Saving My Assassin

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Bucharest, Romania, 1985
"A big man in the waiting room says he wants to discuss a case," my assistant announced from the doorway.

I still had a mountain of work to do. Will this day never end? I thought. "Go home, Miruna. I'll see how I can help him."

I went with her to the reception room and invited the tall, muscular man to follow me. As he entered my office, he ran his huge hand over the silver doorplate reading, Virginia Prodan, Attorney. Then he closed the door behind him. I was taken aback at how enormous he was.

The slam of the door at the end of the waiting room sounded, followed by the click of the outer door. My assistant was gone.

As my visitor sat down in front of my desk, his eyes bore a hole straight through me, and a sneer began to turn at the corner of his mouth.

"Sit down!" He pointed to one of the two chairs in front of my desk.

Securitate! My blood ran cold. How could I have been so careless?

On the side table, my daughters, Anca and Andreea, smiled from framed photos.

Slowly, the man pulled back his coat and reached into a shoulder holster, withdrawing a gun.

"You have failed to heed the warnings you've been given," he said, pointing the gun toward me. "I've come here to finish the matter once and for all."

He flexed his fingers, and I heard the distinctive click of a trigger cocking into place.

"I am here to kill you."


Virginia Prodan, Author

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