Sei "Assassin Mama" Thriller Starter

A rolling nausea ripped through my body as I re-read what Tark had typed. Could it be? Was there any truth to the idea that my daughter could actually be alive?

For a few seconds, he had me believing. But I realized the absurdity in his suggestion. She had died during the birth. I know so. But another question, one just as significant as the idea that my child was alive, had presented itself. How could he possibly know that I gave birth to a baby girl?

“Sei, you all right?” Long nudged me. “This guy has no idea what he’s talking about. He’s messing with you.”

I turned to Long. “You’re the only person I told about my pregnancy and what happened.”

“It’s probably a coincidence. Prod this sicko.”

Sei:  I don’t have a daughter.

Tark:  Yes, you do. Take a closer look at the photo.

I double clicked on the picture to enlarge it. The girl had black hair and looked to be about age two, the age my daughter would have been had she survived the birth. She had fair skin and a loveable smile. I could almost hear what she sounded like if she were laughing.

Long leaned in for a closer look. “She looks like you, her eyes, but I think it’s because he placed the idea in our heads. We could be making a false connection.”

“She’s mixed,” I said.

“There you have it. You’re Chinese, mostly.”

“Her father was white.”

“Oh… Do you think it’s a possibility? I mean, I’m just saying.”

I leaned in for a closer look. I couldn’t deny that her eyes looked like mine. When I was pregnant, I would often imagine what she would look like. Would she look more Asian or more white? Or would she be the perfect blend of both? This child looked closely like what I had imagined. Could it really be true? Or had Long been right, were we projecting that thought in our heads?

Tark:  I know you see it, the resemblance.

Sei:  This is nothing more than suggestive cognizance.

Tark:  Is it? Think back to that day in the hospital.

“What’s he talking about, Sei? What happened that day?”

Images of myself lying in that hospital bed transported me back to that moment. Suddenly I was there experiencing it all over. I had worked so hard to bury those thoughts, and now, in an instant, they were back with absolute clarity, forcing me to relive a moment in my life I wanted forever forgotten.

“The doctor said there were complications and that he needed to perform a cesarean birth.”

“What was the problem?”

I stared at the picture of the little girl on the screen wondering myself what that answer was. “I don’t know,” I said, turning to my friend. “I remember asking and then waking in another room, with the doctor standing next to my bed. And even though I was groggy, I could see it in his eyes. Something terrible had happened.”

“Listen, Sei, this has got to be one epic coincidence.”

“But what if he’s right? What if somehow my child did survive, and for reasons unknown, she was taken from me?”

Long let out a breath as he leaned back into his chair. He ran his hand back and forth over his head. “I don’t know what to think. This is blowing my mind. I only just found out you were pregnant a short while ago. I can only imagine what this information is doing to you. I mean, what he’s suggesting…”

“That’s exactly what I want to know.”  I tapped out a message on the keyboard.

Sei:  Where is this little girl?

Tark:  She’s safe and very much alive.

Sei:  Bring her to me.

Tark:  Are you accepting the job?

Sei:  What do you want from me?

Tark:  The Black Wolf.

I first met Kostas a year ago in Turkey. A job had gone wrong and I’d needed to get out of the country quickly while staying under the radar. My employer had hired Kostas as a driver. At the time, I’d had no idea he worked for the CIA, and neither did my employer. I spent almost a week with a man I found irritating and charming all at once. When the jig was up on his identity, we came to an exclusive agreement that mutually benefitted us both.

Il Quartiere, The Neighborhood, was the name of the restaurant Kostas chose for our meeting place. It was hidden fifty yards back on a quiet street just off of Viale Giulio Cesare Boulevard. By the time I arrived, it was seven thirty p.m. 

The restaurant was quaint, only seven tables, and most likely frequented by only the surrounding residents. The décor inside was charming and played up the neighborhood theme. Strung across the ceiling were clotheslines with laundry drying. The lines were attached to murals on the wall depicting the outside of a residential building: windows up high with doorsteps, mailboxes, and flowerbeds below. 

Kostas had chosen a table off to the side near the rear of the restaurant. He was dressed casually, a white button-down tucked into faded blue jeans. The waviness in his brown hair had been trimmed a bit, but it still retained its thickness. As I approached, he stood and reached his hand across the table for two. “You killed him.”

“Should you be speaking so openly?” I shook his hand and then removed my knapsack and leather jacket.

“We own this restaurant,” he said as he sat. He then poured San Pellegrino into my glass.

I looked around at the empty tables. “Explains the crowd tonight.” I removed the memory stick from my knapsack and handed it to him. “It’s all there, the entire content of his laptop.”

He took it from me and dropped it into the front pocket of his shirt. “Are you going to explain to me why you ignored my directive?”

“I didn’t ignore it, but you know this business we’re in. Things can go wrong fast.”

Kostas shifted in his seat and shook his head. “Sei, you could have given me a heads-up when we spoke last night. I was blindsided by my superiors this morning with the news.”

“I did my best to get in and get out. You should know that deadly force was a last resort. It could have been me lying dead on that floor. Did that thought cross your mind?”

Kostas sat there befuddled as he managed a response. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“You’re a bit cold. What happened to the playful puppy dog who drove me across Turkey?”

“Puppy dog? I would say the attraction was mutual.”

“Attraction?” I let out a burst of laughter. “Me avoiding eye contact and ignoring your questions is what you view as signs of attraction?” When we first met, I wasn’t as friendly as I could have been but I never was with most people. “With this candle-lit dinner, I suspect you’ll want to marry me straight away.”

“Be careful what you wish for.”

“Back to the topic at hand. Isn’t this wrinkle the reason you utilize someone like me, so that if something does go wrong, it won’t come back to your agency?”

I watched him swish his lips swish from side to side. His olive complexion was still smooth. His appearance still youthful.

“Look,” he said, “I’m glad you got out safely. I would have felt bad if you got hurt or—”

“I did get hurt.” I pushed back the sleeve of my thin black sweater, revealing the bruising along my forearm.

He must have warmed up because he kissed two fingers and placed them gently against my arm. “Does that help?” Just then, a server appeared carrying two plates of food.

“I hope you don’t mind, I ordered for us. Truffle gnocchi. It’s excellent.” He flashed a smile that showed off his dimples.

While we ate, I relayed the events of the night to Kostas and why Matteo Abbandonato ended up dead. When I finished, he agreed that I really had done my best to stick to the plan.

“I forgot to ask about your daughter the last time we spoke,” he said.

“Yes, you were all business.”

Almost a year had passed since I discovered my daughter was alive. Two years before, I was led to believe she had died during childbirth. I even buried a body. Turned out she was kidnapped from the clinic shortly after I gave birth.

“Last I knew you were chasing down a lead by an ex-employer.”

“That turned out to be a monumental waste of my time. Three months to be exact.”

“Ouch. That’s not good.” He forked a gnocchi into his mouth. “And other than that?” he asked in between chews.

“Nothing. But to be honest, when I vacated my safe house in Belgium, I left behind a large stockpile of cash and expensive weaponry. I’ve been working to replenish that inventory. That requires accepting jobs—lots of time and energy. A necessary evil.”

“You have a new safe house?”

“I do, and I’m not telling where.” I used my fork to cut a gnocchi in half. 

“Have you thought of what you will do when you find your daughter?”

“The plan remains as it always has. I’ll do my best to give her a normal life, one far from this. It’s always what I had intended.”

“Is that why you went into your self-imposed exile?”

“Exile? I believe it’s referred to as retirement.” When I discovered I was pregnant, I cut ties with the father, a fling really, stopped working and bought a nice little cottage in Belgium. Even after giving birth, I remained off the grid, still unsure of what to do with my life. Resuming my work as an assassin was never a consideration until I received news that my daughter was alive.

“For some reason, I find it hard to see you playing house, not that I don’t think you’re capable of it, it’s just that…”

“What?”

“You’re so good at what you do,” he said with a shrug.

“I appreciate that pat on the back, but the last thing I want is for her to be exposed to this world.”

“I think that’s the right thing to do. I can become cool Uncle Kostas. The one who always says yes when you say no.”

I choked out a laugh before raising my glass. 

“What? You don’t intend to cut me out of your life, do you, when you find her?”

“Here’s to you not having me at your disposal for very long.” 

We both laughed and clinked glasses. “Speaking of our little arrangement, may I remind you that it’s reciprocal? I’ve seen very little in return on your end.”

Working for the CIA, Kostas had access to an unprecedented amount of information and resources. In exchange for my services, he had agreed to help me with the search for my daughter.

He swallowed a bite and then wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin. “Well, today that changes. I have something for you.” 

He removed his phone from his pants pocket and tapped at the screen. “This is Midou Feki,” he said, showing me his picture. “He emigrated from Tunisia to Paris about twelve years ago and since then has worked a number of odd jobs to survive.”

“And that’s important to me because…?”

“One of those jobs happened to be a security guard at the clinic where you gave birth to your daughter.” 

My heart nearly punched a hole in my chest. Since learning that my daughter was alive, I hadn’t come any closer to determining her whereabouts. The only information I had was that an assassin, the Black Wolf, supposedly had her. And even that wasn’t one-hundred-percent confirmed. 

“Are you sure? I mean, how do you know?” 

I had thought to question the workers at the clinic but the man who arranged the kidnapping provided the staff that day. They weren’t actual employees of the clinic but freelancers. To make things worse, Parisian law enforcement had raided the place shortly afterward for fraudulent activity. Someone had tipped off the owner and the employees right before they arrived. They disappeared, as did my opportunity to simply speak to anyone who worked there. The only person I was able to make contact with was Dr. Remy Delacroix—the doctor I had hired to perform the birth.

“How did you find this man?”

“Feki had an ongoing relationship with the Parisian police. Mostly petty crime.” Kostas tapped at his phone briefly. “I just emailed you the photo along with his last known address. I can’t guarantee that he’s still there, but it’s a lead.”

“Thank you. Thank you very much.”

“Good luck, Sei.”