Chapter 6

The Tail

Mireille still sat at the outdoor table at the streetside cafe. Sipping from her coffee cup, she cast an eye over the crowd. The woman was long gone, but her nerves remained.

The sheer audacity of that woman, going right up to her in public, in broad daylight.

She knew that in her line of work, danger could strike from anywhere (assassins, after all, were not without enemies), but since she had learned of the Soldats and the depth of her own involvement with them, she was now half-expecting agents everywhere, and it seemed as if her suspicions had been justified.

That man in a suit by the wall, or the one with the sunglasses at the pedestrian crossing waiting for the lights to change, or even the one with the crutches sitting at the table nursing a coffee cup. Any of them could be Soldats, keeping an eye on her at a distance. Any one of them could simply draw a weapon and end her life. And disappear into the crowds.

In fact...

Her coffee finally finished, Mireille stood up, hefted the bags and started on her way back to her apartment.

Damien Roche raked fingers back through his dark blond hair, watching as the blonde woman left the café. He waited until she was about sixty or so metres away before he started to follow her. His orders were simple: follow and observe, and make sure you're not seen.

He had been given a name, an address, and a photo, but that was it. He had no idea who Mireille Bouquet was, or why she was so important. Was it a case of corporate espionage? Some shady criminal dealings? Was she a drug courier? A cheating wife? It was all 'need-to-know', apparently; the bare minimum.

Hell, she didn't even look that old. A university student, perhaps?

He didn't even know for sure who the client was, except that he'd glimpsed him in the hallway once back at the Paladin Security offices. Some guy in a suit. Corporate type; the kind of guy who probably sat on a board of directors. Seven, maybe eight-figure salary. Again, need-to-know.

Then again, he couldn't really complain. He was being paid well to basically follow this woman around. He was getting the hang of this whole surveillance thing, too: most of the time, he did security escorts for corporate VIPs, and surveillance was new to him. Something different.

For a second, he worried that she'd spotted him, but she only looked at him for a second, and besides, she was merely looking in his direction, not straight at him.

Bouquet weaved her way through the people on the street, her pace unhurried. Then she started what looked like power walking, then alternating between this quickened pace and regular walking speed. She kept this up for about two blocks, before turning left and going down a different street.

Roche turned the corner. He could still see her, but now she had transitioned from power walking to a slow jog, weaving her way through the throng of people on the sidewalk.

Damn, have I been made?

Impatient, he started jogging, finding himself running into shoulders and bags. More than one pedestrian gave an annoyed grunt or yell. Ahead, Bouquet was making good time, weaving through the crowds with far less effort than him.

Then she ducked into an alley.

Roche cautiously made his way towards the alley, a hand going to his jacket for his holstered SIG P226. No; still too many people.

Pressing himself against the wall, he slowly moved his head to look into the alley.

The alley, which connected two parallel streets, wasn't a stereotypical dark, dingy, dirty alley, like in an American movie, but the shadows from the buildings meant that it was still dimmer than the open streets. It was lined by several buildings on both sides. The blonde woman was nowhere to be found.

He figured that she must have proceeded down the alley to the next road. He started walking down the alley, his hand still in his jacket. Growing impatient, he started to jog down the alley.

"I think that's far enough."

He stopped dead in his tracks. The voice came from behind him. How did she –

"Take it out. Slowly."

He sighed, slowly drew his SIG with his right hand. He held it in the air by his head.

"Good. Put it on the ground. Slowly."

He complied. Sweat started to bead his forehead.

"Kick it away."

He looked down and kicked out sideways with his right foot. The pistol clattered away on the concrete.

"Keep those hands where I can see them. You can turn around now."

Roche raised his hands, keeping them level with his chest. He slowly turned around. He saw Bouquet, about four metres away, half her body poking out from the gap between two buildings on one side of the alley. She held a suppressed pistol on him with both hands.

It was almost funny, having a girl holding a gun on you. Or it would be, if it wasn't actually happening.

Damn! He should've been more careful! He should've checked the fucking gaps between the buildings first! Instead, he had to go rushing in like an idiot, didn't he?

She stepped out into the alley. "This is the part where you tell me why you're following me." Her voice was calm, but clipped.

He was nervous, but he figured she wouldn't shoot. "And if I don't?"

She shrugged. "Then I just kill you right here and now."

She's bluffing. He allowed himself a faint grin, despite the bead of sweat on his temple. "Even with that suppressor, that gun will make quite a noise, you know."

Her reply was deadpan. "Tell me something I don't know."

He hesitated – he had no response for that. She really didn't care?

"I'm waiting."

No! His orders were to remain silent and not give up anything if compromised – not as if he had much to give up, anyway. He tightened his lips and swallowed. "I won't tell you anything."

Her expression and voice hardened. "I'm running out of patience here. You have five seconds." Bouquet slid her trigger finger inside her pistol's trigger guard.

"One."

Shit, she was gonna do it!

"Two."

Her finger visibly tightened around the trigger.

"Three."

He could swear she was pulling the trigger.

"Four."

He wasn't dying for this shit! "Alright! I'll tell you what I know!"

Bouquet smiled, a thin, satisfied smile. "Good." Her finger relaxed, but stayed in the trigger guard.

Roche's opinion of her changed dramatically. Her stance and the way she held the pistol implied she was comfortable with guns. Odds were she knew how to fight. Getting out of this wouldn't be easy.

"Alright..." He swallowed. "Um... all I know is, I was ordered to follow you and keep an eye on whatever you did in public." It was true; he was just told to keep her under surveillance. Would she buy it, though?

"Why?"

"I don't know," he replied with a slight shake of his head. "I was only told to follow you."

"Who are you working for?"

"What?"

"Who? Who are you working for?"

"Um..."

"The Soldats?"

He hesitated for a second. Soldiers? What's she talking about?

"I don't know, I was just told to follow you!"

Bouquet paused, her eyes visibly narrowing. Clearly, she was thinking things over. Then, she came up with another question. "Who told you that?"

"What?"

"Who do you take your orders from?"

Scared as he was, he was getting frustrated, tired of taking her questions. He was angry at his seeming impotence, and he still didn't think she would shoot him. "As if I'd tell you that."

He was wrong.

Her arms shifted down as she pulled the trigger. The gun clicked loudly, with a small flash.

Roche screamed as he collapsed to the ground, clutching his left leg in pain. Blood seeped from a tear in his trouser leg.

He looked down in shock at the red stain on his leg, at the blood that was seeping out onto his hands, and finally looked up at her. "Damn it! You bitch! You fucking shot me!"

"Consider yourself lucky," Bouquet coolly replied. "That bullet didn't even go in. Next time, though..." She aimed at his gut.

"No! I'm too valuable for you to kill," he hissed through the pain.

"If you don't talk, you lose any and all value to me."

Roche sucked in his breaths, gritting his teeth in pain. He glared at her in defiance.

"We'll try again. Who is issuing your orders?"

"Alright... alright! Look: all I know was that I was ordered to follow you. I just work for Paladin Security. You know, escorts, bodyguards!"

She nodded. "Thank you. Who was the client?"

"I don't know his name. All I know is he's... he's some corporate type. Some suit."

Bouquet paused again, her arms lowering slightly. She said something under her breath – he saw her lips move – but he had no idea what she had just said. She then spoke up, more audibly. "That narrows it down. Got a name?"

"I told you, I don't know!"

"What does he look like?" There was an impatient, angry edge to her voice.

"I don't know! I just get briefings from my supervisor, okay?! Fuck!"

Bouquet simply stood there, again seemingly thinking things over. Then she simply nodded, and raised her pistol.