The Swindler

EIGHT

I shuddered. Beside me, Ernest's fists clenched, knuckles turning white.

Sighing, I said, "That's no surprise. Francis is a maniac. He's gone off the deep end."

"If he can't have you, no one can," Ahmed muttered.

I nodded. "Sounds about right."

Ernest cut in, "So what do we have to do in order to catch The Destroyer?"

Silence.

Ahmed and I looked at each other. We knew there was only one sure way to lure Francis Montaigne back to London.

"Use me as bait," I murmured sadly.

"No," Ernest instantly gritted out. "There's no way I'm letting that happen."

"It's the only hope we have," Ahmed said. "I don't like the idea of using Viv either, but Francis won't return otherwise. Agent Scott, please, we know him best. If we thought there was any other way, we'd do that instead."

"I'm not risking innocent lives here," Ernest argued.

"You're forgetting that I'm not innocent. Bloody hell, I've done too much wrong in my life. If Francis can be stopped..." I looked down at my hands, folded in my lap. "Then I don't care what happens to me in the end."

"Rousseau, don't you dare say that. Weren't you just planning what your post-swindler life was going to be like? Why have this defeated attitude now?"

I answered in a dead monotone, "Because ever since I woke up in that cellar with Francis in front of me, I've known that my days are numbered."

Both Ahmed and Ernest stared at me. I sighed and shook my head. "I only wish my family still thought I was dead. It would've saved them the upcoming heartache."

"There's no bloody way I'm letting you die," Ernest promised, fervently serious.

"Viv, how can you be so sure you'll die?" Ahmed asked, probably trying to placate Ernest.

"Francis Montaigne is a psychopath. He had you kill Lucille; he's already shot me once. Do you really think he'll release me alive?"

Sadness washed over me. My bottom lip quivered as the tears finally began to slide down my cheeks. A dull ache started to pain my heart. I hung my head.

"He's called The Destroyer for a reason. Ernest?"

"Hmm?"

"Can you see if MI6 will agree to protect my family? Francis hates my father. I really can't bear it if something happens to them because of me."

"I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you," I said, grateful.

He nodded. "But are you sure about doing this?"

"I have to. Otherwise, no one will ever be able to catch him. He's too good at hiding."

"I can attest to that," Ahmed added.

Ernest sighed. "Rousseau..."

"I know what's in store for me. Let's just call this my reckoning, alright?"

The two men didn't answer me. I closed my eyes.

I'll never see my little niece. My poor family will have to mourn me a second time. I wonder if a funeral will even be possible. I highly doubt there's a possibility of an open casket. I'll probably end up staining four walls like Francis threatened.

- - -

After much debate and discussion, a plan was made.

One week later, I was sitting on the back patio, cool lemon water drink in hand, when I heard the doorbell ring.