Authors: Sasha Combs
Mot continued...
"First contacts can be a little unsettling. But don't worry. It's my job to ease you through this process." Mot smiled... She loved his smile and up close, she loved it even better.
"All right." Her response had a pathetic tone. She wanted to take it back or erase that strip of time altogether. But she couldn't. Instead, she said...
"Your name.... What should I call you?"
"I think it's always best to stay in character. Less confusing that way. For this mission my name is Gideon Vincent."
"And I'm pretending to be Amya Arnold. Chemist."
Again with the school girl routine. Bianca wanted to root out her tongue; starting over from the beginning but she noticed how Mot smiled instead of commenting on her ignorance. Of course he knew her undercover name and he also knew Vance's reasons for sending her instead of someone more seasoned than her. Mot raised his glass, drinking the dark liquid. He nodded, then said...
"The red head..."
"The one in the bar, who also followed you to the elevator?"
"Yes... That one."
"She followed us didn’t she. You spotted her at the end of the hallway."
Mot smiled, considering her for a few seconds. His eyes studied her made up face. At The Agency, he typically observed her from afar. There had been that one time when she'd practically mowed him down while leaving the directors office. She'd tripped, dropping her pad and a key card. Mot had lowered, gathering her belongings and he didn't miss the way her cheeks glowed when she blushed. The color looked natural. Not like the powered rouge that covered her face. This was her handlers doing. Mot lowered his eyes, not wanting his disapproval to show. They were on a mission, not a date. Who cared how he felt? No one had asked him how he preferred his women.
In the past, Mot’s manner was best described as abrupt. But on this mission he considered his tone, not wanting her to misjudge his character. It was odd to him, but he wanted Bianca to experience a part of himself that he rarely showed to others. Considering this, his voice warmed. His pitch was of an amiable quality. He also made a point to make direct eye contact while addressing her. Using her cover name, he said...
"Amya... Let me start by first saying that, this is a straightforward mission. The perfect opportunity to get your feet wet. However, there is no need to prove yourself to me or anyone else. If you follow my instructions you have little reason to be concerned."
"But TC told me too always be prepared for the worst."
"And he's right, but in this case, I'm telling you not to place yourself in a dangerous situation."
She sighed and he recognized the sound of disappointment. Mot added...
"Also... In the field, we never refer to anyone connected to The Agency. We don’t use any part of their name. Not even their initials. So....TC. He’s your handler?"
"TC? I’m sorry...what does that mean?" she said with a look of question. Mot smirked while saying...
"Fast learner."
"I try to be." She said with a pleased grin.
"All right then. Settle back and I'll explain your role on this mission. Like I said... I don’t want you placing yourself in danger."
This time, she hid her dismay.
Mot began by unmasking characters. He summed up their tale of global espionage, telling Bianca the names and roles of each player. The woman with the red hair actually had a name and her interest in Mot wasn't strictly platonic. Greta Holman; born in Amsterdam and educated in England. Her counterpart; the blond silent man seated at the table with her. Bianca had not seen the man but Mot assured her, he was there. Henrik Kurt; a German citizen and known assassin. The two were a dangerous pair. Greta was the brains and beauty. Henrik was the deadliest of the pair. His fair Nordic features were deceptively appealing. And his hands.... Mot had read an account that described the manner in which he killed a man using his bare hands as his weapon. Bianca sat back stunned, and she admitted that she hadn't noticed him, while seated at the bar.
"That's good Amya. I watched your entrance and even though you didn't look at any of the patrons; I can assure you.... You were observed by everyone in that room. Greta and Henrik couldn't take their eyes off you."
"Is that good? I mean too say... Should I want them to notice me?"
This was the tricky part. That wildcard that he’d been warned about. How much should he involve Bianca? He dismissed the thought; directing his attention on the problem at hand. He said...
"Yes... You'll want their attention. More than that... Tomorrow, if she offers; I want you to accept Greta's invitation to a party. But be careful Amya. Greta and Henrik can be very pleasant when it suits them but never lower your guard."
Her brows rose in question. Mot continued on, ignoring her puzzling gazes, shock and gaping jaw drops. She didn't know what Vance had been thinking when he chose her for this mission because she felt ill-prepared. Mot began speaking in code, and her eyes glassed over. He noticed her confusion, then he threw her a lifeline.
"Your handler should have prepared you. The chemical formulas you had to learn."
She felt drunk yet she hadn't drank from her glass. "Yes, yes... I recall the formulas. I'm a chemist. Don’t worry. I remember them.”
She said, falling back into character. He repeated her words then added on, by telling her about another key player. A Swedish biochemist was in attendance at the conference. Sven didn't belong to any contingencies and he wasn't being sponsored by his home country. In fact, Sven's name didn't appear on any of the registries but his brilliant talent was highly sought after. Every company wanted to hire him but these days his worth was reserved for the highest bidders. Sven was willing to work as long as the money transfers were deposited in his offshore accounts. He was a whiz when it came to biochemical weapons but these inventions had numerous properties. And lately, the nightclub scene was something that interested him. If doing good was your aim; Sven's brilliance could feed millions. On the other hand, if death was your goal; Sven had a lab virus that could melt the flesh off a human body. This was their target. A man with the power to do good or to literally destroy a nation.
"Are we here to kidnap him?" She asked.
"No." he said, without further explanation. He didn't have to say more. A man with the potential to do that much damage; the best place for him isn't in a cell. She swallowed hard before asking....
"My role... What is my assignment? Where do I fit in?"
"I need you to keep Greta and Henrik off my tail."
"They know? I mean about you. They know that you're a....” She couldn't say the word.
"Yes. They know I'm an agent...and I know who they are."
"But... I don't understand?"
Why the subterfuge? Why the games? She didn’t say this of course, but she didn’t have to. He read her face perfectly.
Mot said...
"It's a game. We all play it but we also pretend not to know about the other guy, pretending to be someone else."
She didn't get it and TC had not prepared her to deal with this, nor had Vance.
Mot smiled, then he sincerely said...
"They can’t teach you this kind of stuff in the classroom. It’s like that fishing hole. If you want to learn how too swim... The best thing to do, is to plug your nose, and jump right in.” He smiled, saying... “Welcome to the spy games."
He finished off his drink. Placing his glass on the table he added...
"Amya..." She envied the way he effortlessly navigated around her real name; rightly directing his comments to her fake persona. Mot continued, "This is extremely important. I don't know with certainty but chances are more than not... Your cover may have been blown. Greta and Henrik are professionals. If they haven't made you by now, then I'm certain, in time they'll figure it out."
"Me? You think they suspect that I'm an agent?"
"Maybe. Maybe not. You’re the wildcard in this little game of ours. But as an agent, it's always best to error on the side of caution. Have an exit plan. Be one step ahead of your tracker. Unfortunately, my agent failed in this area."
"Your agent?" she asked, and in that instant she realized how little she knew about this man. She also knew better than to ask him. Those questions, she would save for later. If they made it back home or to a safe house.
Mot continued.
"That's the reason I asked for backup. The agent assigned to Sven... He has been out of contact far longer than what is normal."
"How long?" It didn't really matter how long the agent had been out of contact, but Bianca couldn't stop herself from asking.
"Four weeks." Mot supplied with a hint of sadness. "If ever he found himself cut off from The Agency; I’m his field contact. But I haven't heard a thing and every trail that once led to him is a dead end. This agent has gone silent."
Mot wasn't being completely honest. He wasn't just a field contact for this agent. Mot had supervised Richard Boil in the field. Teaching the man to be a marksman. A coldhearted assassin, if need be. For two years, the men had worked nearly every case as a team. Mot teaching Richard every trick in the book. When Mot had been promoted; he'd personally vouched for Boil, stating that he was perfect for deep cover assignments. That had been six years ago and since then, without fail, Richard Boil never missed a check in. He always contacted The Agency and when this didn't happen, his next attempt was to contact Mot. But somewhere along the chain, the communication had been cut. Arriving in Paris, finding Greta and Henrik at the conference; Mot drew swift conclusions. He knew the Russian Mafia had their eyes on Sven and were willing to do whatever it took to win him over to their side. Anything, including killing an American agent.
Bianca gripped the facts as best she could. Her brows furrowed in deep concentration. She said...
"So.... Let me get this straight. You want me to keep Greta and Henrik busy while you do what exactly?"
"I need to be free to search for the agent, without worrying about my back. I need Henrik and Greta preoccupied and not thinking about me."
He was up, crossing the floor, retracing his steps back to the bar, and it wasn't until now that she considered something. Not once had he slipped, mistakenly revealing the name of the agent who'd gone missing. It was as if he'd redacted the name from his mind; blacked it out using a mental permanent marker. Who does that, she pondered? Whose mind works like a mental filter, shifting gears in action? The process being thoughtless and a gesture akin to second nature. Then the answer screamed back in her head. Loudly she heard one word that best described this man. Agent. An agent does this. A ghost. A man skillful and honed to perfection. A person etched in stone and granite. So sure of who they are. An intelligence operative. A person groomed to be a spy.
After filling his glass, Mot returned to his seat. His handsome features held a determined expression. A look that had not been there minutes earlier.
"Look Amya... I don't have the luxury to explain everything in a way that you'll understand but...I know things. Things about Greta and Henrik. They're out of their element, and they can't kill without having a place to dump the body. As long as Sven is here at the conference; they won't do anything that might call attention to them, or this conference or the city for that matter."
He didn't have to explain. She understood the complications that could arise if someone suddenly tripped over a dead body, devoid of documents. There would be questions, then arrest would follow. A net would fall; the justice system attempting to snare any stray fish set on evading capture.
She forced a smile, while telling herself she'd been a fool. When she’d turned in the bar, seeing Mot as the agent she'd been assigned to work alongside. Bianca had pictured herself tethered to his side; his yin to her yang. But her time had been wasted on deceptive daydreams. She would be in one part of the city, while Mot was off, searching for the missing agent. This revelation pained her far more than she would ever admit.
The hour was late and Mot saw no need to send her back to her room. They sat for a while; her peppering him with questions, scenarios and problems that might arise. Him answering her, yet saying little. Mot found himself repeating the same responses.
"Contact your handler at the appointed time. Don't take any unnecessary risk. Staying alive is your number one job."
He'd said these three sentences so many times, Bianca found herself finishing his words. Mot laughed, then said before calling it a night.
"Good. I'm glad that you know the order of things I deem important."
"Do you think Greta and Henrik are watching our rooms?"
"Of course they are. And don't be concerned about them knowing that we've spent the night together. It fuels the deception. We
are
old lovers you know."
Mot was staring at her with those dangerously sexy green eyes. She could still feel his lips pressed firmly, sealing her mouth with his taste; and she didn’t have to think to hard to imagine this. Everything about the man screamed longing and desire. All evening she'd been forced not to see him as a sexual object. She’d had to pretend that his fingers hadn’t come near to ravishing her body. But he had done those things and before this night, she'd dreamed about him for months and months. In spite of that, this was information he could never know. She smiled, then stood. Her words were meant to appease him, or to reassure his confidence in her.