Mr. Teller calmly placed the receiver back on its hook. Stepped out of the phone booth. Lit a cigarette.

He checked his silver watch. A deep scratch had been gouged into its face by a flying piece of debris. He picked at it with his manicured fingernail, swearing in Hungarian.

A scratch above the 9.

Just like last time.

He sighed and started walking towards the blast sight.

Chaos reigned. Sirens wailed. People died.

Teller yawned and thought about dinner. This was the fourth time he had been assigned to Lucerne, and he had yet to try the fondue. Maybe tonight would be the night.

He looked down the street. Ross was already on his feet, darting from victim to victim, trying to be a hero. As always…

A woman lay unconscious at Teller’s feet. Her face was covered in blood, but Teller already knew how beautiful she was.

Teller squatted down beside her. “Today is your lucky day, Ms. Bloom.”

He stood up and shouted, “We need a doctor over here!”

Ross heard him and rushed over.