Black Diaries

44. VIP Treatment (Stab wounds Included)

It felt like a dream, being led away from Elliot and towards the discreet little door at the back of the huge terminal hall. On either side stood two men in black suits and sunglasses, upright, arms behind their back.

That's it! They've got you! You worried for nothing on the way out—and then they catch you on the way back in. You should just have stayed in India, made Elliot elope with you and live in Mumbai for the rest of your life, or better yet, in some treehouse deep in the jungle.

The beefy security guard stopped in front of the door, and nodded in an ominous manner at the men in black. The men in black nodded back.

"I've got her," he said.

They nodded again, and one of them gestured to the door. "Step in here, for a moment, will you, please?"

"What's going on?" I asked, as if I didn't already know.

"Just step in here, please."

I couldn't see his eyes through the sunglasses—but I didn't need to, to know that they were cold, and hard as steel. Gathering all my courage, I did as he had asked. He, along with the security guard, followed me inside. Man in black number two remained outside, guarding the door. I just caught a glimpse of him shifting to stand in front of the door before it closed behind me.

I found myself in a small, roughly square room with a table in the middle and another door opposite of me. Except for the table and a few chairs on either side, there was no furniture whatsoever. It all looked very clinical and sparse, like the dream of a utilitarian designer—or like a jail cell. Take your pick.

Opposite me, behind the table, sat two plain-clothed men with hard faces, one of them with a clipboard in his hand. They were both looking at me.

"Would you sit down, please, Miss?" The one with the clipboard met my eyes and gave me a fake smile. "We have a few questions we'd like to ask you."

That did it.

I made my move. Dashing forward I slammed both hands into the tabletop and used my momentum to vault over it and right into one of the suckers on the other side. They had to be the head agents, the most dangerous of all! My foot caught the one on the left under the chin in a classic yoko geri. He flew back off the chair and crashed into the wall. Ripping my knife from its sheath, I stabbed downwards, and an answering gush of red came up to greet me.

Yay! My first FBI agent! I was stepping up in my career as a killer.

Gripping the handle tightly, I yanked the knife free—or at least tried to. The damn thing was stuck! Would you believe it? My first FBI agent ever, and my knife got stuck in him! Life just wasn't fair!

I heard a noise from beside me. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a movement.

The other men, you silly girl! Don't forget the other men! Do something!

Thrusting my hand into my handbag, I grabbed the first thing my fingers touched. It was gratifyingly solid and heavy. Wrenching it out, I swung it towards the other plain-clothed agent and caught him a glancing blow on the head. He stumbled and fell. I was above him in an instant.

"Hasta la vista, male person who I really don't want to call 'baby'!" I told him, slamming the statue of the Indian Luck-God down on his head.

"Grglsfigl," he answered, eyes crossed.

I hit him over the head again.

"Grrk," he said, and slumped to the floor, lifeless.

Wow! There really had to be something to the power of Ganesha. Instant success! I'd never have thought that hot-shot agents would be so easy to take out. I'd have to write to the Department of Justice. With people like those protecting us, simple citizens like you and me weren't safe to go outside!