Marx Girl

by T L Swan

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  After the worst stopovers ever, and thirty sleepless hours later, I shuffle up the line toward the desk at Heathrow International Airport. After thinking all flight, and I mean all flight, I’m more confused than ever. In fact, I’m a total mess. If I call Ben to warn him of their plans, his phone might be tapped and then I will bring myself into danger because I saw who they are. Whoever they are. I frown as I think. Perhaps I could identify them if I needed to. I need to write down what they look like before I forget.

  Yes, that’s what a smart spy would do. I’ll buy a notepad and pen when I get near some shops.

  My mind jumps to Ben. I can’t call him.

  The only two people who I think would know what to do are Joshua and Brock. Brock is the Maldives and Joshua is flying to L.A.—neither of any use at all. They can’t do anything from where they are.

  I stare into space as my mind races a million miles per minute.

  If I can’t call him then I can’t warn him of the car that they have tampered with.

  What if he does go to Prague?

  What if he dies?

  Oh, God…

  He told them he was going. Is that what he meant when he told me he was going to the U.S. for a few days? Was that a lie to cover for this job?

  Fuck!

  What if he dies, and I know that I possibly could have stopped it or warned him? My stomach drops, and nausea fills me.

  He can’t die on me. I can’t let him die. He only just came home.

  But do I even want him home, knowing this about him? I’m so fucking confused.

  I run my hand through my hair as my stomach churns.

  What if it’s all a big hoax and they are just having some fun with me?

  Who am I kidding? They didn’t know that my damn phone was going to record them. I don’t even know why it does it. I wonder how I could find out if the booking is real?

  I think for a moment, and then I Google ‘Park Hyatt, Prague’ and the number comes up.

  Hmm, I tap my foot double time as I think. Use your brain, Bridget, think of a plan.

  I look up and glance over the crowd. I know! I click on the number. It rings and the receptionist answers.

  “Good evening, Park Hyatt, Desiree speaking,” she answers in a heavy accent.

  Shit.

  My eyes widen. “Hello. I was wondering if you could tell me if my husband has checked in yet, please? Our flights have been on different schedules and I don’t want to wake him. He said he might check in early.” I screw up my face. What the hell am I doing? “Room 278… in the name of Taylor?” I add.

  “Sure, just a minute.” I hear her keyboard clicking and she returns. “Yes, that’s right, the booking is here, but he doesn’t check in until later today. I’m sorry.”

  My stomach drops and my eyes close. Damn it, Ben. I put my hand over my mouth as my heart hammers in my chest. I get a vision of him checking into the hotel, oblivious to what’s about to happen. What do I do? Quick, think!

  “He forgot to get a second key. Can you leave one at reception for me or him to pick up, please?” I ask hopefully.

  “Yes, of course.” I hear her typing.

  “Next, please,” The airline check-in girl calls, and I glance up at the line in front of me that has somehow disappeared.

  Shit.

  “Thank you,” I reply to the girl on the phone and hang up, and then I move up to my place at the check in desk.

  She’s blonde, cute, and I hope she’s feeling helpful. “How are you today?” She smiles.

  “I’m good.” I smile back as I hand over my passport. “There’s been a change of plans, though.”

  She glances up from her computer. “Why is that?”

  “I need to change my flight,” I say hopefully.

  “Of course. Where to?”

  “Prague.”

  Seven hours later…

  “Can you drive faster, please?”

  The cab driver frowns at me in the rearview mirror.

  “Hurry,” I mouth as I point toward the road to symbolise going faster.

  He nods and picks up his speed. It’s 7:00 on the night that Ben is supposed to be doing whatever it is he is doing. I’m not sure if I am even going to make it.

  But I am very sure that there are three things that you never ever should do in your life.

  One: change your flight at the last minute and fly from Sydney, Australia to Prague. Because there is no direct route. I have had two stopovers in Bangkok and Vienna. I have not been in a bed for thirty-two hours. Delirious doesn’t come close to how I feel, and my temper is next level high.

  Two: be seated next to someone on said flight who has the intense body odour of a troll. And this is after you have not slept for twenty-four hours and have had to have three drinks to try and block out the smell, only to end up being rude and asking him to go and put some deodorant on. He now hates me and I’m okay with that.

  My conscience is clear, you dirty, smelly man.

  Three: have a phone that randomly records shit.

  Shit that shouldn’t be heard by unsuspecting eavesdroppers.

  I was just happily minding my own business.

  I’ve overheard a conversation that I don’t even know is real, and if I have flown on this hell trip over here for nothing, Ben’s life is in real danger from me. Forget about faulty cars. I’m just going for a king hit straight to his skull.

  We drive through the streets of Prague and my heart is beating fast. It’s dark and I can’t see anything, not that I can focus, anyway.

  What if I get to the room and he’s not there? What if the two men are there waiting?

  My eyes widen.

  What if Ben’s already dead?

  Nobody knows I’m here.

  I’m a travel agent and I know not to do this. Any of this.

  The car slows, and he pulls into the circular driveway. “Here you are, miss.” The driver smiles over his seat.

  “Ah, thank you,” I whisper as the blood drains from my face. I peer out the window at the hotel in front of me. It looks safe enough. Too bad it isn’t.

  What the hell am I doing? I nervously hand over my credit card and he swipes it and retrieves my bags from the trunk. The concierge greets me. “Can I take your bags, ma’am?”

  “Um.” I don’t want the bags to arrive at the room before me. “No, that’s okay, thank you.”

  I grip them a little tighter and make my way to the reception desk.

  Act calm. Act calm. Act totally fucking calm.

  I smile at the two ladies behind reception. “Hello, can I pick up the second key for my room, please? My husband called down and arranged this earlier,” I ask as my heart hammers hard in my chest.

  “What room, madam?”

  “Room 278, under the name of Taylor.”

  She types it into her computer and waits for the notes to come up. She smiles as she reads them and prints off the second key. Relief fills me.

  “Level six, to the right.” She smiles as she hands over the key.

  “Thank you.” I make my way through the lobby and over to the lift, glancing around as I wait.

  Are they here? Are they watching me now?

  Oh, dear God, please let this go well. I don’t particularly want to die tonight.

  I’m so nervous that I’m perspiring profusely.

  I make my way up to the room, and I stop out the front and retrieve my earphones before I plug them into my phone and set the recording ready to play.

  I’ve been watching too many NCIS episodes because I have the plan all worked out in my head. I’ve been going over it for hours.

  I grab my key, blow out a steady breath, and swipe the door. It opens in a rush.

  Ben is standing by the window, and I quickly put my finger up to my mouth in a shush signal.

  “What are you doing?” he snaps.

  “Room service,” I reply loudly in an accent in case the room is bugged.

>   He scrunches up his angry face, and I run to him with my finger up to my lips, quickly placing the ear bud into his ear and pressing play. He goes to rip it out and I shake my head frantically.

  “Listen,” I mouth.

  He listens and then frowns. He shakes his head and presses play again as he listens once more.

  “What?” he mouths.

  I shake my head nervously and shrug my shoulders.

  He stands still on the spot and listens again.

  “Can you come with me and get some towels from the cart?” I ask.

  “Yes, of course,” he replies clearly.

  We walk out into the hallway, and he grabs my arm and pulls me down the corridor.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” he growls in a whisper.

  I tear my arm from his grip. “Saving your life. You’re most welcome, by the way.”

  “Don’t give me that fucking shit.” He pulls me into the bathroom near the lifts and locks the door behind us. “How did you get this?”

  “My… my phone is randomly recording stuff, remember?” I stammer. “And I didn’t know what to do. I was so scared. They’re going to kill you.”

  He listens to it again and shakes his head, and then he dials a number on his phone. It is answered on the first ring.

  “This is Buzz, 11046,” he says, monotone.

  I stand silently listening as my heart nearly goes into cardiac arrest. I put my hand over my heart to try and somehow will it to slow down.

  “How can I help you?” the deep male voice answers. I can hear what the man on the other end is saying as clear as day.

  “We have a security breach.”

  “Who?” the other voice snaps.

  “1702 and 9067.”

  “Proof?”

  Ben narrows his eyes at me and shakes his head in disgust. “Recording on…” he snaps.

  Oh, God, he’s furious,

  “Recording on…” the voice answers.

  He holds up the phone and plays them the recording, and the other man stays silent as he listens.

  I hold my breath as I listen, too. Is this the cops? Is he on the phone to the cops?

  Who is on the other end?

  Are they coming to save us now? Are we in danger?

  Shit, this is hectic. I put my hand over my heart to try and slow it down.

  I may need an ambulance any moment.

  “Hang on a minute,” the voice says. “Locating the said agents’ whereabouts now.”

  My eyes widen.

  We both stay silent as we listen to keyboard typing.

  He finally comes back. “They are both in Prague.”

  Ben’s jaw ticks in anger. “Permission to eradicate threat?”

  Oh. My. Fucking. God.

  11

  Bridget

  “Denied,” the voice snaps back. “Secure your location until we track their whereabouts. I need to get higher authority.”

  Ben tips his head back to the ceiling in frustration. “How long will that be?”

  “We will have an exact location and answer within ninety minutes,” the voice replies.

  Ninety minutes. Ninety minutes? That’s an hour and a half. I put both of my hands over my mouth in horror as I try to control my breathing.

  “Find them or I will,” Ben snaps before hanging up.

  I look up at him. “What now?” I whisper.

  He doesn’t answer, and a heavy frown is etched on his face.

  “What now, Ben?”

  “I’m thinking,” he snarls.

  I run my hands through my hair in a panic. “Oh, God,” I whisper to myself.

  “Why did you fucking come here, Bridget?” he whispers angrily.

  I shake my head, because all logic has escaped me. I’m wondering that myself.

  “This is serious,” he snaps.

  “They were going to kill you, Ben,” I whisper. “What the fuck did you want me to do?”

  “Call me. Fucking call me. Don’t put yourself in danger like this.”

  “I thought they were going to bug your phone, and then I would have been in danger anyway,” I sputter in a panic.

  He shakes his head as he thinks for a moment. “At this point they are watching me, not you. They don’t know you are here… yet.” He frowns, deep in thought. “Unless they saw us just then.” He glances at his watch. “It’s 7:35 p.m., so they don’t know that the plan is interrupted yet. They won’t know until after 8:00 p.m.” He brushes his fingers back and forth over his two-day growth as he thinks. “We go back to the room.”

  “What?” I frown.

  “We go back to the room and you get your things and go to this hotel.” He flicks through his phone and brings up a hotel on the screen. “Go to Mayfair on Ridge—I have a booking in the name of Jones.” He retrieves his wallet and a credit card, and I read the name on it.

  Marcus Jones

  I frown. “You’re staying there?” I take out my phone and snap an image of the hotel.

  “No, I always book a second hotel in case of an emergency. You’ll need this card to check in.”

  The blood drains from my face. “Is this an emergency?”

  He looks at me, deadpan. “Could say that.”

  I nod frantically. “Yes, okay, okay. So, what then?”

  “You wait there.”

  My eyes widen. “Why? What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to stay here as a decoy.”

  “What?”

  He opens the door in a rush and walks out.

  I run to catch up to him. “No. I don’t want you staying here,” I whisper as we powerwalk in the direction of the room. “Come with me.” I grab his arm. “Ben, you have to come with me.”

  He stops on the spot. “You do as you’re told and you get back to that hotel safely now,” he whispers.

  “What will happen to you?”

  “Nothing. I can handle myself. I will get there when I can.”

  “How long will that be?” I frown.

  “I’m not sure. If you see someone following your taxi, ask the driver to take you to the police station and run in the front doors and spit in an officer’s face.”

  “What?”

  “You’ll be arrested and safe until tomorrow. I can come get you from there.”

  “Oh, my fucking God,” I whisper as my fingers go to my temples.

  This is insane.

  We arrive at the hotel room, and he reaches down to grab my hand. He squeezes it in a silent goodbye and I have literally no idea what the hell is going to happen.

  He opens the door in a rush. “And the minibar is out, too. Can you restock it, please?” he asserts loudly.

  “Of course, sir,” I reply in a fake accent.

  He opens the fridge and starts to clang the bottles loudly as a distraction then walks into the bathroom and turns the shower on, soon returning to the bedroom.

  I grab my suitcases as quietly as I can, and with one last look at each other I exit the room and gently close the door behind me. I start to powerwalk up the hallway toward the lifts while dragging my suitcase.

  Holy fucking hell. What if they are up here? What would I do?

  Kick them in the nuts. Okay, I can do that.

  I get to the lift and hit the button three times as I look around guiltily. It takes forever to arrive.

  Please, please. Come on, come on.

  I look around at the empty hallway. I can taste bile in my mouth from my stomach churning so hard.

  God, I don’t want to leave him here.

  The stupid fuck. How in the hell did he get messed up in this shit?

  I’m going to kill him myself when he gets to the hotel.

  The lift arrives with a ding and the door opens slowly. I’m relieved to find it filled with people. Oh, thank God. Normal-looking people.

  My heart is hammering hard in my chest as we ride to the ground floor in silence. Once to the bottom, I cross the foyer and head out onto the circular entrance way.
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  The concierge smiles. “Taxi?” he asks.

  “Yes, please.”

  He goes out onto the road and raises his arm. A taxi pulls in immediately. The taxi driver gets out of his car and opens the trunk to put my luggage in while I slink into the backseat.

  He jumps into the front seat. “Where to?” he asks.

  “Oh.” I quickly scramble through my phone and bring up the image. “Mayfair on Ridge.”

  He nods, turns, and pulls out onto the road.

  I sit in the dark in the backseat. I don’t know if I’m going to survive this trip. My heart is beating so damn hard. I turn in the seat and peer through the back window, and watch the hotel disappear.

  Tears fill my eyes. Is that the last time I’m going to see him?

  My leg bounces as I try to control my nerves.

  I look around again in a panic and cars are everywhere. How the hell am I supposed to know if someone is following me?

  Oh, man.

  Ben’s words run through my head. Spit in the policeman’s face to get yourself arrested. I feel faint. I don’t even know if I could physically spit on someone. It’s not like it’s something that I have ever practiced. I shake my head in disbelief. Honestly, I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried. I turn and look out through the back window again and just see different cars this time. No single car is standing out, not that I can really see much. I put my hands in a praying position in front of my lips as I think. When we get to the hotel I’ll be able to see if anyone is following us. What do I do if there is? Do I jump back in the car and demand to go to the police station?

  Yes.

  I nod, as if psyching myself up.

  Spit in a face, that’s all you have to do.

  Jail is safe. I frown as I realise what a ridiculous notion that is. What the fuck? Jail isn’t safe; someone else could murder me in there.

  Holy crap, this is a fucking disaster.

  The cab pulls into the large, circular driveway of a fancy hotel, and I sit in the backseat, peering through the window while the driver retrieves my bags.

  I look around and can’t see anyone suspicious.

  Shit. Do I get out?

  I look left, and then look right. No cars pulled in behind us, and the main road is too busy to stop. I think the coast is clear.