Stephanie Coleridge, a British psychotherapist, wakes up naked in a Mexican hotel room. All she has is a suitcase containing 3 millions dollars, a Walther PPK, and a notebook of hieroglyphics. From Mexico through Arizona and back to London, Stephanie searches for her identity and the secret of the hieroglyphs.
Stephanie heard a loud crash as the door burst open. Without thinking, soe found herself rolling off the bed as the spit of a silencer coincided with a burst of dust from the mattress. As she fell to the floor, she reached out and grabbed the Walther on the cabinet. In one fluid motion, she flipped her whole body sideways, took hold of the gun with both hands and shot six rounds, fanning through the space from where she'd heard the shots.
With a sharp groan, a man collapsed backwards, hitting a lamp and crashing into a table. She tumbled back behind the bed, lining herself parallel with it and pointing the gun straight up into the air.
She felt her heart thumping and the sweat beginning to drip from her naked body. Her arms relaxed and she turned back on her stomach and slid to the corner of the bed. Looking up, she could see the man's inert body reflected in the TV screen. Slowly, she stood up and walked over to the door to ensure no-one was in the corridor. Pushing the door to, she looked at the dead man and began to shake. Tossing the gun on the bed, she could feel tears beginning to form.
Sweet Jesus, she thought, what the hell just happened!
As her shaking increased, she steadied herself against the wall. Fighting off dizziness, she began scanning the room, noticing first the bullet holes in the bed.
If I hadn't moved, she thought, I'd have been dead. Then it hit her. But how did I know what to do? She looked from the bed to the body and it came to her that she'd acted out of instinct, not only escaping death but taking out her would-be assassin too.
Where the fuck did I learn to do THAT?