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Istood in the sand, repairing the solar lamp. It finally dawned on me that I was going to leave Indonesia for New York. It was for the best, but it still meant I’d have to leave the woman that had become an important part of my life. That thought alone had my mind spiraling for the last forty-eight hours. I’d bought more guns from a local trader and showed her how to use them. Then I told her the passwords to my laptops. Inside, she would find the details about my investments and properties in the US. I gave her the contact information for my lawyer, my sister, and my sister's husband, and where she could find them.
Lamp still in hand, I turned and watched the water. What I was doing was risky, but it was more important than ever that I kill Marcello. He wouldn’t stop searching, and now with a child on the way, I’d do anything to kill him.
I heard a car park in the distance. Adrenaline rushed through me as I grabbed the gun I carried on my belt and peeked around the house to see who it was.
The door to the car opened and a white guy in his forties stepped out, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and swim pants. I knew who he was right away and put my gun back.
Luck fucking Murphy.
CIA.
License to kill and make you disappear—ifonewas not me.
Elise had come out of the house by now. I glanced at her.
“You know him?” she asked.
I nodded as he walked over. “Could you excuse us for a few minutes? The less you know, the better.”
“Of course. Be careful though,” she said, the worry evident on her face.
I nodded again and focused on the lamp, screwdriver in hand, as Elise walked back into the house.
“You came,” I said, screwing the glass lamp shade onto the solar lamp. Murphy watched for a bit, then turned to look at the water.
“Nobody rejects an invitation from the Eagle,” he said, staring at the waves washing shells to the shore. “Quite a life you built here for you and Marcello’s wife.” He adjusted the collar of his shirt. “The contract that's out there to kill you both kinda makes me wonder if he is okay with that."
I screwed in the last screw of the lamp shade. “Marcello won’t mind anymore soon enough,” I said.
“Why?”
“Because he will be dead soon.”
Murphy frowned. “So what do you want from me?” He looked at me without blinking.
“I want Marcello dead and a pardon. And your promise to take care of my family.”
Murphy laughed. “What do you think this is? Hollywood? I don’t have that power, Andrei. You are the fucking Eagle. Nobody has the power to clear your name.”
“We both know that’s not true. So stop wasting my time or fuck off.”
I held Murphy’s gaze until he nodded. “Alright. Let’s say somebody could somehow make this miracle happen. You know that the price for that would be very high. You’re smart. Just think about what you’re asking.”
I reached for the light switch and tried to turn the lamp on. Its warm glow was eaten by the bright rays of the sun.
Fixed.
“I thought you’d say something like that,” I confirmed. “So I have something you guys want bad enough to make it happen.”
“Ah, yeah? And what is that? A white Christmas?”
I shook my head. “A contract kill. Your choosing, as long as the target is no woman or child—and has it coming.”
“We have our own crew,” Murphy countered.
I faintly smiled. “Don't be ridiculous. I read the news. Aren't you getting grilled right now by a senate hearing over the killing of that low-level terrorist? Whoever did that job for you left a trail as tall and long as the Great Wall. And the target was a fucking terrorist… not some senator.”
Murphy dropped his gaze onto the beach, thinking. Then he looked at the house. “What is this all about anyway, Andrei? Marcello’s wife. Beaches and cocktails. Have you grown weak?”
