The Border: The Complete Series (43 page)

Today

Taking a deep breath, Beth continued to watch the door to the diner for a moment. Shivering in the cold morning air, she hadn't quite plucked up the courage to go inside, not yet. Nearby, some men dressed in Santa costumes were singing carols, while families hurried past on their way to the stores. Beth, however, merely shuddered and looked down at her phone, reading the message for the thousandth time that morning:

If you're serious, meet me at the Bowley diner at 9am on Christmas Eve. Terms as outlined in advert. No nego. Luke.

“If you're serious,” she muttered, trying to work out what that meant. Was it a trap? Was it an attempt to lure her into doing something awful? What were the rules of entrapment again? Or was it – and this was an option she was taking equally seriously – some kind of mistake, or perhaps even something she was imagining?

She paused, reading the message again.

“Terms as outlined in advert. No nego.” She frowned. “No nego?”

Did it mean negotiation? If so, why not just write the word out? Maybe, she figured, he was trying to sound cool. That was the kind of thing her husband did, but her husband was an idiot and she felt an assassin couldn't be an idiot. Or could he? What if he was as dumb as Bob? No, that couldn't be right. All the possibilities rushed through her mind, although after a moment she realized she was simply trying to distract herself from the one thing that scared her the most.

She shivered again.

“What if it's real?” she whispered.

She paused.

Had she
actually
whispered those four words out loud, she wondered, or had she imagined whispering them, and merely thought them?

More importantly, was she losing her mind?

“Damn it,” she muttered.

Watching the diner's windows, she saw a waitress making her way past several tables. There were a lot of customers already, mostly people who looked exhausted after getting out for their last-minute Christmas shopping early. A few of the faces she recognized, but there were some who seemed unfamiliar, who might be the mysterious Luke. Whoever he was, she figured he was probably some kind of youngish, maybe military-looking man with a buzz-cut, but she saw no-one like that so far. After checking her phone again, she watched in horror as the time flicked over to 9am, and she realized she had to make a decision.

She had to go into the diner and meet the (possible) hit-man, or she had to go Christmas shopping.

Another half an hour later, she'd still not worked out what to do. Her hands were trembling, and her toes were so cold, she was worried about getting frostbite.

***

Christmas music was playing from a speaker on the counter, linked to a laptop, as Beth pushed the door open and stepped into the diner. She immediately stopped and looked around, feeling as if her heart was beating twice as hard as usual. Hurrying past, the waitress flashed a smile at her, but Beth was too tense to reciprocate.

Swallowing hard, she made her way toward an unused table by the window. With every step, splashing through the snowy mud that had been traipsed in by other customers, she considered turning and leaving.

“Do you need to see a menu?” the waitress asked suddenly, popping into view as if from nowhere.

“No!” Beth blurted out, immediately taking a step back before realizing that she was probably coming across as someone with something to hide. For a moment, she found herself wishing she'd worn a headscarf and sunglasses. “I mean, yes. Yes, I need to see a menu. Thank you.”

“Okay,” the waitress replied with a faint smile as she slipped past and headed to the counter. “Apple pie is off today,” she added, handing the laminated piece of card over to her and then making her way to a crowded family table. “I'll come take your order in a minute. Sorry, we're kind of busy today, but I won't forget you. I never forget a face, I promise.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Beth snapped.

“Don't worry. I'll be with your shortly.”

Beth forced a smile as she sat by the window. Looking down at the menu, she could barely even concentrate on the items. Every time she read a line, she immediately forgot what it had been about and had to read it again, and every second she felt an urge to get up and leave. There was no Luke, it was all a big wind-up. She could feel that now, deep in the marrow of her bones. She'd never been so sure of something in her life.

Unless...

“I got it,” a male voice said suddenly.

Turning, she saw an older man in hunting gear at the next table, holding up a large, boxed
Star Wars
toy.

“Apparently it's what all the kids want,” he continued, smiling at her. “It's sold out everywhere, but I found one tucked away at the back of a shelf. I figure someone was trying to hide it 'til they could get back to buy it. I kinda feel bad, but...” He paused. “Well, my grandson is gonna be so happy, and that's all that really matters. Sorry, I don't know you at all, I just wanted to share with someone. I always get like this at Christmas. I just want to talk to everyone I meet.”

Pausing, Beth studied the man's face. He didn't
look
like an assassin from the dark internet, but then again she figured that an assassin from the dark internet would probably be a master of disguise. Besides, what kind of person would just randomly start a conversation about toys in a diner?

An assassin!

She clenched in several places at once.

“I love Christmas,” the guy continued, setting the box back into a bag. “Even the last-minute running-around part of it feels good. A few years ago, I got all my Christmas gifts bought early, in November. I felt so pleased with myself at first, like I'd really beaten the universe. Then, when Christmas Eve came around, I still found an excuse to come out and run around in the crush. I know it might sound weird, but I just enjoy that side of things. Later tonight, about an hour before they close, I'm gonna go to the toy store and try to buy one of those pogo stick things for my grandson. I figure all the other customers are gonna be at their maximum stress levels. There's something comforting about that, like being around stressed people makes me less stressed. Am I right, or am I right?”

“You're...” She paused, staring at him with terrified eyes.

“Course,” the guy added, “that's the easy part. The hard part is calling my son and telling him I'm going over with the gifts. Truth is, I haven't spoken to my family in quite a few years now, but I think this might be the year.”

Beth stared at him for a moment longer, before leaning across the aisle and lowering her voice.“Are you Luke?”

“I beg your pardon, M'am?”

“Are you Luke?” she asked again. “Are you talking in some kind of code?”

He stared at her, and slowly the friendly smile seemed to face from his face.

“
Are
you?” she hissed.

“M'am, I don't know what you're talking about. My name is Roger Alan Gibbs and I'm a retired insurance salesman. I don't even know anyone named Luke.”

She paused, not entirely convinced. “Okay,” she added finally, leaning back. “Well, I'm here, if... If that matters.”

Looking down at her laminated menu, Beth tried to keep from shaking to pieces. She read the first couple of menu items over and over, but they wouldn't stick in her head at all, and after a moment she realized that Roger Alan Gibbs from the next table was watching her. In the back of her mind, she figured she'd already blown her cover, that she'd begun to attract attention and that maybe people were even onto her. And then another horrifying thought entered her mind: what if Roger Alan Gibbs was an undercover cop, waiting to bust her?

“Oh God,” she whispered, feeling as if she was on the verge of tears. “This is insane...”

“I'm Luke,” a voice said suddenly.

Looking up, she gasped as she saw a tall, dark-haired man taking a seat opposite her. Impossibly handsome and with blistering blue eyes, he smiled as he removed his gloves. To her shock, Beth realized that this guy looked
exactly
how she imagined a paid assassin would look, although maybe a little thinner and more lanky. She quickly glanced around to make sure that no-one was watching, and she saw that Robert Alan Gibbs was already getting up to leave.

“Let me guess,” Luke continued, his voice filled with a thick accent that hinted at Slavic roots, “your heart is pounding in your chest like a wild cougar. You don't know how you ended up in this situation, but now that you're here you find yourself wondering if you have the strength to stay. You're so caught up in your own fears, you didn't even notice me arrive.”

“I just -” She stared at him, and after a moment she realized she was gripping the side of the table like a madwoman. She let go, although now she didn't know what to do with her hands. After a few seconds, she gripped the table again.

“You've never done anything like this before,” he added, clearly amused by her reaction, “and you're wondering if it can possibly be real. You're wondering if your life, which has been so hectic for so long, could suddenly be made so much easier. You're wondering if this is the first day of the rest of your life, and if it is, whether that's a good thing or not.”

“I -”

“Let me remind you,” he continued, “that we're in a public place. We are two supposedly intelligent people, so I'm sure we can speak in such a way as to make our thoughts known, without saying certain words that might be problematic. I prefer to hide in plain sight.” He turned to look at the counter. “Waitress!” he shouted, suddenly banging his fist against the table with enough force to rattle the cutlery. “We're ready to order over here! Hey! Waitress!”

“Keep your voice down!” Beth hissed.

“Why? She won't hear me otherwise.”

“Are...” She took a deep breath. “Are you the man from the dark internet?”

“I am.”

“Are you... Are you the... silver bullet man?”

He nodded proudly. “I am.”

“Oh Jesus,” she whispered, looking back down at the menu.

“Don't worry,” he continued. “I chose to meet in a crowded location precisely because there's so much noise here, which means no-one will pay attention to anything we say. The alternative, meeting somewhere out of the way, risked drawing attention.” He leaned closer. “Did you bring the money?”

She looked around again, still worried that they might be overheard. “I did,” she said after a moment. “I went to the bank and I told them I needed it for last-minute gifts. I think they believed me.” She paused. “Is two thousand dollars the full price, though? That seems kind of... low.”

“I'm still just starting out,” he replied. “I need to establish my reputation.”

“Right.” She frowned; that explanation both made sense and didn't.

“Plus,” he continued, “I'm hoping to get a testimonial from you for my website.”

“I'm sorry?”

“Anonymous, of course. But just a few words once the job is done, for my other potential customers.”

She stared at him. “Can't you make that stuff up?”

“That would be dishonest.”

“Oh.” She paused. “Well, sure, I guess... I can give you a testimonial. After we're done.”

“I have fought in two wars, M'am,” he continued, “and I have seen men die. Women and children too. And animals, so many animals, from the big ones like sheep and cows, to the small ones, even the insects. I tired of war, but I still want to use my skills. Do not be afraid, but this is actually my first job from the advertisement. In truth, I...” Reaching into his pocket, he took out a notepad and pen. “I want you to know that I'm a real professional. I also want you to know that what you're contemplating is not unusual. Do you know how many people in the world use the services of someone like me, in order to simplify their lives?”

“How many?” she asked.

“Lots.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Wow.”

“Your life is a struggle,” he added.

She nodded.

“You look at your friends, your neighbors, and you wonder how they manage to do so well. Why don't they look haggard? Why aren't they miserable? Why do life events seem to fall into place for them, while your life remains difficult?”

“I do wonder that,” she admitted.

“It's almost like they avail themselves of secret services, of people like me, to make their lives easier.”

She took a deep breath. “Is it?”

“And do you know how many get caught?”

She shook her head.

“Almost none of them. How many times have you heard of a wife, for example, being caught arranging her husband's death?”

“I think I've read about it in the news a few times over the years.”

“A few times. Exactly. That's less than one thousandth of a per cent of the times it happens. People like you use people like me all the time, to fix their lives. If that's a crime, then shoot me.” He smiled. “Well, not literally. Shooting is my job. And obviously it
is
a crime to arrange an assassination, but it's a very common crime. The end result is that I make money, and you and your family get to move forward. It's almost victimless.”