The International Assassin A Sexy Times Crime Thriller (23 page)

“I thought this might get your attention,”  I said coyly as I held up a matching skimpy black lace push-up bra and thong for his approval. 

I have long since concluded mans fascination with lingerie stems from their earliest experiences of the female form masturbating over the underwear section of their mothers
Grattan
catalogue. I indulged Nick’s every lingerie fantasy and we left with enough bedroom wardrobe choices for me to carve out an exceptional career as a lap dancer or high-class hooker. 

With the car now fully loaded with expensive boutique bags we headed over to the nearby luxurious Mandarin Oriental and checked into the best suite they had. I ordered a bottle of Dom Perignon on arrival with the clear intention of getting absolutely smashed to mark the end of my abusive period of fiscal destitution.

Lying soaking in the large luxury double bath with a glass of Champagne I gave Nick a shoulder massage since he was still suffering from the car accident.

“You’re all tense and stiff. You need to relax,” I said as I plied him with champagne to make the point.

“I’ll relax when Anatoly is in a body-bag.”

“Shush. No talking about business. I want a night off.”

“Okay. What do you want to talk about?”

“Well, we are in a beautiful five star hotel in romantic Munich. We’ve been shopping, we have Champagne and a nice evening of dinner and drinking ahead.”

“So what do you want to talk about?”

“Well I would say it was the perfect opportunity for you to romance me and show me what a terribly charming gentleman you can be when you aren’t killing people.”

“You do have a tendency to kill people as well.”

“Yes, but that’s just for fun.”

“Okay. You want romance…” Nick looked thoughtful.

“Close your eyes.” I told him. Nick closed his eyes. “Now take a deep breath and clear your mind of all that spy shit, lies and murder. Breathe slowly.”

“Okay…”

“Now imagine we are alone on a tropical island, all you can hear is the trade-winds in the palm trees and the sea crashing on the shore.” I felt Nick start to relax. “And we’re lying in a hammock together under the trees, swinging gently in the breeze…” I told him softly as I gently massaged his muscles feeling them loosen up kissing his ear seductively. “…I love you Nick.”

“I love you too.” 

“Why do you love me?”

“I love the way you bite your lip when you’re nervous. I love the way your eyes light up like diamonds when you are excited. I love your smile, the way your entire face glows and radiates with happiness. I love the smell of your hair and feeling you squeeze my hand when I’m falling asleep…” he said.

“You see? It’s not difficult,” I said kissing him.

“Most of all I like the fact you’ve got four million in cold hard cash and D cup tits,” he said and smiled.

“
Cheeky bastard
,” I said and splashed water over him waking him from his dreamy state. Nick laughed. “Actually it’s more like three point nine after the shopping.”

“I’m glad you are independently wealthy. I couldn’t afford you on my salary.”

“I’m not that bad. Honestly speaking when we were broke with that pizza in Monte Carlo, that’s the happiest I have ever been.”

“I doubt that.”

“I’m serious. I was with you. That’s all I wanted.”

“Okay, so if you had to choose between me and your Loubi collection?”

“I love you Nick but let’s not push it. Love and Louboutins is doable. Just Love? Meh.” I said.  

Nick laughed and pushed me under the water in retaliation before we kissed.

We got out the bath and having emptied the bottle of Dom Perignon I called our personal room butler and order replenishments as Nick got dressed in the rather dapper Gucci dinner suit I had bought him.

“Steady on darling. We’ll be drunk as skunks before dinner.”

“That’s the idea. All work and no fun makes Nickypants a dull boy,” I said slightly slurring.

“I’m hungry,” he protested.

“Oh alright then,” I said making an attempt to get ready to go out.

Dressed in my new Gucci cocktail dress that according to Nick would encourage him to take me home and have sex with me we headed down for dinner. Passing the room service chap with our champagne en-route. I grabbed the bottle out of the ice bucket.

“We’ll have that to go,” I told him downing it like a bottle of cheap lemonade as we made our way to the lift.

I was half pissed before we even got to the lobby. We had decided to go out for dinner rather than dine in the hotel. It was a nice evening in Munich so we walked down
Maximillianstrasse
towards the river and a very nice restaurant that Nick assured me would be up to par. 

After a short drunken stroll down to the riverside we arrived to the romantic terraced restaurant where I immediately ordered the third bottle of Champagne of the evening having downed most of the previous bottle en-route like Munich’s most expensive wino.

The Restaurant was perfect. A pianist was playing, there were candles and the food was delightful. Sadly I have no recollection of the rest of the dinner beyond first course. According to Nick having demolished the best part of two more bottles of Champagne I insisted the German pianist play
Roll Out The Barrel
that I sang along to in a cockney accent before making several ill-advised references to the war.

On the way back to the hotel I decorated most of the pavement with my dinner and demanded Nick let me perform oral sex on him in a lift full of hotel passengers before passing out and being carried to bed.

I have concluded that he was lying and made all such allegations up for I would never do such a thing.

I’m just not that sort of girl.

Chapter 19

I WOKE
up the next morning with a head-splitting hangover. I tried my best to bury my head under the large pillows to block the evil rays of sunlight until the urge to be violently sick overtook me and I sprinted to the bathroom and spent the next ten minutes cuddling the toilet. 

Nick arrived to administer first aid with a glass of water, caressingly lifting my hair from my face to prevent it sinking into the toilet bowl.

“I told you to take it easy,” he said.

“Could you try and speak a little more quietly please and avoid making sudden movements.”

I collapsed back into the comfort of his arms in a desperate hope the warfare being inflicted on my body would somehow dissipate.

“Please just shoot me,” I told him croakily dragging myself back to bed.

“I’ll order you some breakfast. If you eat something you’ll feel better.”

“God no…”

Nick departed to order room service. When it arrived the smell of bacon and coffee got the better of me and I wolfed down a full cooked breakfast trying not to think about what the carbs and fat would do to my cellulite.

“Better?” he asked. I nodded reluctantly feeling bloated. “I booked us in for another night. I don’t want you throwing up in the car.”

“How very caring of you,” I replied. 

The thought of enduring the normally sonorous AMG’s soundtrack was about has appealing as having my head wired to a road drill for the next two hours. 

“I’m going back to bed,” I told him nursing my orange juice. I took his hand. “You can cuddle me better. Just don’t squeeze my stomach or I’ll probably throw up on you.”

“You know those things I said why I loved you last night?”

“I have a vague memory of it yes.”

“I retract them.”

“Don’t be mean,” I pouted.

I huddled into bed and wrapped Nick around me for comfort drifting into a deep sleep from which I did not wake until after four when Nick gently nudged me to life. 

“Good, you are still alive.”

“Just. I’m never drinking again.”

“There’s a problem.”

“What?”

“The Russians are here. Anatoly’s men.”

“How did they find us?”

Nick produced what looked like a small electronic circuit attached to some wires.

“The car, there was a tracker in it.”

I frowned looking at it in confusion.

“Well who would do that?”

“I don’t know. Either we have a leak or they want to make sure I’m forced to carry out my assignment.”

“Where are they?”

“Outside.”

“Do they know we are in here?”

“No. They just know the car is here.”

“So we sneak out the back way and get another car?”

Nick shook his head.

“You want to take them on don’t you? Well how many of them are there?”

“At least four cars. They are covering both ends of the street.”

I buried my head in the pillow.

“God Nick! my heart hurts! I can’t cope with world war three today…”

“We have to face them sometime, they’ll chase us all the way to Luxembourg otherwise.”

“If you truly loved me you wouldn’t.”

“We have to honey. It’s better to do it now when we can control the engagement rather than get ambushed later.”

“Well have you got
Steven Segal
on speed-dial because that’s three times more Russians than last time and things didn’t end very well.” I emerged from under the pillow and sat up and hugged Nick. “
Please
baby. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” I looked him in the eye pleading with him. “Let’s just sneak out. We already got the money. We don’t have to do this.”

“We have to try and end this. They won’t leave us alone. If it’s not here it will be somewhere else.”

“Promise me it’ll be okay.”

“I promise.”

I nodded reluctantly agreeing to Nick’s suicide mission. 

“I better take a shower then.”

I held in my emotions for long enough to get to the shower before crying. The general post-drinking depression had put me in an emotionally low state and the constant harassment from our pursuers was taking it’s toll on my psychological well-being. Before we had retrieved the money from Roy the sheer nothing-to-lose status of the situation had driven me on but after a relatively normal day of shopping, dinner and drinking and a nice hotel I had forgotten what I was currently tangled up in and desperately wanted it to go away.

I did my best to compose myself. I came out the shower and dried my hair with a towel but for whatever reason I just couldn’t stop crying. Nick noticed soon enough and came quickly to my support. I collapsed into his arms and burst out in a fit of uncontrolled sobbing.

“Hey, come on! It’s going to be okay.”

“I can’t take this any more! I just want them to leave us alone. I want things to be normal again,” I sobbed pitifully to Nick.

“We’re going to get through this. I love you. I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you no matter what.”

Nick dried my tears with my towel. I nodded reluctantly and tried to get a grip of myself and stop feeling foolish and weak.  

“Okay. Well if we have to. Let’s give them hell.”

“That’s the spirit,” smiled Nick.

I dressed in some black leggings, a thick black cable-knit jumper and put my new leather Gucci coat on and opted for knee high boots. At least I would be a well-dressed corpse. We packed our belongings and headed for the hotels basement garage.

Stowing our bags securely in the boot Nick opened the cachet containing enough arms to take out a small dictatorship regime in South America. He handed me an M4 carbine. A short barrelled special-forces variant equipped with holographic scope, laser and tactical-light. He unscrewed the suppressor.

“I think we’ll go for shock and awe.”

“That’s not going to help my headache,” I protested. 

The thought of an assault rifle spewing out more noise than the
Berlin Philharmonic
playing
Wagner
did not appeal. He handed me some extended magazines.

“Take off your coat.”

“Really Nick this is hardly the time. Unless you want to do the disabled toilet thing,” I replied as I removed my jacket. He pulled a bullet-proof vest over my chest and taped it up. “Is it going to be that bad?” I asked trying to squeeze my D cups into a position that didn’t make them feel so squashed up.

“Better safe than sorry,” he replied as he pulled his own vest on. 

It was easy for him to say. He didn’t have to fit his ample rack into the thing.

“These things have got quite a kick. Don’t showboat and go for head-shots. Play it safe and aim low,” he said. “You ready?”

“Not really,” I sulked.

“How long do you need?”

“The rest of my life?” I replied. Nick smiled and took out a packet of cigarettes, lit two and put one in my mouth. “You know baby, we need to go to relationship counselling. I’m looking for a guy who takes me to the cinema, theatre and ballet not involves me in daily shoot-outs with the Russian mob.”

“I thought you wanted excitement?”

“I changed my mind. It’s a woman’s perogative.”

“Okay. Don’t get shot.”

I hugged Nick and gave him a long kiss quite convinced one or both of us would be dead within minutes and we got in the car. Nick was driving. The V8 bursting into life with the thunder of an artillery barrage - a taste perhaps of what was to come. 

Nick slowly reversed out of the space and lined up for the attack run on the garage exit from the basement to the street. Putting his foot on the brake he floored the throttle. The bonnet lurched as the torque flexed its muscles and the rev counter flipped round to five and a half thousand rpm and it’s peak torque output. As he dropped his foot sideways off the stainless steel drilled AMG brake pedal the large Continental tyres screamed with agony erupting in a plume of expensive blue smoke as five hundred and fifty angry German horses tried to escape through the rear wheels. The tail slid sideways before the electronic stability program light which was flashing like a Christmas tree caught it assisted by a slight correction of opposite lock from Nick. Finally the brutal AMG-tuned Mercedes launched forwards like a jump-jet leaving a carrier deck. The low-slung front air-dam briefly protested as it collided with the steeply inclined car-park exit ramp before the Merc launched itself into the outside world taking off as it reached the exit before slamming back into the tarmac with a crashing thump.