Page 2 of France Face-Off
“What kind of mission?”
“You’ll receive further instructions.” And she’d ended the call, leaving Striker with more questions than answers. Immediately following the call, he’d received a text from his bank that a wire transfer had been made to his account.
When he’d logged into his account, he’d found that thirty thousand dollars had been deposited into his checking account. He had no idea what the woman wanted him to do for that money, and it worried him. Did she want him to kill someone? He’d killed before, but never for money and only the enemies of his country. If the woman knew him at all, she’d know that he wouldn’t commit murder, no matter how desperate he might be.
That had been the beginning of this wild ride.
He’d hurried back to his apartment to find the packet that had been delivered. It contained a passport with his image and a fake name on it, a first-class airline ticket to France and the address of a hotel. It had also contained a wad of cash, the name of a men’s clothing store and a note to buy himself some nice clothes for the trip. More instructions awaited him at his destination. At the bottom of the packet was a burner phone.
Thousands of dollars, airline tickets to France and a fake passport couldn’t be good.
Striker had almost bailed at that point.
The burner phone rang. He’d answered, ready to say he was out and she could take back all the money and stuff.
“You’re wondering if all this is legit at this point, aren’t you?” the woman’s voice sounded in his ear. “You’re probably thinking this isn’t an honorable mission and wondering if I’m setting you up to put a hit out on someone. Am I right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “This kind of money can only mean trouble.”
“Or it means what you’re being tasked to do is very important.”
“I’m leaning toward trouble.”
“I know you were tasked to assassinate the Russian in charge of Internal Affairs. The man responsible for the corruption of their police force and the deaths of a number of American diplomats and tourists.”
Striker’s grip on the burner phone tightened. How did she know? The mission had been top secret. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She chuckled softly. “Would you consider a mission to possibly save the world for a second chance at your career in the Navy SEALs?”
“You can do that?” On second thought, he shook his head. “No one can do that.”
“I have connections,” she stated. “As a show of faith, look out the window of your apartment.”
“Are you going to show your face?” he asked as he walked across the bare room to the window and opened the blinds. Below, in the parking lot, sat a black four-wheel-drive truck with knobby tires, tinted windows and a decal of a frog on the back windshield. “My truck? You got my truck?”
She laughed. “It’s yours, free and clear, no debt associated with the vehicle, if you agree to perform this mission.”
Striker frowned. “Still feels like a hit, especially with as much money as you’re throwing at it.”
“It’s not,” she said. “I’m not asking you to kill anyone.”
“What are you asking me to do?”
“Take the ticket, buy the clothes, go to France. You’ll receive further instructions from there.”
“But what if?—”
She’d ended the call.
Striker had had three choices. One, he could ignore the woman and keep the money and his truck. Two, he could ignore the offer, return the money and truck. Three, see where the mission was going, save the world and keep the money and truck.
He’d followed the instructions, reluctantly, knowing he didn’t have much of a choice. The money in his account and his truck could just as easily disappear as it had appeared. The woman had said she didn’t want him to kill anyone. How hard could this mission be?
And here he was, dressed like someone important, inside the reception hall of a fancy hotel in France, rubbing elbows with world leaders and awaiting orders.
When he’d arrived at the hotel, the clerk had been expecting him—at least the man on the fake passport. He’d handed Striker the keys to a suite in the hotel on the fifth floor. The bellman had led the way up, carrying the new suitcase containing his new clothes. Once inside the room, he’d found a tuxedo hanging in the closet, dress shoes in his size, an invitation to a reception in the hotel and a note.
Wear the tux, go to the reception and receive your orders there. Good luck.
