October 1987, New York
"He's not showing up." Francine sunk into her stool, checking out her wrist watch for the fifth time in two hours.
"He will." Lee replied from a couple of seats away as he popped a peanut in his mouth. "Nick Grant doesn't make a reservation at one of the most expensive restaurants in Manhattan and just bail."
"I'm waiting another half hour, then you owe me lunch." she pointed a manicured finger in his direction to make her point come across.
The agency had been after Nick's tail for weeks now. Just a short month before they'd got another P22, signaling Nick's arrival in the United States through LAX. According to turkish authorities, he'd only been back in prison for a few months when he once again managed to escape the maximum security facility - God knows how - sending Lee and Francine on man-hunt all over Europe. The week before they'd finally managed to track down one of his aliases in New York, and the two agents were ready for the final act of the show.
Francine wasn't particularly familiar with Nick's history, except for the little stories she heard from a frustrated Lee over the years, which was what prompted Billy to urge her to join her colleague on the man-hunt. The casual contact approach was becoming too predictable. Billy needed a fresh face, a female fresh face specifically, to keep an unsuspecting Nick occupied while Lee called for back-up. Francine was only too happy to oblige, excited about the prospect of seducing someone under the age of fifty for a change, and relishing the thought of all the shopping she could get to once their mission was over.
Lee's radio buzzed, the backup guys informing him Nick was approaching the building.
"Showtime." Lee announced, flashing Francine a smile as he got up and went into hiding in the back stairwell behind the kitchen.
Nick stepped into the restaurant, smoothing his tie and grey linen suit. The maitre d' at the entrance informed him that his table was gonna be ready in fifteen minutes, inviting him to get a drink at the bar while he waited.
As he scanned the room for an unoccupied stool something, or rather someone, caught his eyes. Reflected in the mirror behind the bartender, a rather attractive golden-haired young woman sulked, twirling the umbrella on her drink.
To be honest he'd planned to fly solo that night, but hell, who was he to deny a lady a chance to turn her frown upside down?
He puffed out his chest and slid past to the woman to take a seat next to her, nodding politely. She nodded back, smiling faintly.
"Excuse me, can i have another one of this?" she held out her empty glass to the bartender.
"Take it from an old man who's seen a lotta lonely broads over the years," the man replied, turning around to refill the drink. "Whoever you've been waiting for the past two hours, i don't think he's coming. And he if he is, he's not worth waiting for."
"I agree," Nick interjected as he sat, before turning towards the bartender who was now serving Francine's drink. "A Martini dry, for me. Thanks."
Francine turned toward him, taking a sip of her drink. "Do you, now?"
"Any man leaving a beautiful lady such as yourself in the lurch for hours is not worthy of that name."
Francine groaned inwardly. Did Nick's women really fall for those corny lines?
"I'm Kelly." she lied, extending her hand.
"James." he lied right back, surprising her by softly brushing her knuckles with his lips. "Delighted."
She giggled girlishly, shoving her hair out of her face to expose her neckline."What an interesting accent! where is it from?"
"Take a guess." he raised an eyebrow, a flirtatious glint sparking in his brown eyes.
"Is it an island?" she played along.
"Yes. Doesn't really narrow it down, though, doesn't it?"
Francine was about to reply, when a voice echoed from the back of the restaurant. She froze on the spot as she felt a clammy hand touching her shoulder. "Francine, it's me, Gordon Hunter?"
She turned around, coming face to face with a rubicund bald man in his forties.
"I'm sorry, you must have me mistaken for someone else."
"No, it's you ... the Hungarian invitational, 1979? you're Lee Gorvandlecheck's friend! you wore that red dress with the slit down the side," he continued, his drunken gaze running down past her skirt. "i never forget a good pair of legs."
"It wasn't me, i assure you. I've never ever set foot out of the country." she gritted her teeth, seething internally at the man's terrible timing and even worse manners. If she hadn't been undercover she would have had him on the ground, clutching at his groin and begging for mercy.
"Hey!" Nick firmly raised a hand between Francine and the man. "If the lady says she doesn't know you, she doesn't."
"Stay out of it, mate." the man slurred.
"I think you should leave." Nick threatened firmly.
"I'm not going anywhere. Maybe you should go."
"Maybe we will. Shall we?" Nick extended his hand to Francine.
Francine pondered her options. She could decline, blowing up the whole operation on her own, or she could follow him, hoping he wouldn't blow it up himself without even realizing it.
So, she took his hand. He escorted her outside the building and lead her to the end of the curb, where a few people waited for their turn to cross the street.
Nick fidgeted nervously with his leg, then looked to his left and his right. Finally, the light turned green.
"Darling, it was lovely to meet you." he quickly kissed Francine's cheek. "Say hi to our friend Stetson for me, will you? ciao!"
Francine didn't even have the time to process what he told her, because the man had already disappeared into the oncoming traffic.
"He's making a run for it! that son of a -" she cursed, "Stop that man!" she then yelled, pushing her way through the crowd. Unfortunately for her, the plea fell on deaf ears, her voice muffled by the chaos of strangers hurriedly coming and going.
She had been left to her own means and without Lee on tow, she had no possibility of cornering Nick. Keeping sight of the man was becoming more and more difficult as he zigzagged through the sidewalk. She had to think fast.
She saw her chance when a pick-up truck filled to the brim with bushels of plants and flowers strode past her, heading into Nick's direction. She hooked her hands on the back of the contraption, using her feet for leverage. Hoisting herself up, she jumped face first into some orchids.
Removing some leaves from her field of vision, she peered into crowd to find her target. Hopefully he hadn't gone too far in the few seconds it took her to maneuver herself.
She couldn't see him for the life of her, until a shiny reflection hit her eyes, making her wince momentarily.
There he was, hidden between a large group of dowdy tourists admiring a trinkets display. Even as he tried to blend in with a tacky ' I heart NYC ' hat perched on his head he stood out, thanks to his Cartier watch.
Francine waited until the truck reached the trinkets display, carefully calculating her timing, and lept forward to tackle Nick, sending the twosome crashing together on the hard concrete with a thump.
A crowd of curious people quickly gathered around them, expressing worry and excitement in various languages. Some passerbys whistled, mistaking the attack for a passionate romp.
"Nick Grant, you're under arrest. Again." she panted, blowing a stray hair out of her face while holding down his wrists.
He eyed her appreciatively, before flashing one of his million dollar smiles. "Not the worst way to go to the pokey, i have to say."
"Enjoy it while it lasts," Francine snapped back as she picked herself up and cuffed Nick's wrists. "Because you're not gonna see another woman, or man, for a long time once you're back in Turkey."
She gestured towards the backup team, who just made it to the scene. "All yours, boys."
"Say, Miss ... " Nick turned around, letting the question linger hoping she'd take the bait.
"Desmond." she bit out.
"What are you doing, in about, two to five years?"
"Hopefully not chasing you around the country."
"Oh, but i've so enjoyed throwing you and Lee off your trails."
"It's so nice to know that this is a fun game for you, while we're out here wasting precious time and resources. Goodbye, mister Grant."
Nick was forcefully shoved into the squad van. He turned around to see Francine still on the sidewalk and he winked in her direction, waving his cuffed hands, before the vehicle disappeared from her vision field.
Francine peered down at her three hundred dollar-worth velvet dress which was covered in dirt, leaves, cigarette butts and a liquid she'd rather remained unidentified. Not to mention her ripped stockings and white satin six-inch heels.
If this was the last she'd ever see of Nick Grant, she'd die a happy woman.