����� "Not surprised to see me, are you Carla dear? I was sure that you got my note."
So, the note wasn't from Con. I think if I'm going to last in this business I'd better stop assuming the obvious.
����� "Of course I got it, I just wasn't expecting you already." I hoped that was right. This was the kind of game where one could get killed if they guessed wrong. Of course, I was also guessing he was a "bad guy," but Con never told me anything more than to remember "Glasses and Nietzsche" and to deliver the note to the man who approaches you at the hotel. You'll recognize him. Well, I recognized him, but was he the right one? What a predicament.
����� "You're looking better than I remembered." His eyes traveled up and down my body and I realized I was still naked. I reached out and snagged my robe from the hook on the bathroom door.
����� "Well, as I said, I wasn't expecting you."
����� "Carla."
����� "Yeah?" I was still struggling with the robe.
����� "What happened to your leg?" I froze. Carla wasn't in a car accident! Carla didn't have the horrible scar running down her leg that I had. Oh, God.
����� "It was-" I looked down at the scar, still pink, 2 inches wide, running from my knee to my ankle. "It was slashed by the fender of a car a couple of months ago."� Please let my explanation satisfy him. It was close enough to the truth for me to remember, but I didn't want to explain anymore.
����� "Hmm. You should get Dr. Crefield to look it over. He might be able to get rid of that scar." He went past me into the bedroom and sat down on the Louis XVI chair near the window. "To the business at hand. Where is the package? I assume you got it all right?" I didn't know what to do. Why didn't Con tell me anything? I guess I should just play along. Con said someone would come for the thing. If I'm wrong, it won't be my fault.
����� "Yes. It's right over there, under the dresser."
����� "You seem to have picked up more than just the accent in America." He was smiling, but his eyes were cold. I thought back over what I had said and caught my mistake.
����� "It was just easier to learn the American terms than draw attention to myself, you know that. Now, are you going to go pull that thing out from under the bureau, or aren't you?" He relaxed a little. I guess in this business you never can be too sure. I had discovered one thing, though. He wasn't just playing along. He really thought that I was someone else which meant he wasn't on Con's team. I still wasn't sure that he was the one I was supposed to deliver the package to, but no one else I recognized had even come near me since I checked in.
����� He crossed the room in two quick strides and pulled the package out of its hiding place.
����� "Finally." A quick grin crossed his features and he reached for me. "Want to celebrate?"
����� "Not really. I'm tired. The trip you know." I disengaged myself from his arms and sat heavily down onto the bed.
����� "Come on," he sat next to me on the bed, the grin still firmly in place. "I promise you won't feel a thing!" I had to smile. Did he really just say that? I looked at him, dark hair, brown eyes, wrinkle lines around his mouth. I was just beginning to think that I had been wrong about him and that he just might be a nice guy when I noticed that even though he was smiling and his arm around me was light, his eyes were as cold as ice.
����� "Thanks anyway. Maybe next time." I got up. "I'm going to take my shower, and then I'm going to order something sinful from room service and spend the rest of my evening sleeping." I went into the bathroom and closed the door firmly, locking it behind me.
����� The shower was wonderful, and I discovered that the water had relaxed me to the point that I really was tired. I opened the bathroom door a little cautiously, but the room was empty. I walked over to the balcony, tying the belt on my robe and stepped out to breathe in the rich Swiss air. Three children playing in the street caught my attention and I looked down in time to see Glasses and Nietzsche cross the street between them..
���� I turned to go back inside and was abruptly flung forward and down, landing heavily on my hands and knees. Someone was screaming and for a few seconds I didn't know who it was. Then it stopped and I realized it was me. I pulled myself up and staggered back to the balcony, avoiding as much of the broken glass as I could. The street below was a shambles. The shock wave had shattered all the windows within thirty feet and I could see a crowd beginning to gather as people poured out of the hotel and nearby homes. Two of the children were sprawled across the curb, it didn't take a doctor to know they were dead. Suffer the little children The third was sitting about thirty feet away, holding his hands to his head. Blood was streaming from his ears and a cut on his forehead. The explosion had been small enough to affect only the immediate area. Where did it come from?
���� Glasses and Nietzsche lay untidily in the middle of the street. The arm that had held the brown paper package was gone and if I hadn't known what he was wearing I would never have recognized the rest of the body as the young man who had laughed at me only twenty minutes earlier. I scrambled through the room at top speed barely making it to the bathroom before I vomited. Afterwards, I sat on the floor, hugging the toilet seat. The sobs wouldn't stop, blocking my throat until I could hardly breathe.
���� Con, you bastard! How could you do this to me? I clenched my eyes shut, hoping to erase the scene on the street but the image of the dead boys was burned into my brain. My fault. My fault. My fault. The sound of sirens brought me back to the window. I staggered through the French doors and leaned heavily on the railing. Two men knelt over the body of Glasses and Nietzsche. One of them pulled a passport and wallet out of the dead man's pocket and handed them through the window of the black car. The men threw the body into the trunk and climbed into the back. With a purr of its powerful engine, the car disappeared around the corner just as the police cars came screaming into the square.
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