Mark Johnson sat against the wall of the hotel restaurant, glancing 
intermittently at the exits in front and to the side of him while casually 
reading a story about the Prime Minister's daughter who would be touring 
colleges in the coming week and her accident.

They described how she broke her leg horseback ridding. Kelly mentioned to the 
reporter that her horse bolted when a car backfired close by. At the time she 
had one foot in the stirrup. 

Her leg was caught for just a few seconds but she knew it was broken. Broken 
tibia and fibula of her left leg. After 6 screws and 2 weeks in traction she was 
now out of the hospital and getting ready for college, on crutches and with a 
fibreglass cast covering her left leg from her foot to way up her thigh. 

Kelly was now 18, and Mark barely recognized her. The last photo he'd seen of 
her had to have been when she was ten years old. She had grown up practically on 
television, but Mark hadn't watched anything beyond the occasional sporting 
event when she was riding her horse in competition. 

He got his news from informants, or newspapers in whatever location his 
assignments took him to. He'd been recruited to CSIS straight out of army 
training, and after he had completed specialized training the government 
provided in weapons, demolition, hand to hand combat, languages, and so on, Mark 
was immediately placed in the field. 

"More orange juice, handsome?" 

Mark nodded, and smiled, as she filled his glass from the pitcher in her hand. 
She had obviously unbuttoned a second button on her uniform; all but the top one 
had been fastened when she had seated Mark an hour before. 

"Thank you Judy," Mark said, watching her pear shaped ass outlined in her tight 
black pants as it swayed back and forth. He made it a point to be looking down 
at her ass as she turned, and then he averted his eyes to her face to make her 
think she had caught him looking.

Mark returned to the newspaper. He looked at his watch, saw that it was just 
about time, and calmly folded the paper, setting it aside. 

Ten minutes later, Mark saw the motorcade pulling into the parking lot 
outside. As he saw the Prime Minister exit the car, his eyes darted around the 
room. He chuckled softly, noting that every head in the place was trained on the 
person sitting across from them. Had these people not been the Prime minister's 
security detail and advance team, but rather, regular citizens, they would have 
all turned to gawk out the window when they heard the sirens outside the 
building.

"I wonder who they're trying to fool," Mark thought to himself. "Unless they 
think Judy's an assassin. Or maybe the cook in the back?"

Prime Minister Mario Walker strolled quickly through the door of the 
restaurant, and still the agents at the table remained focused on their plates, 
or the people sitting across from them. 

Mark stood while the Prime Minister made his way across the room. About twenty 
feet before he reached Mark's table, the agents guarding him stopped and the 
Prime Minister as well as a man Mark had never seen before approached him.

"Agent Johnson," the Prime Minister stated, extending his hand. It wasn't a 
question; the Prime Minister had obviously seen pictures of Mark prior to the 
meeting. In fact, it was likely the Prime Minister had read his entire agency 
files. 

"Yes, Mr. Prime Minister. It's an honor to meet you."

"This is Robert Stack, the acting director of the Agency." Mark turned, and 
accepted the middle-aged man's hand, quickly shaking it, before returning it to 
his side.

"Shall we sit down," Stack said, already pulling a chair out from the table 
opposite Mark. 

The Prime Minister looked older than Mark knew he was. His face look haggard, 
almost more drawn out, weathered. The bags under his eyes suggested he hadn't 
had a decent night's sleep in quite a while. His hair was completely gray, and 
he seemed to be much older than his 51 years suggested. 

"We have to do this quickly, Agent Johnson," Stack growled. 

"Yes sir," Mark said. "But what is it you need me to do."

"Keep my daughter alive," the Prime Minister snapped. 

"Sir?"

"Agent Johnson, as you know, the Prime Minister and the First Lady have a 
daughter." Stack was speaking again, and his voice was tinged with too much 
alcohol and nicotine. 

"Yes, I've read about her accident and that she's touring colleges this week."

"Agent, the only reason my daughter is alive today is because a sniper narrowly 
missed her, there was no car backfiring, it was a gunshot " the Prime Minister 
barked, his voice breaking in the end.

Mark sat for a moment, while The Prime Minister, explained that Kelly Walker had 
been the subject of repeated terrorist threats and attacks for the last 7 years. 

"But if she's safe at 24 Sussex, why not just keep her there until you find the 
assassins?"

"We've found most of them, Agent Johnson," the Prime Minister said. "Five are 
now dead, and accounted for, their bodies are being held by the Agency. This 
assassin needs to be drawn out, and it needs to happen quickly."

"I will be honoured Sir but No contact, except when I choose to make contact," 
Mark said. "I don't want listening devices, tracking devices, cell phone traces, 
nothing."

"We understand," Stack said. "You'll have access to a bank account with 
unlimited resources. If you need help with local law enforcement, or really, 
anything else, you call me. We'll eliminate your trail when you need us to, and 
we'll keep the press off this thing as long as we can."

"Where is she?"

"She's out in the SUV. We're going to do a tour of a couple of colleges, with an 
agent posing as my daughter. But it's only two stops over a day or so, then back 
to the 24 Sussex. You won't have long before the assassin finds out that my 
daughter is gone." 

"I understand." 

"Is there anything you need?" Stack asked.

"How do I get in touch with you?" 

Stack handed him a card, and Mark looked it over. It was an Agency card with two 
cell numbers printed on the back. 

"Call either number. The line can't be traced."

Mark smiled, tucking the card into his pocket. As he stood to leave, the Prime 
Minister took his arm.

"Mr. Johnson," he said. "I may be the Prime Minister, but in this, I'm a father. 
Please end this. She hasn't lived a normal life in years. And we're so tired. 
Please."

Mark walked out the front entrance, surrounded by agents. Nearly a dozen black 
SUV's blocked the view from the road. The door of the SUV closest to Mark 
opened, a pair of wood crutches came out first, then a young woman wearing 
sunglasses, a large sweatshirt, jeans with a slit on her left leg for the long 
purple cast that covered her leg. 

Stack and the Prime Minister had joined Mark, and Kelly Walker crutched over to 
her father, with her long cast leading the way. She was very agile on her 
crutches. She hugged her father, said goodbye, and the Prime Minister walked 
slowly with Stack back to one of the cars. 

Mark stood next to Kelly who was standing on her crutches with her broken leg 
resting on the top of her right shoe. She watched her father get in the car, 
waving back at him. He allowed her a few moments before leading her toward the 
parking garage across the street from the restaurant.

"Hey, can you slow down a bit. I'm still getting used to this cast and crutches" 
she said. "What's the rush?" 

"Let's go, Kelly," he said. When she began leading him on her crutches, he took 
the time to look at her. She was a very sexy young woman. Her cast help complete 
her look. 

"Oh god stairs" she said

"Let me help you Kelly, just lean on me and I will carry your crutches"

Slowly she hop one step at the time until they made their way to the level of 
the parking garage, and Mark stood in the center of the concrete building, 
gazing at all the cars parked there.

"Great, you can't even remember where your car's parked. I'll be dead by 
morning." She said smiling at him, looking so good on her crutches.


Part 2 to come