Her mind was constantly focused on her surroundings, always warding against threats even when she was asleep.
So it came as a great shock when, in the early hours of the morning, she opened her eyes and found herself staring into the business end of a Mark 23.
She cast around mentally and assessed her options and exit points.
"How does it feel to be on the other side of the barrel?"
His voice was low and dangerous. She needed to get out of this situation, fast.
"Jason..." he interrupted her, his voice a whisper.
"You have one opportunity to give me the answer I want to hear," He cocked the gun. "Did you lead anybody to me? Are you playing me?" Even in a whisper he managed to convey the menace of his mood.
She swallowed, "No, I swear. I mean, what do you mean? Is there somebody out there?" She felt ashamed that she asked, she should know, she should be prepared. But all she had was the bitterness of not knowing.
Still in a whisper, but crouching low over her he replied, "Yes, they're about 150metres away. We have exactly ten seconds to get to the window at the top of the stairs and then five to make the jump, seven if we're lucky and they enter from the back. Grab your things, we're leaving."
Her mind found its rhythm and clarity swept through her like a fog being lifted. She rammed her pants on and pulled a shirt over her head; she stepped into her boots with practiced ease, grabbed her pack and swiped her gun from the shelf.
"Ready" she said as she did the final buttons on the shirt (it was his) and made for the stairs.
He did a double take, she was ready? That fast? He was definitely dealing with a professional. He had added 4 seconds to their exit time, as he thought she would need it.
Apparently not.
She reached the second-floor window before he did.
As he was about to explain that they are going to grab onto the gutter and swing onto the roof, he only saw her legs as she swung out the window.
He joined her on the roof and they both began moving East, in the direction of the forest.
They reached the edge of the property and quickly ducked behind some scrubs as the house flooded with light. Doors were being smashed open and rooms searched.
"We need to cross the river about 2km down-river. I have a friend with a car on the other side." He was glad to be adding such a fundamental part to their escape, he felt he needed to impress her.
She looked at him and silently motioned for him to follow her; she disappeared into the vegetation of the forest.
"I have a car stationed 1km up-river, on this side of the bank. It's not mine and it's not a friend's, but it's there. I say we head that way, it will be quicker. And besides, they will be expecting us to cross to the other side." She said it with such calm clarity that he was moving in her direction before he could blink.
What was it about this woman that made him feel so incompetent? He was one of the deadliest men alive and he was stuttering like a teenager with her.
He certainly had not experienced any such problems when they were naked.
After trudging through unknown vegetation for about 30minutes they walked into a gas-station, closed for the night.
"Wait here." she pointed at a spot next to the road and before he could protest she was gone.
He decided to ignore her and look for supplies.
He found a vending machine, stuck in a coin and jammed the slot. Now it was a free-for-all.
He loaded packets of crisps and bottles of water into his backpack and congratulated himself on his foraging.
The car materialised from around the corner and was brought to a sudden halt next to him, "Get in" she said as she taped up some loose wires hanging from the dash.
She didn't have to tell him twice.
"So, Mr. CSS level 10. Where do we go?" she spared him a glance as she expertly steered the car at break-neck speed.
"You're asking me? I figured you'd have it all worked out." He crossed his arms and fixed her with his most searching look.
"For god's sake. Don't be patronizing. I'd bet all my target fees for the next year on the fact that you have just the connections we need to disappear." At that moment he decided to stop underestimating this woman.
"Fine, but I can only have something ready by morning. You find us a pay-phone and a motel, somewhere off of the R45 and not the first one you see, maybe the third. And before I do anything further, I want to know your name." He continued to look at her.
She shot him a considering look, "Given the fact that you haven't tried to kill me when you've had so many opportunities, I will concede. My name is Merise." She tensed a little and he smiled, a point for him. She was obviously unsettled; he decided to use it to his advantage.
"Since when has it become 'us' and 'we'? I don't know why you are running and believe me; you don't want to know why I'm staying off the Grid. And, listen, your name was paid for by the three times you came, twice into my face."
Arousal, or probably indignation, stained her cheeks. She stayed remarkably calm in comparison to the dangerous tone of her voice.
"It became 'us' and 'we' the moment you brought company to my safe-house, there's no way in hell they were looking for me. I don't care why you are running and besides, I was planning on shooting you anyway, long before you would ever learn my name."
He smiled inwardly, she was intoxicating. Her blunt words and hard exterior only served to highlight her charm, especially when one thought about licking her pussy.
"Ok, Merise. You win; I will drag you along and keep you out of trouble. If you try to shoot me, I will kill you without a thought. We clear on that?"
She looked over and seemed to change what she was going to say, "Crystal clear."
They rented a room at the fourth motel off of the R45 exit, as Mr. and Mr. Jenson. It was his idea to have her stay in the car so they could pose as a gay couple. It was pretty clever, not that she would admit that to him.
He walked back to the car and handed her the keys to their room, along with a packet of crisps and a bottle of water. "I'm going to make a phone call. Lock the door and only open if I knock three times, think you can handle that?" He flashed her a mischievous grin and turned toward the phone.
He had become so cocky since she had told him her name and she had become silent. Let him think whatever it was that he was thinking.
She shouldered her pack and walked to their room, scanning the environment out of reflex.
There was a fire-escape leading from the back doors of the second floor, but they were staying on the ground floor. Her eyes caught sight of an old warehouse to the left of the motel. Sub-consciously she counted the number of steps it took from the car to the room as she pondered her fellow escapee. What could a man with level 10 clearance have to be on the run from and why did he not just kill her?
It hit her like lightning, he was probably being framed or wrongfully accused. No guilty fugitive would leave someone alive with the knowledge she now had of his whereabouts, she stopped when she reached the door, 68 steps, but shouldn't she be asking herself the same thing?
Why did she not just kill him? She was guilty after all.
She thought about his eyes and the way he held her when they had made love. She stopped short.
Made love? Since when did she 'make love' with anyone. This man was getting under her skin, if he was changing her thinking about sex, then god knows, she had to kill him.
He parked the car inside an old warehouse close to the motel. He was seething. He had managed to place a call to Eric, his head of security. The man had acted like Jason had the wrong number, but in a whisper he had delivered the news that would change his life forever.
"You have been compromised," the words seemed to take ages to make sense, "plan F is in action." And with that the phone went dead and with it his whole life rocked on its hinges.
Plan F meant that all their measures had failed and his team had decided to align with the House of Marx. They were cutting him off; according to them he was guilty.
He was well and truly fucked; he needed to leave the country yesterday.
As he walked into the room he noticed that the window was unlatched. Clever girl.
He could hear her in the shower, but thought it was better to deal with himself first.
He sat on the bed and unlaced his boots, kicking them off one at a time. He reached for his bag and pulled out a bottle of dark rum that he had bought from reception.
He found some glasses in a cabinet and poured two sturdy drinks. Then he sat down and arranged his thoughts into a plan.
He had been trained for this, situations spinning out of control, plans falling apart, disasters.
But he had never before had to face his own life crumbling.
