Cliff Ryder - Black Widow

"There were two of them."

With a shrug Jason said, "They were boys playing toughs. I'm just glad I was in the neighborhood."

Ajza looked at him. "I know it's awful, but I really don't remember seeing you around."

"I'm here every now and again."

"Do you work somewhere close by?"

"An investment firm. Nothing elaborate."

"You're very fit."

"I work out."

Ajza smiled at him, trying to look like a defenseless woman. That was easy because his ego would allow him only to recognize her as inferior. She knew the type. "Perhaps I'll see you around."

He stared at her for just a moment. She thought she might have pressed that too far.

"You never know," he said. He said goodbye and left, careful to take a right turn at the door as if he was simply resuming a trip back to the office. His partner across the street didn't move.

Ajza waited and endured her father's silent displeasure. But she couldn't help wondering who Jason was and who he represented.

The investigating detective took Ajza's name and address. He looked at her from under his hat brim. He was middle-aged, articulate and observant.

"You live in London?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Why are you here?"

"I took a few days from work to visit my parents."

"Very thoughtful."

"Thank you." Ajza knew the man was on alert. Whoever Jason was, his presence at the shop had raised the detective's suspicions.

"Where do you work?" the detective asked.

Ajza named the corporation where MI-6 had established her cover. She didn't hesitate. Everything she told the policeman would check out.

"How long have you been working there?" the policeman asked.

"Since I got out of college." Ajza folded her arms and took a deliberate defensive posture. "Why do I get the impression that I'm under investigation?"

"Sorry." The detective smiled. "I've always been the curious sort. It helps in my line of work."

"I suppose it would."

The detective made note of her answers.

"Would you care to know where I went to college?" Ajza asked.

He shook his head and looked slightly embarrassed. "No, that won't be necessary. I'm just glad nothing bad happened to you or your father. You were very lucky that chap happened along as he did."

"I know." Ajza bit her lip and feigned indecisiveness. "I'm frightfully embarrassed."

"Why?"

"You're going to think I'm positively dreadful."

"Nonsense." The detective gave her a reassuring smile.

"I'm afraid I wasn't as good with my questions as you are with yours." The reminder was deliberate, subtly reminding the man that he owed her for his prying. "I never even asked him his name."

"Well, given the excitement of the moment, that's understandable." The detective made no offer to give her the man's name.

"Do you think you could tell me his name and address?" Ajza asked. "I'd like to call and thank him. Perhaps send him some flowers or — at the very least — a card. After all, he did save my father's life."

The detective put his notepad in his pocket. "His name is Donald Smythe. I'm afraid I can't give you his address. Privacy, you know."

"What about where he works? That wouldn't be an invasion of privacy, would it?"

"I'm afraid I didn't get that information, Miss Manaev."

"Oh. Well, that's disappointing. Perhaps if you should get it later…"

"Of course."

But she knew the man wouldn't be in touch with her again.

After the police left, things returned to normal. Ajza stayed busy restocking and cleaning the shop. The patrons broke up the monotony of the day as always. She remembered many of them from having lived there as a girl, before going away to university. Some of them were new to her, but not to her father. She loved to hear her father's patter with the people who entered the shop. His words always brought comfort because kindness filled him while he worked.

Only a little of the awkwardness between them remained. The afternoon's business more than made up for the lunch rush that was lost. The neighborhood turned out to get a firsthand account of what had happened, and they nearly always left with some purchase.

Ajza noted that her father didn't mention her part in quelling the youths. He only said he gave credit to a passing stranger.

After dinner that night, Ajza retired to the room her parents kept for her. It was odd visiting it. The room held many of her childhood things, but not much of the woman she'd become.

Her mother remarked on that infrequently. Ajza had offered to clean the room out so they could lease it to a university student or a young single. Her mother had refused, saying they kept the room so she would have a place to stay when she visited.

Her brother's room remained untouched.

Ajza had peeked in earlier the previous day after her arrival. Her mother kept everything clean despite the fact no one lived there. All of Ilyas's memorabilia remained on the shelves. His comic books stood in collector's boxes. The spy novels he'd read lined the bookshelves. Comic-book figures stood on his dresser, poised to spring into action.

For a moment as she'd peeked into that room, Ajza had almost been able to feel her younger brother's presence. It wasn't so long ago that he'd sat on the floor and played with those action figures.

In her dark bedroom, Ajza sat near the window and looked out to see the MINI Cooper. The vehicle had moved during the course of the day, but the two men remained constant. There had been no shift switch. She knew they would be getting tired. Even if they took turns sleeping, the endless hours of constant inactivity would take their toll.

But it showed how determined they were in their assignment.

That made Ajza even more curious. Especially since they were watching her so close to her parents' home.

A quick glance at the street revealed that the nightlife around Haymarket Centre was in full swing. The pubs kept the locals and the tourists busy, and they provided a distraction for her watchers.

Ajza dressed for the night in a black turtleneck, black jeans, black running shoes, a Black Watch cap to capture her dark hair and a black peacoat against the night's chill and to straighten out her curves. Looking in the mirror, she knew the men watching her wouldn't be able to tell if she was a man or a woman.

It was perfect.

Quietly, as she had in the past, she stole from her parents' house. The window in the small living room opened into a fire escape that snaked down the side of the building. She caught it, heard the rust scrape against her gloves, then swung out. Hand over hand, she made her way down and dropped to the alley behind the shop.

Then she stepped into the darkness.

Chechen Republic

Belted into the passenger seat of the Russian jeep, Taburova felt exposed. He'd grown up in the open spaces of the Caucasus Mountains. He'd hunted and fished, and he'd been respected for those skills. In those days he'd relished the wilderness.

Now it was far too easy to imagine Russian sharpshooters behind every tree and boulder. Despite all his precautions, he was grimly aware that all it would take was one well-placed bullet by a man patient enough to wait for an opportunity.

He knew that because he had been that man several times himself.

"Sir?" The driver glanced at Taburova.

"I am tired. There is nothing we can do about that. Keep driving."

"Of course." The driver dropped down another gear as they prepared to climb yet another steep incline. The vehicle's engine growled and fought for inches. Loose soil churned away under the tires. The jeep slid again and again.

Frustrated, Taburova gave the order to stop. He slid from the jeep and shouldered the AK-47 he carried. "We walk from here. The vehicles aren't going to make it."