The Fifteenth Representative by Hilla Dagan (fiction novels to read .TXT) 📕

“Hello, focus on the question, mister…”

He slowly got it. He was hard before his brain fully gave the order.

Chapter Twenty

Sydney.

06:46 AM. The morning of the operation.

I woke up at five thirty. Eran had left over an hour ago to finalize all the details with the Dutch woman and with the armed crew who will escort her as far as they could. Then she was on her own.

I was the same.

In the opera house I’d be alone because my date would stand me up. I had a terrible fight with her and blah, blah, blah… I was so mad… and hurt… and vulnerable.

Eran had given me a fancy Gucci bag for the anticipated meeting. It was red. It was so extravagant that even Gucci himself didn’t know it held three separate tiny cameras. The first was placed in the buckle that closed the bag on top, the second was in the side zipper pull, and the final one in the zipper pull on the other side. Whatever side, and whatever may come… maybe she was bi… I giggled to myself. I liked making myself laugh. It meant it was funny.

Each camera also held a microphone that could record for forty-eight hours.

I also had the disc-on-key of the recordings connected to my key chain.

There was also a tiny camera in my glasses frames; so too in the heal of my red pumps that made my legs look amazing. The dress with slits up my legs that also made my assets stand out, and that’s it. Besides that, it was only me.

Oh, and the plastic ribbon that never left my neck.

It was likely that she’ll ask me over to her place. Despite Timothy having devised a plan to distract her security detail, I doubted she’d show up to my heavily bugged hotel room. A scenario such as that would leave who knows how many cameras unnecessary, and countless colleagues frustrated.

I was kidding, of course. The pictures from the cameras with me were transferred straight home, just like the suite’s cameras. No person who didn’t have a serious need to see me in action would ever see evidence of this. Compartmentalization was needed, and we didn’t play around. Well, we played the game, but our neighbors could be a tad… problematic.

She saw me and Eran, who doesn’t know anything, in that Australian parking lot. I was planning on going all in at the Opera House.

She was a right sight.

I sat five rows up from hers, and ten seats to the right. She would easily notice me with only a slight tilt of her head. She was part kangaroo, not owl. She was no bird of prey. She was the one being preyed on.

Anyway, I had another place I could sit, if push came to shove, in the area to the right of her seat section. It was the furthermost seat to the right in the middle seat. Whoever had to go powder their nose would have to pass by me on their way. Firstly since it was the fastest way to the restrooms, and secondly because Eran had made sure I was dressed like a red light. Honestly, everyone stopped by me. But that also happened when I wore green.

I hated wearing yellow, though. It’s the color of hate. Someone else said that—not me. I don’t really get the meaning of something so stupid—why does hate have a color? It’s the painter who transmits the hate—not the color itself.

People had already seated themselves in seats not their own, so I wasn’t holding my breath for the place we’d paid for being empty, especially not if there was a line for the restroom.

I’d be fine with simply doing her in the bathroom, but they were insistent on their plans…. On the other hand, we were in Sydney, not Allenby Street. People were civilized here. They did each other in the restrooms at the opera house. Those were the same kinds of people in Allenby, only it’s impossible to understand the words coming out of their mouths. And, naïvely, I suppose, I thought my English was pretty good. I suppose it showed more idiocy than simplemindedness. I should ask Timothy what he thinks. I still think my English is fine, and Eran would have told me ages ago if he thought otherwise. Perhaps Timothy would think differently?

Come on… when was Madam planning on showing up? I didn’t have all day. Oh, here came the sexually challenged for warm up. Look at him…

Say, Timothy, was it naïve or simply stupid to think that…

Where had I parked the car? B26 blue… that’s half of what I have to pay for my blue tobacco. That’s how I could remember the bus line I needed to take back to the hotel: 18. Easy.

The code for the safe in our room was 2807, which was the birthdate of a friend of mine. Piece of cake.

The flight number back to Israel is 2102. El Al. Direct. Such a treat.

Perhaps I should go see how Eran was doing. I’d make out as though I simply wanted to see where he was sitting—just in case we needed to pull off a quick castling. You should learn chess. I’m the Queen in this play, obviously. I’d been through there twice already with Eran. That’s hardly a good castling. It was nothing but a wasted move.

Our radish finally arrived. She was escorted by three carrot-tops. One on the right, one on the left, and the last trailing behind her. It was a familiar flowerpot formation in the Australian landscape.

Now I had to follow the method Eran mention once that has proven flawless. If you really care about someone paying attention to you, then you have to make sure not to pay him any attention at all. Let me explain. This works especially well when it comes to particularly hot individuals. I’ll explain that, too, and if you think I’m letting you in on a secret move that’s nothing more than