Chapter Three

Kalina awoke mid-morning, not rested and very hungry. She'd spent half the night tossing and turning, unable to get Gregorovich out of her mind.

I should have known it'd be like this she bemoaned. Even though she knew she was safe, that she'd done everything to disappear and that chances of being found were slim, she couldn't escape the fact that Gregorovich would be trying to find her. That thought made her uncomfortable.

Kalina wasn't a novice. She'd worked for various people for several years, since she was just 17, although she hadn't moved onto dangerous missions until she was almost 20, and now she was 21. At first, it was just delivering packages for her uncle, who she went to live with in Italy from England after her parents' divorce when she was 16. Her uncle was some sort of businessman, she never really found out what, but when he was killed a month before her 20th birthday she'd realised it was serious. With no-one to support her, parents she never spoke to, and a whole network of contacts in her uncle's circle, a good way to make money was to put her slowly-learnt skills into action. She'd become a jack-of-all-trades; thief, decoy, spy, undercover agent. She'd only worked for government once, as an intelligence operative, and they'd been happy to let her under their radar in return. It was good money, and it beat a nine to five.

She didn't like killing, but sometimes it was necessary. Something she'd come to realise was that people would do anything for money, even her. She would kill if the price was right.

She dressed carefully in front of the mirror. Combat trousers, training shoes, a khaki vest and fashionable jacket. With a pair of large sunglasses and hair brushed to a smooth shine, she looked like any normal young woman about town, which was where she was headed for lunch. The small pistol at her ankle was invisible, and she only carried it just in case. After a long debate as to where to put the disc, she decided to take it with her. If the motel room was rifled she'd have no excuse, at least if the disc was on her she could drop it somewhere if she ran into trouble. She slipped it into a pocket of her trousers.

As she stepped out into the cool morning sunshine, she was completely oblivious to the forces mounting against her.

Patel – who had no other name – had spent much of his life in South America, away from the authorities. There, in the jungle and the backstreets, he'd been a ruthless killer, thief and ganglord. He worked for himself, always had. He'd proved himself an enthusiastic killer.

With none of the poise of a professional assassin, Patel would be known among assassins as a murderer, someone to be disdained for creating a mess. He didn't sneak away in the darkness without a trace; he shouted his crimes from the rooftops and then bribed the relevant authorities. Already in Eastern Europe, the police were in his grip.

If he'd been more subtle, more skilful, Gregorovich would have heard of him, maybe appreciated his work and looked to him as a possible ally or enemy of the future. Because he was so brash, however, Patel had been ignored by Scorpio and most other organisations. His own interests, which were all he cared about, rarely clashed with those of larger establishments. Until now.

Now he wanted the disc, and as far as he knew, Gregorovich wanted it too. He had heard of the Russian and killing him filled him with a grim excitement. Patel would very much like to pull the trigger himself. As for the girl, she was a nuisance, but she must be found. Patel decided that following Gregorovich to her wasn't an option; the man would realise straightaway. He would have to find the girl independently. He circulated her picture amongst the local police and officials. All airlines, ports and toll bridges were watched within a few hours of Patel's attack on Klunt's mansion. Police in the streets knew there was a reward if they spotted her, and a punishment if they were wrong. Anyone seeing Gregorovich was also to report, but to leave the man alone. Patel himself occupied a penthouse suite in a central hotel in the city, where CCTV feeds from official buildings across town had been routed, knowing that it was only a matter of time.

Yassen spent much of the night researching Patel. With only a single name to go on he'd expected nothing, but information trickled steadily through from Scorpio, who he'd called on reaching the safe house. Surprised at losing the disc, Klunt's double-crossing, and Mr. Jones' betrayal, they had charged Gregorovich with recovering the disc and killing Patel if necessary.

The files on Patel were all the same. He'd beenencountered by Scorpio agents on a number of occasions, always on the periphery so not a lot was known about him. A minor gang leader, selfish, brutal, he seemed to enjoy killing for killing's sake. Gregorovich thought the man a danger, not because of his skill but because of his bloody-mindedness. He didn't seem to care who he hurt to get what he wanted; there were stories of women and children murdered in their beds. Patel had none of an assassin's pride.

Based on what the files said, Yassen thought there was a good chance the authorities were on his side. With no leads of his own, he decided to find Patel, and let the man's superior resources lead them both to the girl.

He asked Scorpio to monitor calls within the city in an effort to find out where Patel was. After a few hour's sleep, hungry and restless, he drove into town. Patel was most likely in the city where there was more to do; he seemed to favour official quarters, and when the phonecall came from Scorpio detailing his location, Yassen wanted to be on hand to react.

He parked underground and took a flight of stairs out into the daylight. It was nearing noon; the streets were relatively quiet before the lunchtime rush, and pavement café's were just setting out tables for business. He walked for a little while, then chose an expensive-looking café and sat outside, ordering coffee. Only a few other customers were there; an elderly couple, and two young women, one in a smart suit and one dressed casually. The suited woman spoke quietly in German on a mobile phone, whilst the other sipped an orange juice and read a newspaper.

Yassen sighed. He was good at waiting, he'd been trained to wait. He could wait all day if he had to, all week. That didn't stop the sigh from escaping. The sigh was for his bungled mission, the new threat in Patel. Unforeseen circumstances were not an assassin's friend.

After his coffee he ordered lunch, and ate it slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. The businesswoman left, and another elderly couple sat down. Yassen's phone remained silent. He finished lunch and ordered another drink, wondering about going for a walk by the river, perhaps feeding the ducks…

The sun went behind a cloud, and the woman reading the newspaper took her sunglasses off.

Yassen froze, coffee cup halfway to his mouth.

Her!

A/N: Not many readers for the first two chapters... i think there should be some sort of 'Gregorovich is interesting really' campaign. Thank you for reading this far anyway, there's lots more to come. Please review and make me feel better about the lack of hits...!