Marx Girl

I click on Wikipedia.

Jason Steele, age 37, is an American diplomat, speaking five languages. Educated at Harvard where he graduated with an Engineering, Science, and Bio Chemistry degree.

I frown as I read through. A diplomat is a scientist? Weird qualifications. They usually major in politics. My detective work is interrupted as he walks out, flanked by security guards. I watch from my window position above.

Why does he have such tight security around him?

He gets into a black limo with a security car behind and in front, and I watch them slowly drive away.

I look at the surrounding buildings and my blood begins to boil.

If Bridget hadn’t stopped me, I would have played right into their hands. I had no reason to doubt their intentions or my orders.

They now know their plan didn’t work. I glance at my watch and see it’s 8:20 p.m.

Didge should be safe. Fuck, I can’t stand that she’s here mixed up with my shit. This is my worst fucking nightmare.

I text them, acting innocent.

I couldn’t get a shot

Secure the next location so that I can finish my mission.

I’ve got to get out of here.

I put my handgun under my suit jacket and pick up the bag with the hit gun inside it.

First, I need to get rid of this. I walk out into the hallway and put it into the laundry shoot. I then go in and retrieve my suitcases and walk down to reception. My eyes are darting around as I look for my deceivers. I walk to reception and out to a taxi, placing my bags in the trunk.

“Can you take my bags to Mayfair on Ridge and ask them to keep them in reception for me until I check in later?” I ask quietly.

“Yes, of course.”

I hand him one hundred euros. “Don’t tell anyone what I just told you, and don’t return here tonight.”

He smiles broadly at his substantial tip. “Yes, sir.” He drives off in a hurry before I change my mind.

I turn back to the hotel as I struggle to contain my anger.

I could be dead now. Those motherfuckers are going to pay.

I get into the lift and head down to the parking lot. They’ll be down there waiting for me to get in and drive away. I wonder… are they planning on following the car and finishing me off at the crash scene?

My fury bubbles. Let’s just see who gets finished off.

I catch the lift to two levels below the car, and I walk out into the semi-lit parking lot. I put my hand under my jacket and on my gun as I walk along the back row between the parked cars. I walk up the ramp toward where the hired car is parked.

My eyes roam over the parking lot as I look for the traitors.

I hear the double beep of a car unlocking in the distance, and I push myself up against a column in the darkness, my heart beating hard.

A young couple walks hand-in-hand, laughing, deep in conversation as they get in and slowly drive away.

I squeeze my gun and make my way over to the next ramp going up. I’m not sure where the car is parked, but I do know it’s on this level. I’m assuming it will be near the lifts if it has been here for some time. I sink into the darkness along the back wall as I search the parking lot.

There it is. Black SUV. Our standard hire car of choice. Number plates.

Hc 6000

I get behind a column in the darkness and wait. For ten minutes I wait, until finally a car pulls up and they both get out. I ready my gun as I watch.

They glance around at the parking lot in search of me, and I’m so damn tempted to step out and shoot the fuckers right now.

You don’t have permission yet, I remind myself.

I squeeze the gun in my hand, itching to pull the trigger.

One of them takes out a large knife and slashes the tyres.

What?

I frown.

What’s he doing?

I watch on as he slashes all four tyres so that the car is unusable. They both get into the car and exit the parking lot.

What the hell is going on? I stare into the darkness as I think.

It’s not me they want dead. It’s Jason Steele.

They want me alive until I can finish the job.

Who the fuck is Jason Steele?

* * *

BRIDGET

I wring my hands as I pace back and forth. It’s been three hours since I arrived here, and Ben still hasn’t shown up.

Where the frigging hell is he?

I hear a police car siren in the distance. I run to the window and tear back the curtains to look out.

What’s happened? Is that him? Has something happened down there?

Oh, dear God, my heart can’t take much more of this.

My phone rings and I jump in fright. I scramble to get it.