Chapter Eight: A Thong and a Prayer

Samantha walked into the house toting her travel bag. It had seemed that she’d never get back home to the island safehouse. First it had been the Med, then China, and finally Germany. She was glad to be home, if a little sad. The requisite adrenaline crash that followed a mission always had this impact.

She wandered into the kitchen leaving her bag at the foot of the stairs. She grabbed a Heineken from the fridge and headed up the stairs to bed. She needed to sleep.

As she climbed the stairs, she became alert. She heard a shower running. She silently pulled her 9 mm from the holster and carefully approached the bedroom. At the doorway, she could see the bed she and Mark shared, linens crumpled and obviously slept in. Another clue. She never left the bed unmade.

She quietly searched in all of the likely places: under the bed, in the closet, behind the drapes. It seemed that there was only one intruder, and they were in the shower. Stealthily she searched the room for other clues to identity, but found nothing. She heard the water turn off and then the telling squeek of the shower door. Samantha gave it a few moments, then crept toward the bathroom door.

This, at least, was one door that didn’t make noise. She silently pushed the door open. The sight would have shocked most people, but not Samantha. She could see the back of a naked young woman, tattooed from one end to the other. She brought the gun to center on the woman’s torso.

“Don’t fucking move.”

The faceless tattooed body replied in a sugary British accent, “You must be Samantha.”

“And your name is…”

“Emma Radcliffe. MI-6. Friend of Mark’s.”

“Turn around, slowly.” Samantha directed the woman. When they were face to face, Samantha asked, “Well, Emma, how did you get into my house?”

“Key. Mark gave me a key.” She gestured toward the counter, where a silver key lay amid the woman’s underwear. Mark didn’t just “give a key” to anyone.

“Uh huh. Was Mark expecting you? He didn’t mention anything and I’m afraid he’s out of town.”

“No. It was a lark, coming to see him. Bad planning, I suppose.”

“Why don’t you get dressed and we’ll talk.”

Samantha left Emma in the bathroom and went to the secret closet. She sent a message to her boss, Scott Davidson requesting information. Mark was still being debriefed after his long undercover stint. She returned to the bedroom to find Emma wearing her own pink thong and matching bra.

“Just make yourself at home, I guess.”

“Sorry. I didn’t think you’d mind. Mark always speaks of your generosity.” Samantha watched as Emma pulled on Samantha’s favorite black sundress. Generous she might be, but there are just some things a girl doesn’t share, lipstick, underwear, and men chief among them. What kind of tramp wears another girl’s thong, Samantha asked herself.

“So,” Samantha began, “you didn’t just come on a lark, but also appear to be traveling very light. When, may I ask, did you arrive?”

“Mmm. Late last night.”

Samantha regrouped. “Well, sorry for holding you at gunpoint and all. I didn’t know…anyway, now I’m feeling a bit like one of Goldilock’s three bears. Somebody’s been sleeping in my bed, bathing in my shower, and now wearing my clothes. It is a bit unsettling. Hungry?”

“Yes, quite.”

Samantha took Emma up to the Lighthouse for afternoon tea. They munched on scones and took in the view of Horseshoe Bay Beach, Samantha trying desperately to figure out what Emma’s game was.

That evening, Samantha took Emma downtown for Sushi and then they walked among the vendors who sell trinkets to the cruise ship passengers. At one point, Emma lingered over a particular hemp necklace, finally handing money over to the vendor for the purchase. Samantha became suspicious as it had looked as though more than cash had changed hands. She contented herself to watch Emma carefully.

The ladies left the plaza and strolled down the darkened streets back toward the house. They crossed the street and Emma seemed to get nervous. She started chatting nonsensically, switching subjects with increasing momentum. Emma turned and looked back over her shoulder down the street. Her behavior made the hairs on Samantha’s neck stand up, sensing danger. Abruptly, Emma turned and began running in the opposite direction.

Samantha wasn’t sure what to do. She wasn’t carrying and didn’t know anything about Emma except that she claimed to be Mark’s friend and an MI-6 agent. She supposed that for a moment that knowledge was enough. She quickly turned on her heel and followed after Emma, her sandals slapping the pavement rhythmically.

She turned the corner, following Emma’s moves, and stood in the darkness evaluating. Emma was struggling with someone a block up. She ran toward them to intervene. As she approached, she heard a noise behind her. She turned and noticed a figure standing in the blue light of a store front, casting only a faceless shadow. Even so, it was clear that a gun was pointed in Emma’s direction.

Simultaneously, Samantha shouted and the gunman depressed the trigger. Emma looked up at the shout, then shock fell on her face as the bullet found a target in her chest. As she stood there in shock, the gunman fired twice more into her chest and ran off, Emma’s assailant also taking flight.

Samantha ran to Emma’s crumpled form.

“Take it easy.” She told the young woman as she dialed for emergency services with her phone. “You’re going to be okay.”

“No.” Emma said shallowly, “I’m not. I should … told you. Take this.” Emma placed the blood-soaked necklace into Samantha’s hand.

“It takes more than this to bring down an MI-6 agent!” Samantha tried to urge her to live. But it was a lost cause. That gunman had been a pro. She’d be dead before EMS arrived.

“I’m sorry to die in your thong.”

Samantha sent up a prayer.