No pain, no gain

It was the first warm spring day in Paris. Marie threw open her window, and caught the scent of fresh baguettes from the bakery down the street. Marie had a sudden wave of happiness, and a feeling that summer 1923 was going to be fun. Little did she know,

that simple smell of bread was her last moment of happiness. If she had known, she may have noticed the crow sitting opposite her window. One beady eye kept steady on a figure just out of view.

The hospital curtain swung open and a tall, distinguished man in a top hat rushed in with a look of concern and a baguette under his arm. The bedridden patient, who only moments ago couldn’t lift her head, jumped out of bed and gracefully made an army salute.

“I brought word from the team”, the top hat man said. She stood down and her happy expression diminished. The baguette was placed on the bed. An alarm sounded in the next room, she turned to face it, but when she turned again, the man was gone. A note stuck out of the bread.

“Get on the flight,” it read in its ominous tone. She knew she’d have to get on there eventually, even though she hated what waited for her on the other side.

She sat down and did her breathing. Eyes closed, 4 seconds in, 4 seconds out. An old Marine trick—or so she was told. “Excuse me,” said a thick accent, “But I believe we’re flying together.” She opened her eyes. No. Couldn’t be. How did they find her here?

The Russian. How had he found her here? On this charter flight to Tijuana? She finished her drink and looked Boris right between the eyes. "Might as well get this over with," she said. But he just gave her a confused glance and sat down. Perhaps the doctors were right after all.