Chapter 1
Birkhoff looked nervously at Michael, inwardly thankful that he didn't have to deal with Percy as well. "Are you sure that another operative can't do this mission?" He asked hopefully.
Michael bit back the smile that wanted to flit across his face and instead kept his usual frown on. "Positive. Percy wants this done by you." He responded, looking down at the computer technician sternly.
Birkhoff wanted to whine and annoy the hell out of Michael until he caved but knew it was useless as Michael was using Percy as a defensive measure against that tactic. "Oh hell," he muttered to himself, locking up his interface with a few clicks. "Do I have to leave now?" He asked.
"No, you leave in an hour. That's when the flight takes off." Michael said gruffly. He handed Birkhoff the folder and said, "All the information you need to know is in there."
"Helpful," Birkhoff answered. "Thanks." He added grudgingly, and watched Michael walk away to leave him to pack. "Belfast, North Ireland," He read, having pulled the sheaf of papers out of the folder and read the first thing that caught his eye. "Well at least there's alcohol there."
He had to disable the security system of the Lord Mayor's mansion, no reason given, no questions asked. As annoying as that was, he knew that he'd be able to take it down. First, however, he had to attend a ball in order to scope out the lay of the land. He knew that Michael would be so much more suited to that part of the mission because he could be charming and quick with lies, but Birkhoff was on his own.
Birkhoff took his glasses off and set them gently on his bedside table, turning his attention back to the mirror, where he was attempting to get his tie straight. He liked to think he looked okay, dressed in a black suit, white dress shirt tucked in neatly and jacket classily unbuttoned. He ran a hand through his hair, which was less bedraggled than usual. He was to be at the ball in fifteen minutes, which meant he had to leave soon. He made sure the knife on him was concealed nicely, slipped his smart phone into his pocket and resisted the urge to take his laptop with him. It and everything else incriminating was concealed in a compartment under the bed, accessed by a barely discernible loose floorboard. It was also security and password protected, unlocked by what looked like a Kindle that sat in the drawer of his bedside table. He took one last sweep of the room, and set off for the ball.
The mansion was ornate, built with the more Edwardian architecture in mind. The opulent building had columns with engaged blocks on either side of the double-doorway. The lawn was lit romantically for the evening, scatterings of fairy lights among the trees. It was a tolerable 64 degrees for the September night. He walked with the crowd into the building, eyes surreptitiously noting the 21st Century security, the cleverly hidden cameras, the blue light that emanated from sensors on the sills of windows and finally the actual security detail, men and women mingling amongst the guests with a tiny pin on their lapels to signify their presence there.
His initial once-over finished, he took up another task: people-watching. The women were gorgeously made-up, their hair in all different styles and every one of them in a to-the-nines dress. The men were all in similar penguin suits of varying colours and piece numbers. Their hair and skin were well maintained. He felt a little out-of-place here, with his bit of stubble and longer hair. His hand came up to run through his hair again in a nervous tic.
"Relax, mon cheri, you look lovely." A voice behind him made him jump, wheeling to face the speaker.
He was met with a woman, just an inch shorter than him, with a wiry build and lithe body. She had white-blond hair, verdant green eyes and was a tanned Caucasian. She was defying the grandeur of the ballroom by wearing a Grecian white shift dress, cinched at the waist by a brown belt with gold accents. It skimmed just above the knee and had a v-neckline. No jewellery adorned her, just a pair of gold ballet flats. He couldn't believe she was talking to him.
"What makes you think I'm not relaxed?" He countered belatedly, his hand twitching to run through his hair again.
"Your shoulders are tense, your hair is starting to get mussed," She paused, looking critically at him. "Actually the mussed hair suits you, it looks pretty sexy." Her delicate pink lips curved up in a smile.
Birkhoff artfully raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Thank-you, I suppose." He responded after a moment of struggling to find the polite words. "You look..." He tried to find a word that was sufficient enough to describe her, "ethereal."
His words made her giggle, hand coming up to demurely cover her mouth. "Thank-you, cher. That's kind of you." She responded, eyes twinkling. "Might I have the pleasure of knowing your name?"
"Lucian," He answered calmly, keeping the cover information in his head. He'd practised it several times over so that if he were distracted, he'd be able to lie fluently and without suspicion. She was providing a very good distraction. Remembering his manners he said, "And you are?"
"Jacqueline," She held her hand out. "Care to join me for a dance, Lucian?"
Birkhoff knew he had to blend in and stay awhile so being associated with Jacqueline would help him do that. He also really wanted to dance with her. So he took her hand and let her lead him to the dance floor where several other couples were waltzing to the band. Thankfully, Birkhoff knew this particular waltz, and kept up neatly with Jacqueline.
"So what brings you to this ball?" He asked her, curiosity getting the best of him.
"Business," She responded. She allowed him to twirl her away and back, and then seemed to reconsider her words as her eyes trailed his physique. "I suppose a little of pleasure as well," She added teasingly.
Birkhoff swallowed nervously, completing another set of steps. "Where are you from?" He asked, unable to tell from any trace of accent she might have.
"Paris," She said, her accent coming out in that one word. She smiled as the band melded into a tango and squeezed his hands, telling him she wanted to stay on the dance floor.
Birkhoff was a little uneasy at that idea; he was less proficient at a tango. He'd bristled and balked when Amanda had tried to teach him a couple years earlier. Seeing her reassuring smile, he supposed he could give it a try. He was only half-bad at it anyway. So they settled into a rhythm, Jacqueline leading.
"Et tu? Where are you from?" Jacqueline asked, pressing up against him with hands splayed against his back then spinning away from his reach.
"Italy." He answered gruffly, catching her hand as she spun into him again, back against his chest, head resting on his shoulder. He caught the curve of her smile as she twisted against him, foot hooking around his leg as she dipped back, his hands supporting her. He put pressure on her back, making her straighten, slowly unhooking her leg from his. Her eyes were a smoky green now, teasing and sultry.
"You don't seem like it," She answered, eyeing his fair hair.
"That's a long story," He evaded, engaging her again in a quick-step.
"I like stories," She murmured, keeping up with him.
"This one isn't for you, trust me." He answered truthfully, dipping her low when the music stopped.
She caught her breath, eyes fluttering shut with the change in dynamic. Jacqueline felt him straighten her back up, and she slowly opened her eyes, parting her lips to breathe. "Very well, cher. I didn't mean to pry," She responded.
"It's alright, we all have our stories." He answered mysteriously. He steered her to the bar, mapping out the exits of the grand hall, noting which security detail went through which doors.
"What do you drink?" Birkhoff's gaze was brought back to his inquisitive partner of the night.
"Ah, I don't drink much. I'd just be coke for me." He answered, knowing that despite being in North Ireland, he couldn't drink on the job. His resolve wavered when she sat on the stool, some of the dress riding up. She shot him a pout and that decided him. "Fine, but I'll have just one; a scotch on the rocks." He told her.
In just five seconds, the bartender was over; ready to get Jacqueline anything she wanted. "Rum and coke, please." She ordered. The corners of her lips kicked up when the bartender shot a look at Birkhoff. "And a scotch on the rocks," her amusement was furthered when a confused look crossed his face. She met his eyes and he busied himself with making their drinks. "Please sit with me, Lucian. I fear I don't feel very sociable tonight."
Birkhoff sat on the stool next to her, eyeing curiously. He didn't understand why she wasn't out there; talking up one of the many guys he'd seen checking her out. Granted, she just said that she didn't feel like chatting but here she was with him. "Well, you and I have that in common at least." He answered, allowing a little of his sarcasm to slip into his voice. He sounded very much like himself in that sentence. He decided they needed to change track. "Have you enjoyed your time in North Ireland?" He asked.
"Oh yes, Belfast is a beautiful city. I only have a few more days here though," She sighed, slanting a look at him. "What about you?"
"I just landed today. I have a very busy schedule so I'm pretty much nonstop for awhile." He mimicked her sigh and refrained from jumping when the bartender slammed their drinks down.
"Merci, mon petit chien," she said to the bartender, who nodded and walked smugly off.
"You just called him a little dog." Birkhoff remarked, fighting the urge to smile.
"He certainly is. They all are, following after beautiful people like puppies. Not that I proclaim myself to be beautiful," she murmured, hiding a smile demurely. "Clearly he doesn't know a lick of French."
"Clearly," Birkhoff chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. The cool glass felt good against his clammy hands. He knew he was almost finished here. He'd just need to head to the bathroom to sneak down a few halls and see if the control room was located in same place as on the floor plan he'd filched out. He'd stayed long enough to not be conspicuous when he left.
"So what do you do, Lucian?" Jacqueline asked, sipping steadily on her rum and coke.
"I work with computers. Sometimes it can get pretty dull," He answered. He knew the key was to use as much truth as he could. "...Et tu?" He asked, using her earlier phrase.
The corners of her lips curved up in a small smile. "I'm an independent contractor. I do a lot of little things for a lot of random people." She answered briskly. "It can be pretty interesting, most of the time."
Birkhoff finished his drink. "I'm sure it can. I guess you meet a lot of people, then?"
"Oh yes, Americans, Canadians, Parisians, Italians, Romans, Greeks, Spaniards, Englanders, Irishmen and women, Asians... lots of people. Each very different from the other; each has a story." She responded.
"How do you know the Lord Mayor?" Birkhoff asked politely.
"I gave his daughter flute lessons. Irish flute is very lovely to listen to," She answered easily. "Et tu?"
"I help him when he has technical difficulties." He answered, eliciting a giggle from her. Just as he was going to excuse himself, she spoke.
"Well, it's been a pleasure meeting you Lucian. I hope to see you again sometime soon." She said, sliding off the stool and leaving money for the drinks on the counter.
The politesse that Amanda had tried to hammer into his head slipped out. "The pleasure was all mine, Jacqueline. Goodbye," He responded and watched her longingly as she weaved into the crowd and out of sight. Blinking a few times, he shook the surreal feeling away and got up, setting off for the bathrooms.
He slipped easily into the halls, bypassing the bathroom and taking a few twists and turns to stop outside a door. He read the metal plate saying simply, COMMUNICATIONS. This was the control room, the one he'd have to get into to dismantle the security system. Slipping away before anyone could find him, he made his way back to the grand hall, across the cavernous area to make it outside. Then he hailed a cab and called it a night.
The next few days were spent planning. He stuck close to his hotel room, getting room service and working non-stop. He had several floor plans copied out, entrances and exits marked, ventilation shafts that could be exploited circled, the control room in red. He'd observed when the security detail shifted, every thirty minutes. That meant that if he went in, he had thirty minutes to get back out. Birkhoff was covering all his bases, knowing that he needed to get this mission just right. He went over his operation plan several times and finally, decided he was ready.
Nearing one in the morning, he slipped out of his hotel room, accoutrements safely stowed away in the floorboard. He was dressed entirely in black, wearing a black toque (as lame and obvious as that was) to hide his fair hair. He had a knife in his boot and along his arm, a gun at his hip and a tranquilizer needle in his zipper pocket.
Carefully, he scaled the outer wall of the grounds of the mansion, finding easy footholds in the worn blocks. He stealthily made his way across the lawn, avoiding fairy lights that were still up. Birkhoff went to the far left of the building, crouching in the bushes and finally finding what he was looking for. A small ventilation opening was hidden among the bushes and, procuring a screwdriver from his person, he started to make it his way in.
Once the grate was off, he crawled in, leaning the grate back up so it looked like there wasn't anything amiss with a surreptitious glance. He could also get out easier that way. Then he slowly made his way through the ventilation system, finally coming to the vent that stopped in the men's washroom. As nifty as that was, the bathroom being empty was even niftier. He popped the grate out and made sure not to drop it and manoeuvred himself out of the tiny space. He didn't land gracefully, crumpling to the floor as he tried to coerce his muscles back to working condition after forcing them to constrict in the vents.
Finally he stood, sneaking out of the bathroom and sneaking down the halls to the control room. He could see the blueprints every time he blinked and knew he was going the right way. Finally, he reached the corner that turned to the hall that had the door to the control room. Peering around it, he was surprised when there wasn't anyone outside the door. He knew he'd probably have to incapacitate at least two people when all was said and done. Maybe both of them were in the control room.
He walked straight to the door, keeping his tread light. Then he withdrew his gun and held it up, like Michael had shown him so many times to do. He twisted the knob and swung it open, replacing his hand back on the gun as he sidestepped into the room, eyes darting everywhere. Two men were down, a chair on its side on the floor. The door shut behind him and he wheeled to level his gun on the person who shut it. His eyes widened in shock as he took in familiar features.