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I smile, embarrassed that he has told me that at least ten times in the last hour.
I’m like a little kid here. We kiss again. “Bye, Ben.” We kiss again, and I run my fingers through his stubble one last time.
My eyes linger on his, and I have this overwhelming urge to tell him I love him. He knows it, too, because it feels like he wants to say it back.
“Bye, angel.” He holds me tight in his strong arms until, eventually, I have to go. With one last, lingering look, I go through the doors, into the departure lounge.
I take a seat as I wait. That’s it then. No more Ben for ten days.
I feel like crying.
I’m three hours into my flight. I have an elderly lady on one side of me, and a stinky man on the other. I hate commercial flights. Damn Joshua and his private jet has spoiled me forever. There is a lady a few seats back from us with two small children, and they are talking really loud and whining. I play some music on my headphones to try and drown them out. I take out my phone and scroll through to read my emails and click onto spotify. Hang on. What’s that number on my recording button again?
This stupid fucking phone is pissing me off.
I click on and listen to the recording. It’s probably me talking crap with someone like normal.
I hear muffled voices
Huh? What is this? I continue to listen to try and work out the voice.
Ben. When was this? I think for a moment as I listen. It’s the conversation we had in the café. I accidently left my phone on the table this morning behind the napkins and, thankfully, it was still there half an hour later when I remembered. I concentrate on his words.
“Hello.”
Oh, it’s his friends who showed up.
“These are my two friends, John and Sam.”
“Hello. See you in half an hour or so? Nice to meet you both,” I hear myself say.
Silence for a few seconds as I leave, and then I listen on.
“What the fuck are you two doing here?” Ben growls.
Huh? What the hell? I thought they were his friends. I sit up in my seat as I concentrate, trying to hear what they’re talking about.
“We have a job for you,” the other man says.
“I’m out, my six years are up, you know my contract is over,” Ben snaps.
My eyes widen. What is he talking about? Six-year contract? I’m confused. I glance around guiltily to make sure nobody else can hear this. “We had to come all the way to Australia to talk to you, Buzz?” one man says.
“Fuck you. Leave. I’m done.” There’s a pause. “How dare you come here near my family? I should gut you on the spot.”
What the hell is going on here? Buzz… who’s Buzz?
“Ah, yes, the Marx girl?” one of the men replies.
My eyes widen in horror. Is that me? How do they know about me, and why is he calling me ‘Marx girl’? I bite my thumbnail as I listen.
“Don’t you dare fucking speak her name or I’ll kill you,” Ben warns.
What the fuck?
“You have one job left to do, and then you can settle down with your Marx girl,” the man replies.
“I’m settling down now with my girl, so leave me the fuck alone.”
What?
“You have one more job. Head office sent us here especially. Jason Steele, a U.S. Diplomat, is selling the names and addresses of special-forces soldiers to a terrorist cell. A Marine’s wife was killed last week in front of his children,” the man goes on.
My heart starts to pump, and my hand goes over my mouth in horror.
“Fucking hell,” Ben whispers.
I hear paper rustle.
“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 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.
My eyes nearly pop from their sockets and I glance at the people around me.
“Do this and you can start your new life after service.”
“I’ve waited long enough to start my new fucking life.” Ben growls.
I hear a rustle and it sounds like Ben is standing. “Fine. I’ll leave tonight. Stay the fuck away from my girl.”
I sit still, shocked. What the fuck did I just hear?
What the hell is Ben’s job?
My heart is thumping, and I can’t believe this. I’m brought back to the present with the sound of the men’s voices as they talk together.
Huh? The recording is still going.
“The car is organised?” one man asks.
“Yes, all fixed; the steering column and brakes are fixed. It’s already sitting in the car park there.”
