Amelia crouched down beside the body and wrenched open the Burkah. The veiled robe concealed a man. Hidden beneath the robes was a large scimitar with a blade that looked terrifyingly sharp. "I saw his boots," Amelia said by way of explanation, though why a representative of the British Council should be looking out for such a thing and carrying a silenced, long-barrelled pistol as well, I wasn't clear. "Ottoman assassin." Ass ... ass..." Helena at first seemed dumbstruck but her words gave way to screams almost at once."Oh, for heaven's sake," Amelia said, reaching into her bag once more. Her hand came out clutching a white cloth. She quickly wadded it up into a pad, un-stoppered a small brown bottle, poured the contents onto the cloth and then stepped behind the screaming Helena and clamped the pad over her mouth and nose. Amelia's action startled Helena out of her screaming fit and into a struggling, kicking attempt to break free from Amelia's grasp. Pulled back against Amelia's. It’s four o’clock in the afternoon, my plane will depart in a few hours. There's not enough time, so I walk away from him and follow the crowd up the road. But I feel him in my back, his regard, and finally turn around. He's still following me with his eyes. Would this be his first time? His first time being struck by another man? A man who has nothing to do with his life but somehow stirs his attention? Okay, let's do it. I'm game. Fuck Singapore Airlines. I return to the tram stop. I’m not good at this, but the crowd helps, you don’t have to explain your movements. There's almost some space on the bench next to him. He picks up the brief case lying there. I sit down. We are both shy. “Hello,” I say. “Hi,” he reacts. “You’re from here?” I ask. “Yes,” he says, and utters a few more words that I forgot. “Okay,” I say. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s take a taxi,” I say, “we don’t have much time.” We hail a taxi, both of us, until one finally stops. We’re getting into the vehicle, both of.
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