Mr. Prime Minister

by Jessica Ashe

  “Then he dies.”

  “And is getting revenge worth spending the rest of your life in prison?”

  “Yes,” I reply immediately. Getting revenge might sound petty and immature, but I’m still going to do it. It won’t bring my men back, and to be honest, it probably won’t stop something similar happening again, but I might be able to sleep at night, even if I am on an uncomfortable prison mattress.

  “Are you having second thoughts?” I ask. Shauna could easily tip off the police or the senator and end this entire thing. If she’s having doubts, I could have a problem.

  “No. You’re right, he does deserve this. My brother died just so that scumbag could guarantee his reelection. Let’s end him.”

  “Carry on as normal at your end. Don’t do anything silly like handing in your notice. That will only draw attention to you during the investigation. If I’m caught, I’ll tell them I worked by myself. You won’t get drawn into this.”

  “When’s the big day?”

  “It’s best you don’t know. That way you don’t have to act surprised. Soon, though. Really soon.”

  I hang up and go back to making sure my gun is in perfect condition. Once I complete my mission, there’ll be no going back. I already know I won’t regret it. Maybe that’s not quite true. I will regret one aspect. I’m going to kill him with a bullet to the head—that means he’ll die quickly and painlessly. That’s not what he deserves.

  Shauna might have been right. Senator Robertson doesn’t deserve death. He deserves so much more.

  I hit the streets once again.

  Shauna offered to give me the senator’s schedule, but that risks implicating her in the murder. This needs to look like I’m acting alone, and that means finding out how and when I can kill the senator by myself.

  He drives everywhere, so I won’t have much of a window. There’s a five-second gap between him leaving the building of his Chicago office and getting into a car. That’s four seconds more than I need.

  All of the surrounding high-rises are those modern office blocks with windows that don’t open, or barely open at all. There are no abandoned book depositories for me to hide in. Hell, I’d settle for a grassy knoll. I only have one option, but fortunately, it’s a good one.

  To the northeast of the senator’s office is a multistory parking garage with lots of lovely open vantage points. It’s also full of cars, however, it looks like the garage fills up early in the morning and then people don’t return until after work. There’s a decent chance I can lay low and be undisturbed for five or ten minutes. And if I’m caught—well so be it. As long as he dies.

  The lack of choice is surprisingly comforting. I’m used to making the best out of what I’ve got. If I can make headshots during a sandstorm, I can sure as hell do it on a quiet Friday afternoon.

  Once I have the location sorted, I head back to my empty apartment. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt bored. After a few months alone in a prison cell, something in your mind switches, and you lose the capacity to be bored. Having nothing to do becomes a positive. At least I’m not being beaten and tortured. After just a few months back on American soil, I’m already tempted to rejoin civilized society and buy a television.

  That’s not a good idea. I could be back in prison in a week’s time; there’s no point getting used to luxuries now.

  I start working out. It’s just push-ups—nothing particularly exciting—but it keeps my mind focused. Or at least it does until I hear Piper’s voice outside.

  I look out the window and down at the trash cans on the ground floor. She’s just dropping off the trash and talking to a man who is empty-handed. He must live here as well. They look friendly.

  I don’t like that fact that they look friendly. Weird.

  Given time, I’m sure I could get friendly with Piper as well. I wouldn’t say we hit it off, but I sense a connection with her. She’s almost enough to make me delay the mission. Just an extra week, maybe two, and I could probably have a go on that tiny little ass. I’m sure she’d make it worth my while.

  Despite the cold, she’s wearing a low-cut top, and giving me a great view from up here. Her boobs aren’t huge, but breast size has never really bothered me that much. I find the smaller ones can be more sensitive, and that’s just as fun as big bouncy ones in my book.

  She crosses her arms, pushing her breasts up slightly and getting my cock positively twitching. It doesn’t last long. She’s crossed her arms for a reason, and I soon hear that the conversation is not as friendly as I first thought.

  What looked innocent, now looks threatening. The man isn’t just talking to her, he’s got her trapped by the bins. There’s a brisk wind, and I can’t make out what they’re saying. Piper’s body language is clear enough to me. It’s saying ‘get out of my way and leave me alone.’ This guy must be blind if he can’t see that. She mutters something and tries to squeeze past, but he shifts his weight to block her path.

  That’s enough for me.

  I run out the apartment and head down the stairs at the far end of the hall. By the time I make it around to the bins, Piper has gone and the man appears to be rubbing his leg.

  He looks up guiltily as I walk towards him. He’s older than I thought. Early forties, perhaps. He’s not in great physical shape anymore, but you can tell he used to be. There’s a stockiness to him that suggests what is now fat used to be muscle. When he stops rubbing his leg, he stands up straight and holds his head up high. He’s as tall as me and used to getting what he wants. He’s not the best-looking guy, and that stubble around his face makes him look tired, not sexy. He’s nowhere near good enough for a girl like Piper, but he’s big enough to intimidate most guys.

  Not me.

  As he tries to walk past, I reach out my arm, and place my hand on his chest. The wind carries the stench of alcohol from his mouth to my nose. Drunk, great. That means he’ll be easier to take out if I need to, but I’d rather not. Getting in fights isn’t a good way to lay low.

  “What the fuck do you want?” the man asks.

  “Just introducing myself,” I say calmly. “I’ve just moved in. I’m Alec.”

  “Phil,” he replies uncertainly, sensing a trap.

  He tries to walk past me again, but I press my hand against his chest and send him stumbling back a few steps.

  “What were you talking to Piper about?” I ask.

  “Nothing. Just a friendly chat. She’s my neighbor.”

  He manages to maintain eye contact for an entire second, before looking at the floor sheepishly.

  “It didn’t look like a friendly chat to me.”

  “I’m just trying to take out the trash.”

  “Me too. If I see you having any more of these ‘friendly chats’ with Piper, then you’re going to end up in one of those dumpsters. Are we clear?”

  “Piper can handle herself,” Phil says, involuntarily leaning down and rubbing his leg.

  “Are we clear?” I repeat, louder this time.

  Phil nods and stumbles past me. He’s drunk, but I’ve never been one to let people get away with shit because they got voluntarily intoxicated. He eventually gets inside, after trying to open the locked door three times first. I almost feel sorry for him. I can’t imagine he’s the first man to get overly keen on Piper. She has that air of authenticity about her. She’s simultaneously the girl next door and most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  My two brief conversations with Piper were enough for me to realize I’m going to be accidentally bumping into her in the hallway more than once over the next week. It’s almost enough for me to delay killing Senator Robertson. Almost, but not quite.

  Chapter Five

  Alec

  There are plenty of escape routes out of the parking lot, but only one of them is free of any surveillance equipment. If I need to run, I’ll have to head down a few back alleys and then try to blend in with the crowd when I come back onto one of the main streets.

  I can’t run
while carrying my sniper rifle, so if worst comes to worst, I’ll leave that behind. It’s clean and there won’t be any identifying information, but losing that gun will hurt. It’s a great gun. If my gun in Iraq had been this good, I never would’ve been captured in the first place.

  I do one more quick lap around the block with Senator Robertson’s building. I’m about to head home when I see a certain petite young blonde walk into a coffee shop. I really should give up on Piper. She’s been ignoring me when I knock on her door and she never responded to my text message. I only have two days left, and there’s no way anything will happen between us in that time.

  But I’ve always been a trier.

  Just as I step inside, I overhear her ordering an Americano with two shots of espresso. The drink order, combined with the exasperated tone of voice, suggests she’s had one hell of a day, and that it’s not over yet. It’s five o’clock—she should be clocking out about now.

  She doesn’t see me, so I grab the only empty table and wait for her. Her legs twitch impatiently while she waits for her coffee and I get the distinct impression she’s going to head for the door the second she has the cup in her hands.

  That’s exactly what she tries to do. The barista has barely finished calling out her name when she grabs the cup from him and turns to the door. I stand up to call out to her, but I end up cringing as I watch events unfold in slow motion before me.

  Piper has the hot drink held out by her side, but in her rush to get to the door, she slams the cup into a man in line. The plastic lid pops off the top of Piper’s cup, and about half a cup of coffee ends up down the man’s leg.

  I don’t think she even realizes she’s done it until he screams at her.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Piper looks around confused and then notices her now half empty cup of coffee. She looks frazzled. Her normally tidy hair is wispy at the front and I can see bags under her eyes from where she’s clearly not been sleeping properly. Shit, is that my fault? I guess I do make a lot of noise at night.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

  I’m tempted to rush over there, but Piper looks like she just wants to get out of the coffee shop without making a scene. The man is angry, but doesn’t seem to be in pain. Probably just annoyed at the thought of going out into the cold Chicago evening with a wet leg.

  “Fucking watch where you’re going,” the man says.

  Now it’s my legs doing the twitching. I’m desperate to get over there, but Piper is equally desperate to leave.

  “Sorry,” she mutters.

  She’s halfway out the door, when the man reaches out and grabs her upper arm. I have no idea what he hopes to accomplish; I don’t wait to find out.

  I walk towards them in a straight line, sending any empty chairs flying in the process. Half the coffee shop had been ignoring the scene, either too engrossed in their work, or just too polite to stare. Now everyone’s looking.

  Piper spins around as the man yanks her back, almost spilling the rest of the coffee in the process.

  “Get your hand—”

  She sounds surprisingly feisty, her voice dripping with venom, until she trails off as she notices me approaching.

  “Alec?”

  She doesn’t exactly sound pleased to see me, but she’s at least more open-minded about the concept than usual.

  The man turns to look at me as well.

  “What’s your problem?” he asks. “I’m the one who’s just had coffee poured down his pants.”

  “If you don’t let go of that woman, I’m going to pour the other half over you as well. I intend to find somewhere more unpleasant to spill it than just your leg. Let go.”

  The man has a stubborn look in his eyes, but he’s not stupid. He knows he needs to let go and walk away, but he wants to maintain a little bit of dignity while he does so. Surprisingly, I’m prepared to let him do that. Piper, on the other hand, isn’t.

  While I threaten the man, she puts the coffee down and now has a free hand. She quickly grabs the man’s arm and twists it firmly, making him instantly let go of her and scream in agony at the same time.

  This girl has been to some self-defense classes.

  The man ends up doubled over as Piper twists his arm into an incredibly uncomfortable-looking position. She’s not afraid to get violent. Is it weird that that turns me on?

  “You should probably leave,” I say to the man, determined to contribute something to proceedings.

  Piper lets go and stares the man in the eyes as he stands up to his full six-foot height. He towers over Piper, and the scene might look almost comical if it weren’t for the look in Piper’s eyes.

  The man walks out of the coffee shop and Piper grabs her coffee as if nothing happened. I run my eyes around the coffee shop—my stare enough to make everyone go back to whatever it was they were doing before.

  “I saved you a seat,” I say calmly, motioning towards the still empty table.

  “I really have to… oh, screw it.”

  Piper takes a seat while I go order a coffee of my own, and get Piper a replacement for the one she’s half lost.

  “You’ve been ignoring me,” I say calmly. “You haven’t replied to a single one of my texts.”

  “You’ve been texting me? You can’t have been—I never gave you my number.”

  “You wrote it down on one of the notice boards in the building and I have a photographic memory.”

  “Well, your little text messages got me in trouble at work.”

  “How?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  She takes a sip of her coffee, but judging by her reaction it’s still too hot to drink.

  “Where did you learn those skills?” I ask. “You know how to look after yourself.”

  “Work. They don’t let you hit the streets until you’ve taken classes on how to disarm people and deal with physical threats.”

  “Hit the streets? You make it sound like you’re a cop.”

  She furrows her brow in confusion. “I am a cop.”

  I smile, but it soon fades as I realize she’s not joking. A cop? Oh boy. This could be a problem.

  “You’re not kidding, are you?”

  “Why would I be kidding?”

  “Well, you know, you’re…”

  “I’m… what?”

  “Quite small for a cop.”

  “I’m five foot three and a quarter. There’s no height requirement for police officers.”

  “You’re right. I guess I just didn’t imagine you as a cop when I first met you.”

  “We don’t have to wear the uniform outside of work.”

  “Shame.”

  “Come on then, what do you do?” she asks.

  “Guess.”

  Piper relaxes back in her chair and looks me up and down. “Judging by the lack of stuff in your apartment, you’re not in town for long.”

  “Correct.”

  “Doesn’t look like you here for a formal business meeting. I reckon you’re a… musician. Yeah, that’s it. You’re a musician here for a gig. You were carrying a case when you bumped into me. I reckon that had a guitar in it.”

  That wouldn’t be a bad lie to use. I probably look a bit like a guitarist, and it would explain the short time I’m in the city. I could easily get caught out, though. I don’t listen to much music, and I can’t name any bands from the last five years. I’m also tone-deaf, and if she asks to hear me play the guitar then I’m screwed.

  I need a lie that’s hard to disprove. Something I can talk about for a few minutes until she gets bored and stops asking questions. Right now, the only thing I know about is Senator Robertson and his whereabouts.

  That’ll have to do.

  “I’m a political correspondent.”

  Piper almost chokes on her coffee and ends up with some of it dribbling down her chin.

  “Good one,” she replies, as she wipes her face with a napkin. “Who do you work for? The Washington Post? Or per
haps you’re on television. CNN?”

  “I get the distinct impression you don’t believe me.”

  For some reason, I’m offended, even though it is a huge lie.

  “Let’s just say you don’t look like any political correspondent I know of.”

  “How many political correspondents do you know?”

  “Good point. Okay then, why are you in town?”

  “I’m here to cover Senator Robertson’s campaign for reelection,” I reply confidently. Not going to lie, I’m pretty proud of myself right now.

  “Really? What’s your angle?”

  About 45° from the fourth floor of the parking lot.

  “My boss thinks he’s taking illicit campaign contributions. He’s asked me to look into it.”

  “He’s controversial,” Piper replies. “He has a lot of enemies in the city.”

  Including one who’s going to kill him.

  “It amazes me he manages to get reelected every four years.”

  “Six years,” Piper corrects.

  “Huh?”

  “Senators are reelected every six years, not every four years.”

  And that’s the end of that lie. She doesn’t believe me.

  “Yeah, that’s what I meant. Sorry, I was covering the presidential election not long ago.”

  “Senator Robertson is not up for reelection until next year. Is he already up to no good?”

  “He’s been up to no good all his life,” I mutter. “He’s dirty.”

  “They’re all as bad as each other.”

  “Trust me, this one’s worse. He has blood on his hands.”

  Piper raises her eyebrows, and I realize I’ve said too much. She might not look like a typical cop, but she’s smart, and if I disappear right after the senator is assassinated she’ll put the pieces together quickly. I don’t need to make life easier for her by spelling out a motive.

  “How long will you be in town for?” she asks.

  I smile. “Not long. I’d like to make the most of my time here, if you’re interested.”

  “I can point you in the direction of the major tourist attractions.”

  “That’s not exactly what I had in mind. Can tempt you with dinner?”