CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

 

 

WHEN JEAN SAW Mary Jo be dropped off at her home by an officer, she knew the young cop was dead. On the police scanners, the call for an ambulance for the police station had gone out at the point Mary Jo would have reached the police station.

Jean smiled and took the bug from her collar and smashed it, then put it into a solution that would dissolve it within an hour.

She then took out a burner phone that she had kept hidden in the kitchen, taped up underneath a lower cabinet shelf. She dialed the only number on the phone and when a man answered, she said simply.

“Target is dead. I am not sure why you tried to double-cross me, but my fee for such action on your part has now doubled. I will expect it in the account shortly.”

“You can’t threaten me,” the man said, his voice full of bluster with no real power behind it.

“You obviously don’t know who exactly you hired,” Jean said, keeping her voice low and level. “My fee is now four times. I do not expect to be disappointed.”

Jean clicked off the phone, put it in a very heavy plastic bag and then smashed it until it was dust. Then she poured the solution with the bug in it into the plastic bag, wrapped it all in an old rag, and dropped it in the bottom of her garbage can in her garage.

In an hour the entire thing would be nothing more than a gooey mess inside the cloth.

She laughed as she went back into the house. She had a hunch that Mary Jo had just called the same guy and said basically the same thing. The only issue was if they had been hired for the same target by two different clients.

And, of course, she and Mary Jo both had an issue since the young cop had clearly known about both of them. So others might as well and know where they both lived.

Precautions were in order.

Jean went into her bedroom and into her secret stash behind her closet. There she took out a very special phone. She had never used the phone which had been handed to her four years ago for direct contact with the ancient order of assassins. The organization had no real name, never had.

And in thousands of years, Jean had seldom had need to actually speak to anyone in the order.

She checked to make sure there was no tracking on the phone, then hit the number four.

A moment later a recorded voice said, “State your name.”

Jean said simply, “Freyja Mist.”

A moment later a human voice said simply, “May I be of service?”

“Were two assassins hired for the same target in upstate New York just over a year ago?”

“We keep no records. But such occurrences have happened throughout time. It would be possible.”

“Understood,” Jean said. “Both assassins were then targeted by an amateur killer after the target was eliminated. How could such a thing happen? No contact with the client was made by either assassin.”

Jean knew she was speaking for Mary Jo, but she had no doubt Mary Jo would have had no reason outside the normal channels to contact the client in any way.

Silence greeted Jean’s question.

Finally the voice asked simply, “Has the threat been eliminated?”

“The immediate threat has, yes.”

“The phone you hold will ring exactly twenty-four hours from this moment. I will have information for you at that point.”

The phone went dead.

Jean glanced at her watch, then put the phone away and closed the secret panel on her closet.

That was done.

She set all proximity alarms around the house, made sure she had weapons in various places throughout the house, then took a deep breath.

“I need a drink.”