movie plot. This is…

I shake my head in disbelief.

Stupid.

I press play and listen to the recording for the tenth time, and with every new listen more fear arises.

Now, I’m just about out of damn battery and I can’t recharge until I land.

I stare out the window as I think, and I honestly don’t know what’s worse to hear: what Ben apparently does for a living, or the fact that he was right, and he did have a good reason to leave me all those years ago.

Actually, no, it’s the fact that he may be dead in a few days’ time. I put my head in my hands. This can’t be happening.

Oh, God, I feel sick.

Is this what he meant by him not wanting his past to catch up with me?

Who are those men?

What does he fucking do for work?

I think I already know the answer, but I don’t want to let my mind go there.

Not Ben. Not my Ben.

No, baby, don’t let it be true.

Please, please, please. Dear God, don’t let this be true, I silently pray.

I knew that he was into some heavy military shit before, but this is a whole other level.

I wish I hadn’t heard this. I wish I could go back six hours and just be worried about him being lonely while I was gone.

Now I’m worried about his life, and I don’t even know if this shit is real. I begin to look around in a panic. I feel claustrophobic, like the plane’s closing in on me.

I need to get off this plane. I need to get off this fucking plane now. I can’t do anything. I can’t call him. I glance at my watch, frustrated that there’s another twenty hours of flying left, with another stopover in between.

Fuck’s sake.

Is this really happening?

It does seem bizarre. I click play again.

“You are in room 278 at Park Hyatt in Prague.”

Silence, and eventually Ben answers.

“When?”

“The 28th. He will be in a meeting at city hall across the road and leaving without guards at 8:00 p.m. Sitting duck, easy job.”

“That’s in three days’ time,” Ben snaps.

“The weapon will be in the bag in the room waiting, and you are booked in under the name Taylor. Keys to the hire car will be in the room.” Ben exhales.

“Do this and you can start your new life after service.”

“I’ve waited long enough to start my new fucking life,” Ben growls.

“Fine. I’ll leave tonight. Stay the fuck away from my girl.”

His girl. An unexpected thrill runs through me. That statement shouldn’t mean as much to me as it does. I throw my phone into my bag in disgust.

I’ve officially lost the fucking plot.

What the hell is wrong with me?

After the worst stopovers ever, and thirty sleepless hours later, I shuffle up the line toward the desk at Heathrow International Airport. After thinking all flight, and I mean all flight, I’m more confused than ever. In fact, I’m a total mess. If I call Ben to warn him of their plans, his phone might be tapped and then I will bring myself into danger because I saw who they are. Whoever they are. I frown as I think. Perhaps I could identify them if I needed to. I need to write down what they look like before I forget.

Yes, that’s what a smart spy would do. I’ll buy a notepad and pen when I get near some shops.

My mind jumps to Ben. I can’t call him.

The only two people who I think would know what to do are Joshua and Brock. Brock is the Maldives and Joshua is flying to L.A.—neither of any use at all. They can’t do anything from where they are.

I stare into space as my mind races a million miles per minute.

If I can’t call him then I can’t warn him of the car that they have tampered with.

What if he does go to Prague?

What if he dies?

Oh, God…

He told them he was going. Is that what he meant when he told me he was going to the U.S. for a few days? Was that a lie to cover for this job?

Fuck!

What if he dies, and I know that I possibly could have stopped it or warned him? My stomach drops, and nausea fills me.

He can’t die on me. I can’t let him die. He only just came home.