To Kill For the Truth (BOOK 1)

CHAPTER 1 ~ Patience

Only fools rush in, that's the phrase, isn't it?

Though I'm sure that phrase is most often applied to romance, I myself, have never thought of it in such a context, but that doesn't mean it isn't true. My job certainly demands a lot of patience. After all, I've been wearing this god awful uniform with its darkened ski goggles and stuffy snood for at least an hour now, and patience is what it takes not to adjust the material that supposedly shields me from the harsh winter weather of Switzerland.

I say supposedly, because i can still feel the bite of the wind no matter how thick the damn coat is.

Now what was I saying? Ah yes, patience.

I never used to have a lot of it, but I think that's because I never truly valued it. What I mean by that, is you don't truly understand something until you put it into practice. Of course, every profession has a defining skill, an ability that shapes what you will and won't be good at. You wouldn't expect a librarian to be illiterate now, would you? The same could be said for the role of patience in my job.

Ding.

The light above me turns green, as I scan the keycard that was in the pocket of my uniform coat. I find myself momentarily observing the name on it: Clarissa Morven. I wonder how she would feel about waking up on a port somewhere off the coast of France after I'd stowed her unconscious body away in a boat storage crate. I suppose she'd have to learn some patience herself. I'm sure it'll be character building for her. Perhaps she'll thank me at a later point in her life if she can track me down.

Now that would be a true test of patience.

"What are you still doing down here?" I hear a voice around the corner from me as I progress through the labyrinth of tunnels that make up this hidden fortress.

"You're supposed to be down in the air sector already, the summit party is arriving" The voice chastises me, and I see it belongs to a tall figure, dressed in the same uniform as me, eyes hidden behind the same goggles. I see there is a star next to their velcro name badge and I assume they must be Clarissa's superior...and now technically mine for the duration of my (hopefully brief) stay in this clandestine hell hole.

"I'm on my way there now, Sir" I explain, offering no garbled excuse, since I can't exactly tell him I was late because I was preoccupied stuffing one of his employees into a weapons shipment container and seeing her off into the ocean's horizon.

"...well I suppose you should get moving then, Morven. Chop chop"

I do just that, since talking more would run the risk of them realising I don't sound exactly like Clarissa Morven and my German is certainly not that of a native. Though I hope that the real one would be proud of me for striving to keep up her obedient reputation. I follow the tunnels I have already memorised as if they were as familiar as my own bedroom. That certainly took patience, but you see? Paying off already. I see the others come into view, in their matching snow camo uniforms with semi automatic rifles in their gloved hands, and I make my way to the end of the line just as a jet pulls into the hangar.

Several people step off, but the most striking is the last man. Perhaps he did so on purpose for some form of gravitas, but every motion he makes is of a filthy rich man, even down to the way he adjusts his cufflinks; making sure the expensive, shined metal glints off the lights. He hands, what I assume is travel papers to the girl next to him in the same fashion one might waft away a stray fly. She bows, and he walks with the kind of confidence that communicates his belief that no one would stop him.

If it wasn't obvious before, he's the one I'm here for.

"Your escort" One of my 'superiors' gestures to me, and I swallow the smile that threatens to split my lips as the man pays barely no attention to me, trusting that I'll follow behind him.