" Do that; for once try to finish the job without fucking up."Osvaldo Jerez-Gonzalez replaced the handset on the phone and leant back in his leather chair. Ten years he had been waiting to tidy up this loose end, ten years and that idiot Markow was in danger of snatching defeat from the jaws of victory yet again. It had been his bungling that had led to this ten year wait in the first place — if he'd managed to do the job right the first time, Sinclair would have been dead all those years ago and Rosalita would already be his.He stood and walked to the French windows of the study — not his study, not yet anyway. Looking out on the vast gardens he calmed down. Markow was right — what danger could a random jogger represent? A smile came to Osvaldo's thin lips and he savoured the fact that all of his plans were finally falling into place. Soon, soon now, Rosalita would give in and all of this would be his at last. When she was given proof that her precious Johnny was dead, that he wasn't. In the darkness, she sauntered down the large cement stairs, her heels echoing in the emptiness. Stepping through aging aluminum doors she was in the streets of Berlitz. The bickering of three young men filled the smoky air. To her surprise, she felt excitement. This was the end of her wasted time. She would cast aside her past self and write a new character with a new, fabricated, history. No more daggers hidden in stockings, or satchels of mystery serums and weapons. She disappeared down the stairs to an underground station. A lamp flickered on the dark platform. Ornate letters spelled out ‘Oranienburger’ in gold against the gray graffitied wall. Emeline’s lips pursed as the train before her screeched to a stop. Warmth grew in the depths of her stomach and she willed herself to focus. It had been weeks since her close encounter with the miner in car #4. Once, she was certain he was present, hiding somewhere, watching her, but he never showed. She refused to give the satisfaction of.
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