They were supposed to be here. That’s what it said in the telegram I found, written in a schoolboy’s code. For no good reason, but that hardly matters. They were to meet here before going on to the main event. So where are they?

I can’t linger here much longer. I look like a woman alone. And a woman alone in a hotel bar, dressed for a party – of some sort or another – raises questions. I can’t risk being observed. Observation leads to memorisation, which leads to recognition down the line, which leads to trouble.

And I need to avoid all trouble, save for that which I cause. I don’t have time to hunt down and safely dispose of anyone who gets to know my face.

Damn, some horrid little man is leering at me, taking out a pack of cigarettes. I can smell the sauerkraut on his breath from here. Yes, here he is, waddling over. He’s got dandruff in his eyebrows and hair growing from his ears. Is this meant to be a member of a “master race”?

Others are watching him, wanting to know what my price is – even if it is not my profession, there must still be a price. And for someone like me, a stunning young blonde, it must be high.

Which indeed it is. Tamper with me, and the price is your life.

What a delicious thing it would be to tell them that my beloved, when he was human, was Jewish. And that he could destroy them all with the sort of strength and mercilessness they can only dream of possessing. Oh yes, even they! I do wish Eamon were here…but no, I can’t think about him. Not right now. Not when I have this work to do.

My targets aren’t here, they aren’t coming. There’s no choice. I’ll have to move on. But I won’t give this nasty man a second look – he does not deserve even that. The men in here can find something else to stare at. Hopefully, soon enough, it will be their death warrants.