the coffee table in front of him. He looked somewhat familiar. At first, she couldn’t figure out who the stranger was; then she remembered the sketch she had seen.
“Miss Hoffmann, I presume?”
“Helms . . . You’re Warren Helms, right?”
“I prefer Mr. Helms, if that’s all right with you,” the man said politely, as if they were just introduced in a social situation.
“Sure, I apologize,” she reacted. The slight buzz from her earlier mojitos was all gone, her brain in high gear. How the hell was Mossad looking for this guy, when he was right there, installed comfortably in her living room? How the hell did they miss it?
“Ah, polite . . . That is refreshing,” Helms said.
Alex stood a few feet away from the coffee table, not sure what to do. Her phone was in her pocket, but she doubted Helms would allow her to use it. She decided to engage him, ignoring her trembling knees that were urging her to run.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Helms?”
“You can tell me who you are, Miss Hoffmann. Who are you? How did you get involved in this?”
“I don’t understand what you mean,” she tried to deflect.
“You know, we’re both going to die, Miss Hoffmann. You will die here, today, by my hand. That is a fact. I will probably follow at some time in the future, although I intend to postpone that event as much as I can. Therefore, you can tell me. Who are you?”
“Just someone who can’t take your kind of bullshit and be indifferent, I guess,” she answered, regaining her self-confidence. The hell with it, she thought. “I’m actually happy you found me, relieved to be exact. I knew you were coming, or someone else, and I was getting tired of looking over my shoulder.”
“Happy to oblige,” Helms said coldly. “I am glad, too, to finally make your acquaintance. You see, there are only two people in this world who caused me grief in the past few months. You are one of them, and we’re going to end that today. The other one is Krassner, and I’ll deal with him next week. But let’s get back to you. I am glad you saw me coming. You have clear expectations, I take it.”
She stood quietly, holding his gaze.
“This is good,” Helms continued. “Who pays you?”
“I’ll be happy to answer that if you tell me who pays you.”
Fast and unexpected, Helms rose from the couch and slapped her hard across the face, throwing her off balance. She hit the side of the coffee table with her left shoulder and landed hard on the carpet, face down. Her head throbbed, and tears burned her eyes.
“This is not how this works,” Helms said quietly, sitting back down on the couch. His voice was whispered, almost soft, conveying a level-toned sequence of short phrases, separated by silence in between. It had a silent staccato rhythm, underlying his point. The effect was threatening. “I ask. You answer. Or you get hurt. A lot. Before you die.”
He watched her trying to pick herself up from the floor, using just her right arm for support. “The die part is a fact we cannot change, but it can come slowly or quickly. It’s entirely up to you. Please don’t get to the point where you have to beg for your death. It’s just such a bad experience.”
She groaned and started crawling on the floor, approaching the coffee table. She turned slightly to her left and leaned on the coffee table with her left hand, grabbing the edge for support and letting out inarticulate whimpers of pain. She watched Helms waiting for her to get up, but she let herself fall back on the floor instead, almost on her back, in parallel with the coffee table. Unseen, her right had reached under it and grabbed the small pistol she had taped under there. Without hesitation and without squinting she pulled the trigger twice. The bullets hit Helms in the chest, tightly grouped. She watched Helms as life left his body, still pointing the gun at him.
“Bang means the bad guy is down. Yes, I want to see that happening,” she mumbled, picking herself up from the floor.
She took her encrypted cell out of her pocket and called Tom.
“Hey, sorry to call so late, but I found Helms.”
“Where is he?” Tom asked.
“In my living room, staining my fucking carpet. The couch is a write-off, too.”
...104
...Tuesday, November 8, 8:07AM PST (UTC-8:00 hours)
...Carmel Valley Recreational Center - Polling Precinct