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But another woman did…
And she placed a yellow rose on the tablecloth in front of her.
SHIT.
I used the app’s controls to zoom in on her. She was blonde and 5’3”… obviously not Rachel in a wig.
FUCK!
Then I started to think.
If I were an assassin who had once been an MI6 agent, would I really go meet any Tom, Dick, or Harry without knowing who they were first?
No, I wouldn’t.
And I was sure Rachel wouldn’t, either.
I placed the Glock in the back waistband of my pants, where it was hidden under my jacket. The suppressor was too long for a quick draw, so I put it in my pocket.
Then I walked down to the hotel lobby. I kept glancing at the app on my phone to see if Rachel showed up.
She didn’t, but the blonde woman looked around periodically.
She seemed to be waiting for someone:
Me.
Unfortunately for her – and for Rachel – I would have to send another ‘me’ in my place.
I just had to find him.
There was a bar on the opposite end of the lobby from the restaurant. I walked in, scoped out the Saturday evening crowd, and found the perfect mark: a young guy at the bar, about 25 years old. He was dressed for a night out and nursing what looked like a whiskey sour. Most importantly, he was alone.
I walked over and sat down next to him.
“Shit,” I muttered to myself.
He looked over. “Something wrong, mate?”
“No,” I grumbled – then immediately said, “Yeah, actually, I’m supposed to meet a woman for a business dinner in the restaurant – but I think it might be the girl I had a one-night stand with last night.”
“Oh shit!” he said as he laughed.
“It gets worse. I snuck out of her flat before she woke up this morning.”
The guy at the bar was nearly pissing himself with laughter. “That’s a bloody cock-up! How the hell did that happen?!”
“It’s a long story. My company threw a party, she was there, one thing led to another… the problem is, I don’t know if the woman at the table is her or not.”
“How do you not know?!”
“I can’t get too close or she’ll see me. Plus, I was fuckin’ drunk. The woman from last night was short and blonde – that’s all I remember. I definitely don’t remember her name. All I know is that the woman I’m supposed to meet for dinner is named Diana.”
“Well, you’ve got yourself into quite the pickle, my friend. You American?”
“Yeah,” I said, pleased he couldn’t place me as Swedish.
“Welcome to England,” he said with another laugh.
