Page 6 of Mine to Keep
I tuck my ticket into the book of my passport, and toss her number into the first trash can I see. No need to hang on to it when I won’t use it.
After I step through the security checkpoint and TSA pats me down, I note just how busy the airport is. Yeah, airports are normally full of travelers, but it’s seems more than usual. I note all the families in the gates, kids shrieking and running around, and remember it’s summer and kids are out for summer break. Flights will be packed and babies will be crying. I’m thankful I brought along my noise-canceling headphones.
My first stop before I get to my gate is a coffee shop, buying the largest, strongest cup of coffee they have. Caffeine will have to get the job done until I get to the safe house and ensure I’m not followed. Then I’ll have to check over the plans and directions to the location of my hit, iron out my method of execution and verify I have everything I need. So I may not sleep for at least fourteen more hours.
After spotting three empty seats in a sea full of occupied chairs, I weave in and out of the many people lying on the floor, and outstretched legs, to get to them. I’m surprised to see that the chairs are near an outlet, and no one has snapped them up yet.
I sit down and reach into my bag, pulling out my headphone case and phone charger. Setting my bag onto an empty seat, I zip it back up and plug my charger into the outlet. I have a long flight ahead of me and I don’t want to run the risk of my phone dying on me.
Once I’m comfortable, I pull out a book and open it to my marked page. The cover of the book isDon’t Hurt Meby Nelson Riggs but inside is all the information I need on my target, Joyner Sands.
I’ve been over his file numerous times, but it doesn’t hurt to study my target to ensure I can execute this effectively. After the fuck-up with Judge Bowers, I don’t want to be caught off guard again. Especially with my lack of sleep.
Sands is a fifty-five-year-old deadbeat father that embezzled funds from his tech company and absconded to Luxembourg. Though there is a treaty between the US and Luxembourg, Luxembourg authorities said they can’t arrest and extradite him back because there isn’t enough proof of a crime.
It’s been three years since he moved out of the country, leaving his employees without a paycheck and his investors out of their retirement funds. The attorney general is working to prove he’s guilty, but his estranged wife and kids aren’t willing to wait that long.
I pour over the information, taking in the coordinates and layout of his mini mansion, along with entry and exit points to ensure I get in and out without much trouble.
The vineyard he’s residing on is one of the most popular in the region, supplying not only grapes for wine-making, but raisins too, as well as facilitating the production of a world-renowned wine that goes for about three thousand dollars a bottle. I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on a bottle just to see if it’s really worth that much.
My eyes keep drifting closed, begging for a nap, but I can’t. I need to be alert while in such a busy location. Anyone could sneak up on me and jab a needle in my neck or stab me between the ribs with a slim but sharp blade.
Still, my eyes droop, exhaustion washing over me. It’s been weeks since I’ve slept. Weeks since I’ve been able to shut my brain off so I can recover and energize.
This is why I need to memorize everything I can about this file and Sands. If I don’t, I can fuck up another job like in Adelane, or I can end up dead and no one will ever know. The Void will cover it up and I’d be a nameless, faceless person in a morgue in Luxembourg.
“Excuse me,” a sweet, mildly deep voice says, making my eyes snap open and my hand fly to where I’d have my gun if I were armed.
Fuck, I can’t fall asleep.
Shaking myself, I sip some of the coffee that almost fell from my slack hand.
“Sir?”
I look up to see who the person is and who they’re talking to.
A short, slight Black man with long cornrows that drape down his back stands in front of me, his wide, innocent eyes boring into me. His hands hold the straps of his backpack in a tight grip.
He points to the seat beside where my backpack is resting and the one right beside it. “Are these seats taken?” He’s biting his plump bottom lip, looking between me, the empty seats, and someone or something behind me. I don’t turn around to see who or what he’s gaping at, not wanting to look suspicious.
My heart rate doesn’t pick up, but I’m on high alert. Who is this man and why did he approach me, of all people? I quickly glance around and see there are a few other empty chairs, even some together. So who is he and what is his angle?
It could be a hit. We might be in a crowded airport with people on all sides, but that means nothing. I’ve killed people in the middle of concerts, surrounded by thousands of people, and in churches during praise and worship. People being around isn’t a deterrent when the job needs to be completed.
I don’t answer, just lower my gaze back to the book—or document—I’m reading.
The man moves from foot to foot, making a sort of whining sound, ignoring the fact that I’m ignoring him.
I need to figure out who he is. If he were just a civilian, he wouldn’t still be here, dead set on getting my attention when I’m doing everything I can to ignore him.
Right?
If he’s here to kill me or incapacitate me, I need to be aware. Does he work for a company in opposition to The Void? Another agency?
“Is that a no?” he says quietly, innocently. It doesn’t change my initial assumptions, but it does make me look up at him once more.
My initial thought is to tell him to fuck off, but I need to know who he is and why he won’t give up when someone is clearly not giving him the time of day. That can’t be normal for someone that doesn’t have ulterior motives, right?
