The day was hot, hot and muggy. People sat at the tables used anything to hand to create a breeze on their faces while they waited for their food. Waiters circled continuously in a strange, hypnotic dance, picking up plates, putting plates down, hardly stopping to take notice before they once again joined the dance. The expressions on the faces of the customers showed their distaste for where they were and the excuse for food they were eating.
Charles had already ordered and paid for his food. So when he saw the cashier exiting the café and searching, he became suspicious. It had always afforded him well to be suspicious. While he was paying, a flash of recognition had crossed his mind. Where had he seen her before? He didn’t like it, something smelled off. When the girl spotted him, she screwed up her eyes, halted briefly then headed quickly towards him.
This was Charles’ cue. He sprang to his feet, as well as he could for a sixty-year-old and began to run down the first dark alley he saw, but her footsteps echoed with his own. He pulled a dustbin on its side then ran quicker than before. He heard the cry and the rolling dustbin; it had worked. It was an old trick he had used many times before.
As he rounded the end of the alley, he stopped to catch his breath, thinking she would have been put off – unlikely - or taken her time to get up, more likely.
In fact, she was quicker than he expected and he could already hear the slap of her flat-soled shoes emerging from the alley. Before she could round the corner, he had slipped into the doors of the hotel behind him.
He saw her run past the door. Good! He started walking to the back entrance of the hotel. After ten steps or so, he heard the main door open and the now familiar slap of her shoes. My God, she was good. Who had he hurt in the past that still bore a grudge against him? The Sureteé perhaps, or the French MI6. No, neither of those. It must be Songbird. He had been bad to her, but it was all in the name of security. She had to be too old by now though.
As he emerged from the rear entrance, a street sweeper van was passing by. He ran round the other side of it and jumped on the footboard. The girl left the hotel and ran into the middle of the road. He had hoped she would run down the alley across the street, but she stopped in the middle of the road, looking first away from him and then towards him. Damn, she was good. One of their best, whoever they were. She saw him and immediately took off again.
The sweeper van rounded a left-hand corner and off he jumped and ran behind a wheelie bin and towards the local cinema, allowing himself a small peek to watch her chase the van. But no, she was already heading back and saw him looking round the corner. She reached into her pocket. She was going for a gun, he thought and set off quickly into the cinema, knocking over the ice cream girl. Into the darkened cinema he ran and straight down the right hand aisle. He pushed open the emergency exit and looked back. She was heading straight towards him. Why had he opened the door? The light spilled in and illuminated him. He was getting sloppy; he would never have done that in the past, he would have laid on the floor in an empty row of seats.
Once more on the street, he ran for no reason at all to the left and down towards the harbour, but as he rounded the first bend, he spied outside steps leading the roof of a row of houses. Up he went in no time and once on top, he looked back. He should have known. There she was again, heading for the steps. He noticed she had no gun in her hand but her fist was tightly clenched. What was it? A new type of grenade, a small knife? He just didn’t know.
He ran along the roof and, making a split second judgement, jumped landing close to the edge of the roof on the next building, too close for comfort. She had no trouble, however, and cleared the gap easily. This wouldn’t do. He had to get to ground again. So down the next stairway he ran, three steps at a time. He was next to the harbour now, no room for cover.
He had to have it out with her and stopped by a stack of lobster baskets. She ran towards him and stopped ten feet away. She stretched out her arm with the clenched fist and he held his breath. “Monsieur” she said. “Your change.”
Charles had already ordered and paid for his food. So when he saw the cashier exiting the café and searching, he became suspicious. It had always afforded him well to be suspicious. While he was paying, a flash of recognition had crossed his mind. Where had he seen her before? He didn’t like it, something smelled off. When the girl spotted him, she screwed up her eyes, halted briefly then headed quickly towards him.
This was Charles’ cue. He sprang to his feet, as well as he could for a sixty-year-old and began to run down the first dark alley he saw, but her footsteps echoed with his own. He pulled a dustbin on its side then ran quicker than before. He heard the cry and the rolling dustbin; it had worked. It was an old trick he had used many times before.
As he rounded the end of the alley, he stopped to catch his breath, thinking she would have been put off – unlikely - or taken her time to get up, more likely.
In fact, she was quicker than he expected and he could already hear the slap of her flat-soled shoes emerging from the alley. Before she could round the corner, he had slipped into the doors of the hotel behind him.
He saw her run past the door. Good! He started walking to the back entrance of the hotel. After ten steps or so, he heard the main door open and the now familiar slap of her shoes. My God, she was good. Who had he hurt in the past that still bore a grudge against him? The Sureteé perhaps, or the French MI6. No, neither of those. It must be Songbird. He had been bad to her, but it was all in the name of security. She had to be too old by now though.
As he emerged from the rear entrance, a street sweeper van was passing by. He ran round the other side of it and jumped on the footboard. The girl left the hotel and ran into the middle of the road. He had hoped she would run down the alley across the street, but she stopped in the middle of the road, looking first away from him and then towards him. Damn, she was good. One of their best, whoever they were. She saw him and immediately took off again.
The sweeper van rounded a left-hand corner and off he jumped and ran behind a wheelie bin and towards the local cinema, allowing himself a small peek to watch her chase the van. But no, she was already heading back and saw him looking round the corner. She reached into her pocket. She was going for a gun, he thought and set off quickly into the cinema, knocking over the ice cream girl. Into the darkened cinema he ran and straight down the right hand aisle. He pushed open the emergency exit and looked back. She was heading straight towards him. Why had he opened the door? The light spilled in and illuminated him. He was getting sloppy; he would never have done that in the past, he would have laid on the floor in an empty row of seats.
Once more on the street, he ran for no reason at all to the left and down towards the harbour, but as he rounded the first bend, he spied outside steps leading the roof of a row of houses. Up he went in no time and once on top, he looked back. He should have known. There she was again, heading for the steps. He noticed she had no gun in her hand but her fist was tightly clenched. What was it? A new type of grenade, a small knife? He just didn’t know.
He ran along the roof and, making a split second judgement, jumped landing close to the edge of the roof on the next building, too close for comfort. She had no trouble, however, and cleared the gap easily. This wouldn’t do. He had to get to ground again. So down the next stairway he ran, three steps at a time. He was next to the harbour now, no room for cover.
He had to have it out with her and stopped by a stack of lobster baskets. She ran towards him and stopped ten feet away. She stretched out her arm with the clenched fist and he held his breath. “Monsieur” she said. “Your change.”