She knew she was born to die.
Not yet, though.
Which is why she stabbed the guy in the throat. Blood squirted out all over her hand, all over the small mirror. She kicked the flush pedal on the toilet to cover the noise of the man groaning into her other hand. She was smothering it well enough.
This was the only bathroom on the plane and she had to deliver the guests’ drinks in a minute before they got suspicious and came looking.
Basically, blood everywhere wasn’t helping her situation.
She looked down and saw it on her chest, the bare part, rolling down over the chain of her necklace that held her heart-shaped locket and touching the line of her dress.
She’d figured there would be killing. She was surprised it had started so soon. They’d only reached thirty thousand feet five minutes ago.
Which is when it had started:
“Who are you, darling?”
“Virginia Hart.”
He looked her up and down.
“But who are you, like a stripper or a hooker?”
Virginia looked down at her clothes, indicating, then back at the man. “I’m a stewardess.”
The guy raised his eyebrows, amused. “Five hundred dollars says you’re not.”
“Five hundred? That’s all you think I’m worth,” Virginia said in an amused and playful tone of voice. She wasn’t amused. But it wouldn’t hurt to let him think she was.
Wouldn’t hurt her mission.
Virginia let the man’s body crumple down into the corner of the bathroom.
She made sure the door was locked. The toilet had finished flushing. The guy was completely dead now, not making any noise. His gun was still in his hand, finger on the trigger. She had tried her best not to kill him. Her first reaction was to put him to sleep, but he’d taken out the gun.
Virginia took a small step away from the settling corpse. There were only a few feet of square space in this tiny box of a bathroom. She was surprised at how small the bathroom was seeing how this was a private and supposedly luxurious plane, a 737, remodeled and refurnished. Probably worth more than seventy-five million. The seats were nice, comfy leather. There was an open bar. Wasn’t nearly as big as a 747, but still.
She’d heard it was a great plane to fly. She’d only flown Gulfstreams and Cessnas. She liked flying. It was intriguing. Took one’s mind off of things.
Like hiding a dead body.
Maybe she could leave the body here for a time.
That seemed to be her only option.
The front of her dress was soaked in blood. So was her skin. She turned her head, looked in the mirror—well, in the part of the mirror not covered in blood. There was a spray of blood across her forehead, a little in her hair. She had to find a change of clothes and wash off.
This was an interesting situation.
She’d been in worse, she told herself.
“I can pay more than my earlier offer,” the man had said.
His name was George Reynolds. Virginia knew all about him. She was never slack when it came to reconnaissance. She knew more about the ten passengers on this plane than they knew about one another. She’d even done recon on the men’s bodyguards. All ten men had a personal bodyguard on the plane with them.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The ten men were working on business deals. Deals relating to drugs, arms, and sex trafficking. The worst of the worst. George Reynolds had been in the business for over twenty years. He was an old man with a harem of prostitutes back in his mansion in Mexico City. Virginia had visited the mansion before, unofficially. In fact, she’d been in his room.
She’d seen him shoot one of his prostitutes. He wasn’t satisfied with how she was trying to please him—and perhaps he was taking out on her his frustrations of the day—so he walked her to his tall balcony and shot her in the head, pushed her over the side.
Virginia had wanted to kill him then, but it would have jeopardized her mission. She needed him so that she could get to here. And she needed to be here.
“How much?” Virginia asked.
Coquettish always, Virginia had the looks and the quality of movement that could attract any man. In training, they showed the women going into undercover work Audrey Hepburn, Marilyn Monroe, and Grace Kelly films, as well as school them in the art of seduction.
Virginia naturally had the movement of Grace Kelly. She never had to learn. It didn’t hurt that she was only twenty-seven, the youngest person in the agency working in the field.
“Name a price,” he said.
“What’s your name, mister?”
“Mr. Reynolds to you.”
“I’m just playing with you, Mr. Reynolds. I really am a stewardess. But, it’s flattering to know what you think.”
The man was still holding that amused expression. He chewed on nothing for a moment, then smiled. Virginia had seen the smile. He was aroused. He wanted her.
How much, though?—was the question. His interest could be useful or counterproductive. Not that she’d ever do anything with him. It’s just, lust and elusive promise are useful in matters of manipulation. Virginia weighed the options in her mind. She decided to walk away.
He didn’t say a word, but she could feel him staring at her as she walked past. She had been on her way to the back when he’d started talking to her.
George Reynolds had always gotten everything he’d wanted. Now he was a lifeless piece of flesh. Virginia was annoyed with herself. Happy the man was dead. But she’d always planned on killing him—later on, in the future, not on this mission. His lust ended up being counterproductive to her mission.
She’d been in the bathroom for less than a minute, and she’d figured out her plan.
She had to leave the bathroom, and leave it unlocked for about two minutes, hoping that no one of the twenty-seven people on the plane would use it in the next two minutes.
It would take her one minute to walk to the front of the plane where her bag was being kept in a compartment bin. It would take her one minute to walk back. In her bag was a roll of dental floss. She would use the floss to lock the bathroom door from the outside. It was as simple as tying one end to the door’s lock, letting the string fall under the door and, after closing the door from the outside, pulling the string, sliding the latch home.
Two minutes.
First, she needed to wash her face and take care of her blood-stained dress. She kicked Reynolds’ legs out of the way with her high heels and stood in front of the sink. Blood pooled under his body.
Turning the water to hot, soaping up her hands, she scrubbed the blood from her face and neck and hair.
Grabbing a wad of paper towels, she dried off her face and wiped the remaining blood from her hair. Her face was fine. It was just her chest. The dress had too much blood on it. She wouldn’t be able to get it out. She took more paper towels, building up the wad.
She had a jacket in her luggage.
She pressed the wad of paper towels against her chest, covering the blood. If anyone asked, she’d say she’d spilled something. Or that her dress was ripped. She’d figure it out. Maybe no one would ask.
She turned the latch on the bathroom door and stepped out.
Two minutes tops.
Twenty-seven people. Some of the people had seen Reynolds come back this way. They might assume he was still using the bathroom. Which, in a way, he was. Maybe she’d mention it to them. That could be a good idea.
Taking a calming breath and a moment to dedicate her life—and it was her life at stake—to her simple story, Virginia began down the aisle.
Shannon’s voice came in her right ear, through the very small ear chip. “Mission update? And don’t tell me you’ve done anything drastic. It’s supposed to be a simple extract.”
“I may have,” Virginia said under her breath.
But then she couldn’t talk anymore, because she was within earshot of the passengers.
“What—what does that mean?”
Shannon was Virginia’s handler back at USI.
Virginia continued down the aisle, walking elegantly in her high heels, unfettered by the jitters of turbulence underfoot. Thunder roared. Through the small windows, Virginia saw lightning crack—the light flashing across her face. Following the display of electrical power came the rain. It came suddenly. She could hear it beating against the roof a few feet overhead. Could see it pouring past the windows.
George Reynolds deserved it, she thought.
And she was happy he was dead. She didn’t know if hell existed, but she pictured him there now. It was a nice thought. Now if she could just send a few more like him there, she’d be a happy girl.
Thunder roared.