I like to experiment a little when putting this page together. So for the sake of doing something different here is the first section of a story I have been writing. Before ploughing into the text and everybody starts making unfavourable comparisons to good literature here a few rules I set myself whilst composing this page.
PART 1 - THE INITIATION
She was in her hotel pacing frantically around her room. He said he would phone today, he promised he would phone today. The anticipation and excitement was getting to her. Suddenly the phone rang and she had answered it before it had rung a second time.
"Francesca?" the voice on the telephone asked.
"Francis?" was her breathless reply.
"Welcome to your new business, I have a job for you" the mans voice said.
The woman smiled to herself. "Where shall we meet?" she said.
She sat in her hire car. It was a cold winters day in Stockholm but the weather was wonderfully suited for her purposes. It was cold but still extremely sunny. Nobody would pay her any particular attention dressed as she was in a long winters coat, boots, hat and gloves. Even if her natural good looks did draw attention nobody would be able to give the police an accurate description of her, disguised as she was in a wig and sunglasses which did not look at all out of place given the intensity of the cold winters sun.
She looked at her watch. Another 10 minutes and he would be parking in the street opposite. She was apprehensive and slightly nervous. A street killing was hardly an ideal introduction into the world of contract killing but she supposed everybody started somewhere. She tapped her right hand coat pocket and felt the revolver hidden within. She hadn’t been in the game long enough to have her own supply of weapons but she had plans to do this. When she had found the gun and dossier in the railway locker she checked the gun very thoroughly to make sure it was in full working order. In fact she double checked everything, this was her first assignment and she wanted to do a good job. She remembered the face in the dossier and wondered why somebody wanted him dead. Perhaps, a fellow director of the company he owned she mused, maybe a wife who wanted him out of the way to collect the insurance?. She didn’t know and didn’t care, she just knew that, if he followed his usual routine, he would be parking his car in his allocated spot and she would be waiting.
The
minutes ticked by. ‘Here goes’ she thought to herself. She got out of her car
and wandered nonchalantly down the street. The street wasn’t exceptionally busy and
she tried to look inconspicuous whilst she waited for him to arrive. Suddenly the car
pulled up and after a brief wait the door opened and he got out. She had of course planned
and rehearsed the whole job days before. He looked younger and a lot more attractive than
the photograph she had been given. It had obviously been taken surreptitiously and in a
hurry as the fuzziness of the focus showed. She placed her hands in the pockets of her
coat and walked over to him.
‘Mr Lindquist?’ she asked giving him her most endearing smile.
‘Yes’ he replied slightly bemused as to why such a stunningly good looking woman would be approaching him on a Stockholm street on a cold winters day.
‘This is it’ she thought to herself. ‘’Can I do this? Am I the right person for this work?’.
She looked into his eyes for no more than a
second but to her it seemed like an eternity. Then, in a flash, her right hand left her
pocket. In her gloved palm was the revolver and before her victim had the chance to
understand what was happening she had the gun level with his body. She fired two shots and
he crashed to the ground. She stood over him and the third shot into his already lifeless
body was probably not necessary but she wanted to make sure. Some women screamed and a
male passer-by made a move as if to intervene. Immediately she swung the gun in his
direction.
‘Don’t!’ she ordered. She raised her eyebrows as if issuing a final warning. The unerring sight of her targeting the gun at him put paid to any thoughts of him acting the hero. If he had moved she would have had no hesitation in shooting him then and there. She knew, in that instant, that she had joined an exclusive club of international killers and that she would be good at her job.
Within
5 minutes she was clear of the area and the only clues as to her existence were the
abandoned car, gun , sunglasses and wig. Within 5 hours she was on a plane out of Sweden
leaving behind a tearful wife who had suddenly become very wealthy. It was 5 months before
the social column of a leading Swedish newspaper announced the marriage between a rich
widow and the vice president of her deceased husbands company.
She looked around her chic Paris hotel room. It was very expensive
but she enjoyed leading an extravagant lifestyle. She checked her beauty case to ensure
her personal armoury was fully equipped. Being a fashion model made a marvellous cover for
her other line of work. She was checking the guns with great respect and expertise when
the phone in the room rang.
‘Abigail?’ the voice said.
‘Alan?’ she replied.
‘You are becoming one of our best operatives’ the man said. ‘I have another contract for you. I think you’ll find the next one a lot more challenging than your usual work’.
She smiled to herself. ‘Good’ she said. ‘Where shall we meet?’.
TO BE CONTINUED (IF YOU WANT)
