Andrew Britton - The Assassin

Lowe nodded to himself. “№ 29” meant that the vehicle had not been reported stolen. It was another reassuring sign. A woman alone in a car… She was probably just lost. This would be easy to handle. “D.C., I’m going to check it out.”

He got out of his car and adjusted his belt, tucking it under his paunch. Then he checked to make sure his radio was on the primary channel. As he started toward the Taurus, he heard the officers responding to the 11-6 clearing the call. He briefly considered requesting a second unit — “contact and cover,” which required two people, was SOP when approaching a vehicle — but decided against it. They would take forever to show up anyway. From where he was standing, he could see the woman’s face in the side mirror. She looked a little nervous, but that wasn’t unusual. Maybe she’d never been approached by a police officer. Lowe smirked to himself. He knew that some people couldn’t differentiate between being approached and being arrested. Maybe she thought she was going to jail for no reason at all.

He reached the driver’s side window and tapped the glass. The car wasn’t running, but the window slid down, so the key was in the ignition. He took note of that fact as the driver offered a strained smile and said, “Hi, Officer. What can I do for you?”

Lowe caught the accent right away. That voice was something all by itself, but she was a good-looking woman, too: in her midtwenties, he guessed, with shoulder-length black hair, green eyes, and a cute little nose. He unconsciously smoothed his thinning blond hair and smiled broadly, revealing crooked teeth and more than a scrap of his evening meal.

“Good evening, ma’am. Or morning, I should say.”

She looked at her watch and laughed, but there was something forced about it. “Yes, I suppose you could say that.”

“Can I ask what you’re doing out here?”

“My car clunked out on me,” she said, sounding exasperated. “As luck would have it, I just lapsed on my AAA, too.” She shrugged her shoulders and laughed again. “Just one of those days, I guess.”

“Where are you coming from?”

“Richmond,” she replied, without hesitation. “I’m going to visit my mother. Or at least I was.”

“Did you manage to get hold of a tow truck?”

“Yes, I did. Mike’s Towing. I got the name from directory assistance. They should be here shortly.”

Lowe nodded politely. “And where does your mother live, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“…Baltimore. Just outside of Baltimore, I mean.”

He couldn’t help but take note of the pause. It could be the truth, but it seemed a little strange; even the least capable traveler could hardly stray this far off course, engine trouble or not. He checked the woman’s hands for the second time; they were still in her lap, one clasped over the other. Good. Scanning the passenger seat, he saw a hooded pullover resting on the cushion. He couldn’t see what might be beneath the article of clothing, but he remembered seeing a blur of motion when he’d first flashed his lights, and he couldn’t help but wonder what the sweater might be covering. His curiosity was piqued by the loose papers scattered over the floor. All of a sudden, he had the feeling that something wasn’t right here.

“Well, I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you, ma’am,” he said tonelessly. “May I see your license and registration, please?”

She didn’t reply right away, her mouth working silently. “Is that really necessary? I mean, I was just sitting here-”

“I’m afraid it is. You see, we received a complaint about your vehicle, so we have to be thorough.”

“Well, I don’t have it on me, actually. In fact, I don’t have any ID at all.”

“What about the registration?”

“I, umm…” She made a show of looking in the glove compartment. “I don’t have that either. Listen, Officer, I-”

“Whose car is this?”

“It belongs to my boyfriend.”

“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to step out of the car. You can take the keys with you.”

“Officer, I really don’t think-”

“Step out of the car, please. Right now.”

He’d added a note of authority that time, and she complied right away, pushing the door out toward him. He stepped back to let her out, then said, “Move to the front of the vehicle, please, and put your hands on the hood. Are you carrying anything I need to know about? A weapon of any kind, needles, anything like that?”

“No, of course not.” She was indignant but complied readily, leaning against the fender and opening her stance. He took a long moment to admire the view. “Are you even allowed to do this?” she asked. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Lowe ignored the question. He patted her down slowly, using the backs of his hands as regulations required, but not without a tinge of regret. Technically speaking, he was feeling for anything solid, anything lumping beneath the dark, loose-fitting clothes. That was another thing, the way she was dressed… not suspicious in itself, but something to file away.

She didn’t appear to be armed. Satisfied, he stepped back. “Ma’am, I’d like to search your vehicle. Do you mind?”

“Do I…? Yes, I do mind.” She raised her level of indignation, knowing he would only expect it if she truly had nothing to hide. “That’s completely uncalled for.”

He nodded slowly, wondering how far he wanted to take this. In truth, the woman’s story made perfect sense: she had engine trouble; she was waiting for help. She knew the name of a local tow company, and her tags had checked out. Still, he couldn’t ignore his instincts, and they were telling him that something was wrong with this whole situation. His radio stuttered to life. He listened for anything interesting, but it was just another unit clearing a call.

Lowe gripped her right arm just above the elbow and steered her toward his cruiser. She stiffened under his grasp, but didn’t try to resist. “I’m going to have you sit in my car for a few minutes while we sort this out.”

“But why?” she asked, her voice beginning to climb. “This is ridiculous. I haven’t done anything wrong!”

“Then you won’t mind answering a few questions.” He moved to open the rear door, but before he could, she caught his eye and spoke again in a more reasonable tone.

“Officer, do I really need to sit in the back?” She gave him a pleading look. “I mean, it’s not like I’m under arrest, right?”

He looked at her, then back at the car. It was true; she hadn’t really done anything wrong, and he didn’t want to invite a harassment charge at a later date. Besides, he’d rather have her up front, anyway. At the very least, it would give him something to look at for the next thirty minutes or so.

“Fine,” he said, guiding her round to the passenger side. He opened the front door, and she reluctantly got in. “Just wait here,” he ordered. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Once the door was closed, Naomi quickly composed herself and watched intently as the officer walked to the front of his car, unhooking his shoulder mic. As he turned away and faced the embassy grounds, she sat up and checked out the cruiser. She didn’t bother trying the door, as there was nowhere to go. Looking down to her left, she examined the radio mounted between the seats. The chatter was audible, and the green LED light showed a “1,” which she assumed was the primary channel. She listened for the officer’s voice, which was nasally, unpleasant, and easy to catch, but heard nothing she recognized. She quickly decided he must be transmitting on a secondary channel.

She nearly pressed her ear to the window in an attempt to hear what was happening, but stopped herself in time, realizing how futile the gesture would be. He could be double-checking the tags on the Taurus, or he could be calling his patrol supervisor. Her panic was starting to get the best of her. She had done her best to seem disadvantaged but not incapable. After all, she needed him to leave; it wouldn’t do to have him sitting around, waiting for a tow truck that would never arrive. Unfortunately, he hadn’t bought her act, and now, the only thing working in her favor was that she had talked herself out of the backseat, where she would have been completely vulnerable, stripped of all her options.