Chapter 8

David worked away, swapping out the engine from the blue scooter for a reconditioned one. He’d take it to the local repair shop to determine if it was salvageable. His thoughts would wander to Rita and their night of making love. He enjoyed her warm, soft kisses and the smell and taste of her. He began for the first time to think about what his life might be like if he stayed with her.

Saturday was busy for scooter rentals, and the day passed quickly. When the last rental was returned and serviced, he rolled down the door and counted the daily income. He made a bank deposit using the repaired scooter, then went to the gym.

David completed a strenuous workout combining boxing and wrestling and honing his self-defense skills. After a shower, he went to the local internet cafe for a coffee and to see what was happening in the world.

He had a quiet laugh as he sipped his coffee at the latest conspiracy theories in the United States regarding the government and UFOs. Another site displayed personal ads for people wanting to meet and hook up with others with almost every interest they could imagine.

Previous visits showed urgent messages in bold lettering at the bottom of the page. One message caught his attention. DW 09131989 Paris is waiting for you. Contact me at 33-431-plus, where it all began. PL.

David had to reread the notice as the number, 09131989, was his birth date. PL, he figured it had to be Pamela Landy. He recalled the coded message she gave him of 4/15/89 as his birth date, which was fictitious but was actually a hospital at 415 East 89th Street in New York, where he evolved into an assassin.

David did the math, and the number was 33-4314-1589, originating in Paris. He had to decide if he should contact her or not. Maybe it was a sting operation to finally catch him. He had to admit that Pam was the CIA agent who revealed his real name to him and was the one he could trust the most.

David finished his coffee and went out to the scooter. Curiosity got the better of him. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” he muttered, entering the number on his burner phone.

Pamela Landy was doing some catch-up work from home when she was startled by the chirping of her unofficial phone.

“Hello, David. I was hoping to hear from you soon. I’m glad you read my message. You’ve got me using a burner phone too, so it’s safe to talk.”

“Hi, Pam, you’re looking well.”

“Jesus, David, you’ve got me looking out my living room window for you, and I live in an apartment.”

“Made you look,” he laughed lightly.

“Since when did you grow a sense of humor?”

“Life has been good to me, Pam; how about you? I see from the area code that you’re in Paris. I thought they’d throw the book at you for turning over all those classified documents.”