May 2011
The first email was from Dana in Budapest: Girls, it's time to recruit. Let's start with Spain, Greece, and America. One of you, one of them. Liz gives us two weeks to bring them in. Good luck!
It was followed almost immediately by an email from Sarah. Okay, Team One, you heard the boss. Skype at noon GMT today.
Team One met online that afternoon (or evening, since Amanda was in Tokyo). The conversation was mostly in the Pidgin, which Sarah had invented for precisely that purpose. Where the Pidgin lacked words, they used English.
"It's about time," Jeanne-Marie said, in response to Sarah's asking for her teammates' opinions.
Amanda agreed. "And she's given us Escorts we already know. It'll be easy for me to convince Laura to join us, next time Nihon-san visits Greece. And you have those movie nights with Rosa-san."
"What about me?" Jeanne-Marie protested. "I haven't met Spain's new Escort—"
Sarah cut her off. "You'll do fine. Fiery Parisian, jealous Castilian—and she will be, if she's ever even heard of Romano—you'll pull the same trick Dana did on me, and then you're fine. Now. We have two weeks to convince these girls to be our...what do we call them? Students?"
"Padawans?" Amanda suggested. Jeanne-Marie rolled her eyes, but Sarah looked thoughtful.
"Apprentices, maybe. Virgin word—needs a meaning..." Sarah scribbled a note somewhere below the screen. "So?"
"Let's do this," Amanda said, and Jeanne-Marie nodded.
...
Three days later
Carmen Ortiz now officially had a problem with her boyfriend. No, not really with her boyfriend; with her boyfriend's boyfriend.
Antonio had seemed like such a sweet, normal guy when they'd met two months ago in Madrid...energetic, eager to please, and so handsome. But he'd lied to her. He'd told her he was single, promised he needed her...
And then she'd come to his house one afternoon, and the door was opened by a surly Italian with a bizarre cowlick and no shirt on.
"Is Antonio home?" she'd asked, and the stranger had called over his shoulder, "Hey, tomato bastard, your Escort's here!"
She'd been puzzled by this reaction, and even more so when Antonio hurried down the stairs and led her into the living room, glaring at the Italian as he passed. Antonio didn't glare. Something was wrong.
He'd apologized profusely for his "friend's" behavior, but now Carmen was suspicious, more so as his apology grew more frantic. "You're sleeping with him, aren't you?" she finally asked.
"Don't jump to conclusions, querida," he begged, too late.
"You said you needed me!"
"But I do! Look, it's time I told you the truth. I'm not who you think I am."
"No, you're not," Carmen scoffed.
"Really. I'm not just Antonio Carriedo de Fernandez. Look. Remember that time I explained World War Two to you as if the countries were people? That wasn't just a story. I was there. Well, not really there there, I had a civil war going on and couldn't fight in the big one, but I was around!"
"What do you mean?"
"I'm Spain. The country. The Nation. Not just some diplomat. And you, querida Carmencita, are essential to my cover so—"
"Cover. Is that all?" It was certainly all Carmen had understood. "And who's he?" She pointed at the Italian, who was glowering at them from the foyer.
"Southern Italy. But that's politics! It's how the Nations work, Carmen, and it holds the world together! At least that's what Hungary says...come on, you have to believe me!" He grabbed her hand.
"No, not really," she said, pulling away and heading for the door.
...
"Well, that was smooth, bastard," Romano smirked, leaning against the living room wall. Spain, on the verge of tears, ignored him. God, the man could be such an idiot! He certainly couldn't handle telling the truth about himself to a girl. Romano assured himself he'd never have that problem.
Spain slumped onto the couch, staring at his hand. "She...she was perfect, Romano. The best Escort I've ever...and she's gone."
"Shut up, Spain; it happens to everybody."
Romano's pocket vibrated. He slapped it, as if it were an insect, then he glanced around hurriedly to make sure no one had noticed (there was no one to notice) and pulled his phone out.
He had a text, from an undisclosed number: Comfort Spain. We'll take care of the Escort. EH/JMR
Romano recognized the first set of initials: Elizaveta Héderváry. Hungary. The most perverted woman on the planet. He suspected she was lurking outside the house right now with a video camera. But even if she was...he could make the tomato bastard quit pining after a stupid human. And he'd be awesome at it. He'd be the best comfort-er ever. And he'd totally blow that bitch's twisted mind, because he'd be that good.
He slid onto the couch, right next to Spain, and held the hand that Carmen had touched. "What's wrong, bastard? I didn't leave."
...
Carmen stalked away from Antonio's house, not really watching where she was going. How dare that bastard lie to her? She deserved better than to be cover for some—
"Yes, you do," said a voice behind her. Carmen whirled around, ready to give the bitch who'd interrupted her a piece of her mind.
But the blonde girl sitting at the little table outside the Starbucks was someone shed seen before. And she certainly knew who Carmen was.
"Hello, Carmen," the blonde said in French-accented Spanish. "It's Jeanne-Marie Renard. You know, Bonnefoy's girlfriend?" Carmen knew Bonnefoy; he was the sleazy French diplomat who was always getting too close to Antonio.
"What do you want?"
"To help you with revenge," Jeanne-Marie said calmly. Carmen's jaw dropped. "Look, you just walked out on Antonio, am I right?" Carmen nodded. "And it was because you found out that he has a boyfriend, and he only keeps you around for politics, like a false beard." That didn't sound quite right to Jeanne-Marie, but she continued with what Sarah had told her to say.
"I've been in the same place as you. But I took control of the situation, and now, not only does Francois have to keep me, he's made me his most trusted advisor."
"And how did that happen?" Carmen was still cynical.
"Like this." Jeanne-Marie drew a small digital camera out of her purse. "Right now, Lovino—the boyfriend—is trying to comfort Antonio over the loss of a great political asset. That's you. He's trying very hard, if you know what I mean." She looked up in time to catch Carmen's shocked expression.
"This is where you come in. You'll take this camera and go back to the House. Make sure they don't see you (not that I expect them to notice). I want you to videotape them and bring the camera back here."
"And this will work?"
"Of course," Jeanne-Marie said. "It's the only thing that works with some of them."
Carmen was warming to the idea of revenge, but she was still suspicious. "What do you want out of all of this?"
"Just a copy of the video. We can use it to blackmail him later."
Carmen stood for a moment, thinking; then she took the camera and stalked back toward Antonio's house. Jeanne-Marie watched her go; then she took her phone out of her purse. The transmitter in the camera was sending her Carmen's position; once she turned it on, it would send her video directly to both her and Dana.
Her viewing was interrupted briefly by a text from Sarah: does France have a policewoman outfit in my size? Need Sat. for bet w/Iggy.
Jeanne-Marie texted her back: Think so. Will bring it to you tomorrow.