“The crash killed three people, and left six people in hospital all now under stable condition, and that’s the news at six, goodnight!” exclaimed Mary Ben on my old retro television. The screen was fuzzy, but I was getting used to it. Not like I could afford anything better anyway. I always hated how News Anchors could say a really horrible fact like someone froze to death so calmly and then act like nothing happened as they moved on to another topic or in this case said goodnight.
I sighed anxiously, the phone still hadn’t rung. I peered over at my cordless phone with a desperate look. I needed a job so badly, obviously to pay the bills, and second to get out of the apartment. I gave up trying to make the phone ring as if I had mind control and got of my sofa I found on a curb side last month. I dragged myself over to the kitchen where I relished in a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch Cereal. I was a mess, I hadn’t showered in two days, my hair was always in a pony-tail and I hadn’t been to the gym in weeks!
At that point I looked myself over in the mirror; I had to look at my ugly figure. I hoped that would make me want to get back on my feet, eating healthy and exercising again. My dark brunette hair was greasy and tied up in a high pony-tail. My emerald green eyes were blood shot from staying up all night watching TV, and my cheeks were filled with cereal. I had a sweat shirt on and baggy sweatpants on. It made me look fat almost. That’s when I said to myself, Yep, I better hit the gym.
I started getting ready, putting on some yoga pants and a nicely fitted tank-top when the phone rang. At first I had totally forgot that I was desperately wait for a phone call and ignored it while I finished putting on my top. Then it hit me while putting my arm through the first hole. I dashed to the phone my shirt half on. I tripped over my gym bag and crawled into the living room and dreadfully reached for the phone lying back down on my stomach, shirt hanging on my right shoulder, waiting to be fully put on.
“Genevieve Montclair Residence,” I urged, I always answered the phone that way, even when I was young my mom would always answer by saying, Montclair Residence, So it came to me naturally when I moved out.
“Yes, is this indeed Genevieve Montclair?” The voice was from a man, he had a deep voice like the ones you here in TV programs.
“Yes, Sir!” I answered blissfully but still soberly. He sounded important and I didn’t want to test his patience, especially if it would give me a job.
“We need you to come down to headquarters evidently at this moment, Baker Street and 4th Avenue. We will expect you in half an hour”
“How do I know you are true?” I had dealt with people like this and thought I should question before getting myself into anything. He didn’t speak but I could hear him breathing, a long silence filled the blank air. I couldn’t tell how he was feeling but I felt as if I won, but before I could claim victory, I heard a click as the phone line went dead. I didn’t trust this but I felt I should check it out. Great, I was getting myself into this.
I hung the phone up and finished putting on my shirt, then put on my jacket. I then grabbed for my car keys and purse and started to head out the door. I stopped short and thought for a second. I knew I should but for some reason I still didn't trusted this man. In the end I took my hand gun out of the bottom of my dresser drawer and tucked it in my coat. It was the best thing to do.
It didn’t take long to get there since I lived on right beside 5th street. My car screeched at all the red lights and stop sign’s. Whenever my car screeched, I cowered. I needed a new car. I looked at the street signs, Samson Street, Langley Street, Baker Street; Baker Street! I turned on to it and noticed he never gave me a building name or full address number but I past something that looked suspicious. Two hefty men in black suits standing next to a metal door, I parked the car and went up to the men. One slowly looked down at me then looked back up.
“Genevieve Montclair?” I looked at the men, both big broad shoulders men like you see in wrestling, one was white and bald, the other was black and had an army haircut. They didn’t seem to have guns but I didn’t ether so I had no promises they didn’t; plus they were both big men that could take me down easy.
“Yes” I said forcefully, the black guy opened the door and walked in, I looked at the white man expecting him fallow, but motioned for me to go. I walked in and white man did to locking the door behind us. I knew this wasn’t going to end well. They were going to knock me out or something, but with my profession you had to take risked to stay in it.
They walked me down a narrow hallway lined with doors, As I went past one door I heard a chain saw and something fly against the door, I flinched but quickly made a Smart-Alec remark to show I wasn’t scared,
“Getting the chain-saw ready for me?” They laughed but moved on; they knew I was scared, so I didn’t say anything else. Finally we came to a large red door; it had a lock attached to the door handle. Great, I thought, lock me in a room so I would starve to death. Pathetic but realistic in my situation, the black man unlocked the door with a small silver key, I could make out the shape, simple yet pretentious. They let me go in first; I eyed them to see if they were coming in too, they did. They locked the door from the inside and stood in front of it.
I looked around the small room; it had olive coloured walls, and dark hardwood flooring. At the other end of the room was a desk. Nothing on it, but a pen and a paper, and there were two chairs facing opposite each other on each side of the desk. Both matched the desk and had white velvet, and there was a door on the opposite wall from ours. The men that escorted me here then lead me to the desk and had me sit down. I didn’t feel scared anymore, more amused than anything. The door opened up and a small stout man came out. He slowly walked to the chair opposite of mine and sate down keeping his eyes on me the whole time.
“Ah, Genevieve Montclair” His voice wasn’t high pitched but it wasn’t deep ether, I could feel my hair on my back rise, I was ready to pounce if I had to. “We want you, and we will have you whether you like it or not” He motioned the white man over; he pulled my arm from the desk and put a thick wristband on it. I stared at it dully and looked at him motionless.
“We have a job for you and it won’t be easy. We want you to fly to London and talk to Josh Mortar, find out about Kelly Martin and when you find his location report back. We will give you the rest of the mission then”
“Why can’t I know the rest of the mission now?” I asked suspiciously, something was up and I wanted answers.
“Fallow Basil to the volt and he will give the rest of the instructions” And the small stout man walked away.
“So what does this do?” I asked looking at the wristband once we entered the volt. It was a hefty metal band, kind of like what you see in the movies. I had been trying to figure it out; I had been trying to get it off.
“It will track you, and if we see any un-necessary movements from you, like going to an un-charted house that isn’t a B and B, you will end up in a very unpleasant place” The white man, Basil said.
“Hell?”
“Worse”
He gave me a map of were Mr. Mortar would be, and then he gave me credit card to buy the necessary items.
“You can’t go home, you must go straight to the airport” Basil said,
“Why?”
“Do we need to drive you to the airport or will you drive your…” He stopped short and seemed to be looking for an appropriate word. I was very amused at this point as well “Junk-mobile” He ended up saying. We walked down the narrow hallway we entered and we walked back outside. The sky had cleared from before and there were only a few stranded clouds and a light breeze. Basil waited they unpleasantly for my answer, I looked at him fondly and jumped into my car. If they wouldn’t answer any of my questions, they wouldn’t get this answer, well I guess they kind of did, but I could still feel good that I didn’t answer.
“She’s on her way, expect her”.
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