Marisa 17: The Silver Chalice

by Prof. Voodoo

Elio & Marisa travel to Bruges, Belgium over the Christmas holiday and with the help of another OC fratello from the Cyborg Central Forum attempt to recover an artifact stolen nearly seven decades earlier during the Nazi occupation of France.

The young boy, just recently turned 9 years old held his violin bow carefully and picked his way through the waltz from Mozart's Sonata in A Major, moving a bit slower than the piece was intended to be played but concentrating hard on making zero mistakes. Only two people made up his audience; the pale, thin, overworked Mother who was worthy of his emphatic love and a grouchy ill-mannered old man whom he was only being nice to for her benefit. The violin bored him anyway...he would have rather learned to play guitar.

_21 December 1959; Liverpool_

As the performance drew to a close Sarah Marlowe clapped her hands together lightly and praised her son. "That was absolutely lovely, Elio. Don't you think so, Father?"

"Hrrrmph" snorted the white haired man, "the boy ought to have a better teacher."

"I think Mister Chishti is very generous to offer lessons in exchange for odd jobs and the occasional mended shirt" objected Sarah gently.

Ronald Marlowe was unimpressed. "It stands to reason you'd pick an Indian to educate your own son..."
"Mister Chishti is Pakistani" she corrected.

"Oh a Paki!" scoffed the old man, "Even better!"

Elio looked upon the rude old bastard with angry eyes but he held his tongue out of deference to his Mother. Grandfather seldom visited, and they had never been invited to his house...Ronald & his daughter had not seen eye to eye for many years. His prolonged absences suited the boy perfectly since every single time Elio saw the old man he came away disliking him even more. Even at only nine years of age he understood that his Grandfather was nothing but a bigoted windbag who had made his fortune in the textile industry, paying his Lancashire workers the bare minimum then exporting shoddy product to India where he brutally overcharged for it. It was only by pure undeserved luck that he sold out his share in that company just before Mohandas Gandhi's swadeshi movement crippled the market for textile exports. Since then he had traded on the London Stock Exchange, his net worth expanding in direct proportion to his waistline.

The life Sarah & her son Elio lived contrasted sharply with that of Ronald Marlowe. Since being banished from home at age 17 the youngest daughter of the family had done whatever work she could get, sometimes holding down three jobs in addition to seamstress work on the side. Her health declined as a result but that made no difference to her intransigent Father, who made no effort to welcome her back into the family or help financially...even when she gave birth to his grandson.

"What's more, it's bloody ridiculous that you insist on calling the boy by his peripatetic father's name...that damned eye-tie painter that seduced you" Ronald continued. "A worthless Lothario, that's all he was, and the best part you ever saw of him was his backside leaving!"

"Father, please! Not in front of Elio" Sarah implored him. "Whatever his shortcomings Pasquale Alboreto is an honorable & talented man. My son has absolutely no reason to be ashamed of his name."

"Has that honorable man ever sent you a penny in support? Even for his own son? Oh, I forgot...those bloody dagos use lira over there!" snapped Ronald. The irony was not lost on young Elio that he had never seen a penny of support from his wealthy Grandfather either, but he continued to keep his mouth shut as Mother had counseled him to do. "He's little more than a bastard you know...it'll be hard enough for him to make his way in the world looking half-Italian like he does. You're just being stubborn by burdening him with that foreign name as well."

"My Elio is a strong & smart boy" Sarah defended him, "already he works nearly as hard as a grown man...I have full confidence that he will overcome every difficulty the world casts upon him. Would you like some more tea, Father?" Without waiting for an answer she got up to refill his cup.

Ronald Marlowe continued his barrage of insults; "He'd better be strong & smart...and mind you lad, not the kind of strong & smart that lands a man in prison! I don't understand it...I have two intelligent daughters, both well married to upstanding men of business..."

"Oh, has Lauren's husband been acquitted of the fraud charges?" she asked in a kind and concerned voice. Elio smiled broadly at the rare jab from his Mother.

Flustered, her Father waved off the barb. "That is quite beside the point! I have two smart daughters and one who has thrown away her comfortable life on the teachings of a babbling Indian guru and the seductions of an unemployed Italian painter!"

Insults to herself and to Pasquale Alboreto Sarah could tolerate but an insult to the Mahatma brought out a rare flash of anger in her. "Father, Mr. Gandhi was a great deal more than a babbling guru. For my entire childhood you forced me to sit in church and listen to the Vicar pour on about the virtues of peace & charity but in all my life I have seen only one man who has actually done something about those things and that is Mr. Gandhi!"

"That shows how little you know of how the world really is" he growled, "my one idiot daughter."

With that, young Elio's breaking point was reached. "You will not talk to my Mother that way!" he snapped.

Ronald leaned forward & growled "What did you say to me, boy?"

The 9 year old did not flinch. "You are a guest in my Mother's flat, rude and unworthy though you may be" Elio told him, "I don't see one reason she wastes her time being kind to you...I only do it myself because of her."

"Why you impudent little bastard!" yelled the old man. He drew back his hand and brought it down hard on Elio's face, smacking the boy with the full force of his arm.

For a few moments his ears rang, but as the silent seconds passed Elio had an epiphany. So that is violence? he considered I have just been hit full force by a grown man...and I am unchanged. I am no less strong than before he hit me. His face stung, and he tasted a trace of salty blood on his tongue but otherwise Elio was unaffected by the hard blow. If anything, he felt stronger and more in-control for having endured it. Slowly turning his head to face his Grandfather the young boy locked the old man in a ferocious gaze and spit his own blood straight into Ronald Marlowe's face.

"Elio!" exclaimed his Mother, but Sarah realized the affair was out of her hands by this point.

Never breaking his vicious stare Elio snarled in a tone that seemed to chill the entire room; "Your visit here is over you worthless cur. You are not welcome in this home any more. If you ever even think of crossing my Mother's threshold with anything less than an abject apology for your rudeness & insults consider this first...you and I are both getting older every day. Each passing year diminishes you, Grandfather. You have just shown the best you can do and I am already unimpressed. On the other hand; I am just getting stronger by the day and if I see you again I will have no reason to show you mercy."

The room was utterly silent for a full minute...Ronald paralyzed in his chair...Sarah sitting helplessly across the room. Finally, with trembling hands the old man fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the blood from his face. Without a word he struggled up to his feet and shuffled toward the exit. His daughter hurried to fetch his coat & hat, but before Ronald could put them on Elio took several steps forward and without lifting his hands chased his Grandfather out the door.

Their visitor gone, Elio & his Mother were left alone in the silent flat. "I'm sorry Mum" said the boy softly, "You asked me to be tolerant of him, to stay peaceful like Gandhi but I just couldn't listen to him insult you for another second. It wasn't right."

"Oh Elio" she sighed, wetting at cloth with cold water, "you are so brave...I know I will never have anything to fear as long as you are beside me." She sat down to face him at eye level and wiped the reddened side of his face gently. "Did he hurt you?"

"He couldn't hurt me with a dozen blows" sneered the boy, "his hands are soft & fat like someone who's never done a day of work in his life."

"Tsk, tsk..." Sarah clucked "your Grandfather is very successful at his own kind of work." Wrinkling his nose at the suggestion Elio broke off eye contact. In his youthful experience, people who worked came home with calloused palms, bloodied knuckles and dirty faces. His Mother worked...she worked so hard that she made herself sick but she never missed a day. He decided not to argue the point though.

"Thank you for defending me, Elio" continued Sarah, "but I'm afraid that without your Grandfather's help Father Christmas will not be able to visit this year."

Defiantly, the boy replied "We don't need either of them, Mum. We have each other."

Despite Sarah's warning there were gifts under the scraggly Christmas tree on the morning of December 25th. For Elio there was a used bicycle with a fresh coat of paint and reasonably new tyres. For Sarah there was a package containing a new hat with matching gloves and scarf. Neither of them asked where the other had gotten extra money for such presents, a tradition the Mother & son honored each Christmas until she departed the world ten years later.

---

Scraping his finger across frost covered window glass like he had as a boy Elio found himself a little disappointed that he did not collect a residue of ice under his fingernail. Modern double-pane windows he thought, gazing out his office window at the first gray light of a December morning.

In his bed Marisa dozed contentedly. She had surprised him by scoring the highest mark of any cyborg on Giuseppe Croce's last Geography test before classes were put on hold for a holiday break and when offered the opportunity to name her own reward Marisa declared that she wanted to watch every single Akira Kurosawa movie...all in one sitting. Her handler gently explained the impossibility (and insanity) of such an endeavor so they compromised on a selection of a few films by the great director. Mari made it through Seven Samurai & Yojimbo with enthusiasm but just 30 minutes into Tora, Tora, Tora (not technically a Kurosawa film, Elio admitted) her eyelids began to get heavy. World War Two naval & airborne warfare did not hold for her the same appeal as samurai battles, and though she tried valiantly to stay awake it was not long before the young cyborg was limp as a boned fish. Rather than wake her up for the cold walk back to the cyborg dormitory Alboreto simply moved her over to his bed and took the futon couch for himself.

Christmas was less than a week away and it was Marisa's attitude about the holiday that had made Elio reminisce about the year he had chased his own onerous Grandfather out of his life. Nearly a half-century later it was still his favorite Christmas memory.

_A Special Favor_

"I thought you'd be gone by now, Pieri" said Alboreto, taking a seat in the office of his old friend and current boss.

"There's still time" Lorenzo answered, "My flight leaves at 6:25pm...I'm having Mancini drive me to the airport...in exchange he gets to borrow my Quattroporte while I'm away so don't panic and report it stolen if you don't see it in the garage."

Elio glanced at his wristwatch. "Cutting it awfully close, aren't you? With all the recent Padania trouble it usually takes three hours to get through check-in."

The Chief gave a mischievous grin and replied "I figured just this one time I'd abuse my government credentials to cut through security."

"Sure, enjoy the perks" laughed Elio. "When was the last time you took the holidays off to spend with kin?"

Rolling his eyes Pieri said "According to my family, too long...I'm not so sure about that. It's going to be strange to be around children who don't carry automatic weapons." The humorous look dropped off his face quickly though as he got to the point of why he had called Elio to his office. "I hate to do this to you, amico, but I have to ask for a favor before I go."

"You want me to keep an eye on your Section while you're gone?" guessed the bearded man.

Lorenzo shook his head. "Not necessary; I agreed to let Jean Croce sit in the big chair during my vacation...provided he agrees to spend at least one day with Rico. God knows she deserves the attention and who knows if any of the Generation One girls will last until next Christmas. I've ordered his brother Giuseppe to hold him to that promise...Ferro & Alphonso will run Section Two while Jean's not around. The new fellow, Darme is sticking around to help them too."

"Ferro & company know to keep a close eye on him, right?" Elio asked with concern. "Poor guy had a wife & child to spend Christmas with last year. This is gonna be a rough time for him."

Lorenzo nodded. "Dr. Bianchi recommended we keep him busy so he doesn't have time to sit around alone and dwell on their deaths. Biff Steele also invited him to come and spend the holiday itself over at his villa...so he won't be alone."

"That's good of Biff to do that; they're both Yanks so it'll be a good fit. So if you've got all that covered what do you need me to do?" Alboreto asked.

The Section Chief drew a folder from his desk and sighed "I have a mission for you...sorry. Hillshire was up in the rotation but he & the Princess got called down to Naples last night."

"That's ironic" Elio muttered, accepting the mission folder, "weren't those two in Naples last Christmas too?"

"And the one before" Lorenzo added, "it's becoming a tradition for them. Hopefully he doesn't get his ass shot again this time."

Scanning through the mission brief Elio commented "Bruges, eh? Not a bad place to visit around the holidays."

"You'll actually be doing a favor for the French government" explained the Chief as Elio read his dossier, "they've been pretty angry with Italian Intelligence since you & Mari killed Georgio Maribaldi on their soil last spring...after they'd specifically denied permission."

Elio's bushy eyebrows rose. "So I take it our poor relations with the French are my fault? I just go where Jean sends me."

"They don't even know it was you" Lorenzo replied, "but there is a certain graceful continuity in sending the same fratello to patch things up with a favor." Still wearing a guilty expression Pieri inquired "Is Marisa going to be terribly disappointed to be working over Christmas?"

"On the contrary" Alboreto groaned, "she'll be thrilled. She's militantly opposed to observing any holiday with a shred of religious basis. I've explained to her a dozen times that there have always been celebrations around the Winter Solstice...long before the Christians claimed the date as their own, but she's stubborn."

It didn't take much insight for the Chief to see where all this was rooted. "This is because of the nun thing...isn't it?"

"You've got it" Elio confirmed, "Mari has parlayed her pathological fear of nuns into an overall contempt for all religions."

"I suppose this is her way of owning & controlling her fear" Lorenzo sighed.

Elio responded with a laugh; "You sound like you're trying to take Bianchi's job."

The two middle aged men were interrupted by Avise, who poked his head in and reminded the Chief "Sir, it's getting late. You might be able to cut through airport security with your credentials but they won't help us in rush-hour traffic. We need to get going."

"I'll walk with you down to the parking lot" offered Alboreto.

As the trio exited the Section Two office building Lorenzo remembered a detail he had forgotten to mention. "Oh...you're going to have some help in Bruges...it's all in the dossier. You'll be meeting with a delegate from the French government and another fratello."

"Oh yeah? Who's it going to be?" Elio asked.

---

Monty awoke to the rhythmic sound of tires thumping on pavement gaps. "So we're in France." The cyborg did not have the cadence of every single road in Europe memorized but she & Jethro had been up and down this section of the E15 motorway between Barcelona & Perpignan so many times she had it committed to memory.

"Good morning luv," Blacker greeted her as she sat up in the passenger seat of the Audi A4 and wiped the ubiquitous cyborg tears from her eyes. "I'm honoured you've finally decided to join me in the realm of the living."

"The morning will be 'good' once I've a sufficient amount of caffeine in me" answered Monty in a low growl, "until then, why are we headed up the coast? I thought we were waiting for our Moroccan contact in Barcelona."

Jethro fished the iPhone from his shirt pocket and handed it over to his partner. "New orders; seems the Chief has gotten tired of us waiting for a contact that's failed to show up for three meetings in a row so he has a better idea for how we should spend the holidays."

"Bruges...you've got to be kidding me" Monty sighed, "I'd been so looking forward to getting our transportation squared away and spending Christmas in a country where they don't celebrate Christmas."

"We'll get to take care of business in Morocco soon enough" he assured her, "but before then we'll be traveling up to Belgium to spend the holiday season in a medieval fairytale city where the Christmas music plays in public 24 hours a day." He was actively enjoying the act of annoying his recently awakened cyborg.

"Do we at least get to kill someone?" she muttered, bringing up the e-mail from Lorenzo, "Preferably someone with children or a small dog that loves him very much."

"When did you become such a Grinch?" teased Jethro.

A puzzled Monty arched her eyebrows and asked "What did you call me?"

"The Grinch, Monty...oh I suppose you've never read any Dr. Seuss, have you?"

"The name is not familiar" she replied.

Jethro shook his head in mock sadness "Oh you poor deprived child..."

"Wait just a minute Skipper!" exclaimed the cyborg, reaching a distressing bit of information in the e-mail "It says here that we're to rendezvous with another fratello and...collaborate? When were you planning on telling me this?" She read on until she found a pair of names, "Alboreto & Marisa? This has got to be some kind of joke."

"I'm well acquainted with Elio Alboreto, but not his girl. Refresh my memory...which one is she?" asked Jethro.

"The one who intentionally stabbed herself with a dagger in the middle of Triela's Shakespeare play," deadpanned Monty, "remember her?"

It made Jethro laugh; he was obviously in much better humour than his groggy partner. "Oh yes...kind of hard to forget that. Well she certainly sounds committed."

Monty did not show any reluctance to share her opinion; "She should certainly be committed."

Sensing that Monique could benefit from a degree of perspective her handler ventured "You like Triela, right, or at least tolerate her? Well if Triela saw fit to cast Marisa in such an important role as Shylock she must have some confidence in the girl."

She cast him a dour look and muttered "Skipper, I get on with Triela just fine but let us not forget she is the oldest of the Series One cyborgs; her brain is utterly pickled by years of experimental conditioning medication."

"Hmm" muttered Blacker, shifting topics a bit. "You know, luv, I've never been one to stifle your opinions but while we're on this job can I ask you a favor? It'd make my life a mite less stressful if you'd drop your world-famous sharp tongue back a notch or two whilst around Alboreto. He's ex-MI6, a Field Commander, and had a bit of a rep back at Vauxhall Cross. I never worked with the chap myself, but if Her Majesty or Parliament wished a person lit on fire or bludgeoned to death with a hammer, the Godfather was the one who normally got the job. More concerning to me personally though is that he wasn't above giving he fellow spook a good wallop too if he disapproved of how something was being handled."

"Are you implying that he'd hit a girl?" inquired a bemused Monty.

"No" growled Jethro, not sharing her humorous outlook on the situation, "I'm implying that if you mouth off to him he's likely to punch me for not training you correctly."

"This Godfather might actually be rather entertaining to work with" she muttered.

"I shouldn't have even told you that nickname," replied Jethro, taking his eyes off the road for a moment "do not repeat it in front of him."

"Lorry" said Monty.

"No, do not call him that either" muttered Blacker.

His cyborg reached over and physically turned his head "Lorry ahead!" Jethro downshifted and got on the brakes just in time to avoid running his Audi into the back of a slow moving Tatra diesel truck. "Well, that was stimulating" she remarked, "what say we find a place to pull over and get some coffee?"

---

In order to avoid potentially unfriendly French security checks Elio & Marisa took the long way around the country, through Austria & Germany (where Alboreto was happy to find dry enough Autobahn conditions to truly stretch his BMW M3's legs). Even taken at motorway speeds the 1,900 kilometer trip took almost 18 hours and when the fratello finally arrived at a long term car-park outside of Bruges Elio was regretting not taking a flight.

"Where are we meeting our team-mates?" asked Marisa cheerfully. She'd been sleeping since the crossed the Belgian border so she could not understand her handler's grumpy mood. Elio indulged in a long stretch before answering "Knowing those two, someplace with coffee...and right now I have no objection to that plan."

"I don't really know Monty real well" continued Marisa, "but I read a bunch of her mission reports before we left and she sounds cool."

Alboreto nodded and chuckled "Well Kara certainly thought so after the Croatia mission, didn't she?" The two shared a good laugh at that memory. After the mass Section Two/GIS attack on a huge Padania stronghold in Rejika there had been a victory banquet back at headquarters. It was well known that Monty was only attending under direct orders and had every intention of escaping the event at earliest opportunity but Kara had torpedoed her plans. Pagani's cyborg (who idolized Monique) began the night with a few too many cocktails and latched onto her somewhat anti-social sister both figuratively & literally. With Kara's arm around her neck it was impossible for Monty to make a discreet exit and she was stuck at the gathering until the party ended despite desperate glances to her handler (who thought the whole affair was rather funny) imploring him for help!

"She doesn't have much of a sense of humour does she?" giggled Marisa.

"I suppose she has one in her own way" Elio answered, but went on to say "I know you're excited about working with her, but Monty may not exactly be what you are expecting. By all accounts she's not as...congenial as all your friends back at the dorm. Be sure to give her a little space when she needs it, capito?"

"Sure thing boss" chirped the red-head, "but if she's really that much of a stick-in-the-mud I'm sure I can change her!"

Issuing a disapproving scowl her handler warned "If Miss Monique does not want to be changed I expect you to respect that. Now let's get the bags and find the rendezvous."

_Bruges_

The Blacker fratello arrived in the city just a little while before Elio & his girl, but rather than leave the car outside of town as Alboreto had done they chose to park in an underground garage directly inside the city. It was a practical move...Jethro & Monty lived out of their Audi estate wagon and having fast access to everything they had packed inside might prove advantageous.

As a result of their closer parking arrangement the traveling pair arrived at the rendezvous first. That was perfectly okay with Monty, who saw it as an opportunity to get the first crack at the coffee. Jethro on the other hand did not wish to be caught off guard by the arrival of their partner fratello...he acted casual but was alert and on guard, ready for anything. "Monty, keep your eyes & ears open. Alboreto is an old school operator who will probably try to test our talents by sneaking up on us."

"Let him have his fun, Guv" opined the cyborg, "for once the chances of a set-up are virtually non-existent."

That was not good enough for Jethro. "No...just because we've got backup on this mission doesn't mean we can drop our guard. You realize I exited my previous employment under less than auspicious circumstances?"

That raised Monty's ire and for a moment she lost her trademark cool; "You were scapegoated for something that wasn't your fault. My god...was this Alboreto chap responsible?"

"No, no, nothing like that" Blacker assured her, not wishing to add cyborg in a protective rage to his list of challenges. "I'd never even met the bloke before the SWA, and even now we've only had a brief introduction. Aside from friends however, this is my first dealing with an ex-MI6 spook since the...unpleasant incident. I intend to get it right and keep the upper hand, if only for my own personal satisfaction."

His assurances seemed to work & the cyborg regained her calm demeanor. Raising her eyebrows a bit, Monty peered over her coffee cup and teased "Are you feeling your alpha-male status threatened?" She would never let him know it but Monty was already concentrating, exercising a heightened sense of awareness about her surroundings. He may have been a big goof but he was her goof and if this was important to Jethro she had no intention of letting him down.

"He might well be stalking us right now" Blacker continued, "expect him to be in disguise; he might come at us as a waiter or a fellow customer. Expect his cyborg to be playing a street kid...probably selling something."

"Or perhaps a loud freckled red-head carrying a suitcase" suggested Monty, pointing across the street.

The loud freckled red-head had spotted them too; "Mr. Blacker! Monty! Over here!" Marisa shouted while waving her hat in the air. She took a step to cross the street only to have Elio jerk her back by the collar in time to avoid a collision with an electric street car which probably would have done more damage to the car.

"Well" muttered Jethro, disappointment evident in his voice "...that was anti-climactic."

Handshakes and congenial greetings followed as the Alboreto & Blacker fratelli took their seats at the cafe table. "How was the drive up from Rome?" asked Jethro, summoning the waiter as he spoke.

Blacker had actually directed that question toward Alboreto but before her handler could answer Marisa jumped ahead and exclaimed "Germany was so cool; you can drive as fast as you want there! I have no idea why Mr. Hillshire drives like such an old granny after growing up in that place!"

"Well I see someone enjoyed it" chuckled Jethro.

"Someone has been asleep since the Belgian border" Elio muttered, "and therefore has plenty of energy."

The young girl grinned broadly and replied "I'm a cyborg, we've always got energy! Isn't that right, Monty?" Her older counterpart just issued her a wilting stare as one eyebrow twitched. The arrival of the waiter diffused the situation. Seeing that there were two new customers he set cups in front of each of them. The gray bearded man gratefully accepted his offering of coffee but the red headed girl to his left put her hand over her cup. "Puis-je avoir du thé d'herbes, s'il vous plaît?" she asked in French and the waiter gave an affirmative nod before hurrying back to get some tea for her. "I'm...not exactly supposed to have coffee" Marisa admitted to the others sheepishly.

"The coffee here in Belgium is very different from the espresso back in Italy, I'm sure Elio could make an exception to his rule this one time" Jethro suggested.

"It's not my rule" rumbled the gray-beard.

Blushing, Marisa explained "Direct orders from the Minister of Defense."

"There were a few caffeine related incidents" Alboreto added in a menacing tone.

Eager to change topics, Marisa asked "You two use English on your missions, right?"

"Well we get to practice a lot of languages" replied Blacker, "but yes, when it's just Monique & I we mainly speak English."

Marisa switched from Italian; "Well, let's do it on this mission too" she suggested in English, "Elio grew up in England...you both speak it, and I could use the practice!"

Her younger counterpart's accent twigged Monty's attention "Right language, wrong accent." Mari blushed and cast her eyes down, abashed by her unexplained linguistic quirk. She really did try to speak like her handler & Mr. Hillshire did but no matter how hard she tried the Irish lilt won out.

Jethro cast a sharp look at his cyborg so she pushed no further. "Your English is just fine, Marisa" he assured the girl, ameliorating some of her embarrassment.

Infused with a dose of coffee, Elio got a second wind and pulled from his briefcase the mission dossier Chief Lorenzo had given him less than 48 hours before. "Ferro & her team have us set up with two rooms in a small hotel on the Koning Straat. We'll be meeting a representative from the French government, but not until tomorrow afternoon so I suggest we grab some dinner here and get some rest before the mission really starts." He was met with nods of approval around the table. Turning the page he came to a single black and white photograph of a jeweled chalice, which he handed over to Jethro. "This is the target. Our French connection can explain more but this is the last known photograph...taken in 1939 before it was taken from France by the Nazi occupiers."

Jethro read the small text at the photo's bottom "This is allegedly the chalice from which Charles Martel took communion from before the..."

With a quick flash of his hand Elio stopped him and asked "Girls; who was Charles Martel?"

Taken aback, Monty bristled at the interrogation. Is that old bugger actually quizzing me? and her hesitation provided Marisa the chance to slip in with the answer.

"He was a Frankish military commander who defeated a Moorish army at the Battle of Tours in the year...ummm...seven hundred something. He was also Emperor Charlemagne's grandfather."

"Correct" replied Elio, giving her an approving nod and a tousle of her hair. Marisa turned to Monty and shot her a smug grin, as if she had won some kind of contest only she was competing in. The older cyborg returned a dry visage. You've got to be bloody joking. Maybe if you balance a ball on your nose they'll throw you a fish.

Jethro continued; "Well this is supposedly the very chalice Martel drank from on the pivotal seventh day of that battle and it's considered a treasure of France."

"Stolen artifacts...Nazi's...seems like our usual sort of thing" ventured Monty.

"We have a usual sort of thing?" her handler muttered under his breath.

"Quiet, you" she quickly silenced him. "How did the SWA get charged with this job? Seems like if this trinket is so important to them the French could handle this themselves."

Paying more attention to the menu than what she was saying Elio replied "Are you familiar with the concept of plausible deniability?"
Monty answered, her mounting annoyance evident "Quite familiar, thank you."

"Good" muttered Alboreto, "because our organization duffed it up last spring. They asked for permission to kill a Padania financier on French soil...the French said no...we did it anyway and since then they've been less than friendly toward us. When they approached Minister Petris asking for help recovering this trinket as you put it she was eager to offer up our services."

"That still doesn't explain why the French didn't just do it themselves" pointed out Marisa.

Jethro answered this time; "Because if this operation gets buggered up they'd have the Belgians mad at them. Better to send the Italians...who owe them a favor...so that if everything goes all pear shaped we catch the blame."

"Good to know everyone still enjoys a jolly round of back stabbing to liven up the holidays" opined Monty in sardonic fashion.

"It's no big deal" offered Marisa, "if we screw up then half of Europe is pissed off at us and the Minister will have us all strung up by our thumbs...so we just better not screw it up!"

"Sounds like a plan to me!" Jethro agreed, putting his menu down, "I think I'll have the grilled duck with honey sauce."

---

It was not difficult to find the hotel (just a few blocks away) but there was no on-site parking so Jethro's automobile would have to remain at the underground garage. "We'll get the check in taken care of" Elio said, "why don't you two go get what's needed out of the Audi. Marisa, go along and help Monty."

"Wait...us two?" Monty had been assuming you two meant she & Jethro, not a collaboration with her fellow cyborg. Alright, relax...don't make it into a big issue, Skipper warned me to expect stuff like this.

"Unless you feel like paying for the hotel" muttered Elio.

I could pay for the hotel just as easily as you thought the cyborg louringly, but Marisa grabbed her by the sleeve and said "Come on, betcha I can carry more than you!"

They were back in a matter of minutes carrying garment bags for both Monty & Jethro, as well as a valise full of paperwork that Monty wanted to work on that night. With her handler tired from his 1,400 kilometer drive she knew at least she would soon have the peace & quiet she needed to make a sizeable dent in that.

Upon reaching the third floor of the hotel Jethro produced two keys. "Here's yours, and here's ours" he said, but to his cyborg's dismay he kept one key and handed the other to Monty.

"Wait...what's going on here?"

Alboreto took the handlers' key from Blacker and unlocked their door. "What do you mean? We'll be right next door. Don't stay up too late; we may not be meeting our French contact until the afternoon but I'd still like to get to work at a reasonable hour tomorrow morning." With that he was gone.

"Skippeeeeeerrrrrr" growled Monique in a low tone. He had anticipated her unhappiness at the arrangement but Jethro stayed rigid. "We discussed it while you were getting the bags...Elio & I decided there were things we needed to talk over before the mission starts tomorrow."
"And don't you think I should be included in these planning sessions?" she snapped, intentionally leaving Marisa out of the picture.

Awkwardly scratching the back of his head Blacker replied "Well, it's not all going to be planning. We're both MI6 alumni...we've got some old war stories to reminisce about."
"I like old war stories too!" protested the cyborg, but her handler was done talking.

"It's just a few nights...I'm sure you'll survive" he told her, retreating into the adults' room. "You might enjoy getting some of the Agency scuttlebutt from some other than Triela for a change. Now, both of us have been driving all day so we're not to be disturbed unless the building is on fire...direct order. Have a good night, luv." With that he closed the door.

Monty & Marisa were left standing in the hallway. "Well you've got the key, what are you waiting for?" asked the younger girl, "Let's get a look at our room."

_Two Rooms_

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" muttered Blacker with his ear to the door.

Elio had already slipped his shoes off and picked out a bed to sit on. "Aye, they have to work with each other...spending one night together in a hotel room is not asking too much of them."

Walking over to have a seat on his own bed Jethro mused "It's likely going to be longer than one night."

"Your Monty will probably strangle Marisa if it goes on for two" muttered Alboreto.

"Hmm...I'm not so sure" Blacker replied "mine was never really built for a hand-to-hand fight. I've read your mission reports...your girl is definitely a scrapper."

With a sigh and a glance at the hotel receipt Elio said "Hopefully Monty's bigger size and greater experience discourages my hothead from doing anything stupid. If not that hotel room is going to get destroyed and then there will be hell to pay."

"When two elephants fight only the grass gets hurt" laughed Blacker.

---

"...anyway, I forgot it was in the front pocket of my jumper and when I leaned forward it fell right into the toilet. It wasn't really too bad though, Elio was only about 62% as mad as I expected and the Agency gave him a brand new satellite phone as soon as we got back to Rome!"

"Are you ever quiet?" growled Monty, "I'm trying to hear what's going on over there." She had a drinking glass pressed to the wall hoping to use it as an amplifier but even her cybernetic ears could only make out distorted mumbling through the bricks. "This is maddening. I can't even get any of the bloody paperwork cleared...Jethro took the valise and all it contained inside with him."

"You're mad about that?" questioned the younger girl, "Personally I'd be thrilled if my handler gave me a perfectly good excuse not to finish my homework."

"Not homework...paperwork" growled Monique, "You know...expense reports...visa applications...daily reports...intelligence packets for review. You've at least heard of those right?"

Mari shrugged her shoulders and answered "Elio lets me help sometimes, but not too often. He says he can get it all done a lot faster on his own."

"Oddly, not surprising" the older cyborg muttered quietly. She laid back on her bed with a frustrated sigh and checked what was on television. "You've got to be kidding me. The only thing on is a documentary about cheese making?"

"There's no cable or satellite connection" sighed Mari as Monty switched off the TV. "So what do you want to do? I've got a deck of cards in my bag."

"How about we play a game called Let's be as quiet as possible" muttered the older cyborg.

With an annoyed snort Mari replied "Fine, if you want to be that way." She pulled a small mp3 player from her bag, plugged the headphones in and tried to ignore her less than sociable room-mate.

It still wasn't exactly quiet for Monty. With her cybernetic ears she could hear every note that was coming through the red-head's speakers. She tried her best to ignore it...until it caught her interest. "Is that John Mayall?"

"I thought we were being as quiet as possible" the freckled girl retorted sharply.

"Fair enough" Monty conceded.

There were a few moments of silence between the two until Mari finally said "Monty...I'm kidding...here, check it out." She tossed over her mp3 player. "The Blues Alone, 1967."

Monique hesitated a little, but picked it up, scanned through her menus and had to admit "You've actually got a lot of fairly decent stuff on here."

"It's mostly from my handler's CD collection" the red-head explained. "He bugs me about listening to more modern music so I'll blend in better but all of that just sucks."

"Not all of it" replied Monty "there's good music out there, you've just got to dig… or listen to the radio a lot. Here I'll show you some decent stuff."

---

"Are you still trying to hear what's going on over there?" muttered Elio, as his colleague got up and lingered near the wall once again.

"It all went quiet over there about a half-hour ago" Jethro explained, "frankly that worries me more than the sounds of a riot."

Alboreto rolled his eyes. "Or maybe they've just gone to sleep."

"You aren't concerned?"

"No, I'm trying to follow this documentary on the telly" he replied. "It's really rather fascinating. You never consider how much craftsmanship goes into making cheese. Sounds like you could use a drink...check the top compartment of my bag."

Blacker unzipped Alboreto's suitcase to find a litre of Glenlivet scotch. "Yes, that will do the trick."

"I saw some glasses near the bathroom sink...and if you want ice we can probably chip some off the windowsill" Elio proposed.

"Nothing like a healthy dose of pigeon shit in your whisky" joked Blacker, causing Elio to reconsider.

"Good point...skip the rocks, I'll have mine neat."

Both men settled in with a drink (the cheese documentary was just ending) and the tension began to melt away. They had each driven a significant portion of the European continent without relief and were predictably fatigued but neither was ready to go to sleep just yet...both of them enjoying the relaxing numbness that came after a long day of travel with the promise of a complete & uninterrupted night of sleep ahead of them. The scotch certainly helped as well.

Jethro had a lot of questions for his senior colleague but he was surprised when Elio spoke up first; "So how does a fellow like yourself wind up in this business?"

"Beg your pardon?"

Alboreto explained "I've been asking that a lot lately. Jean & I got to talking about it on a mission not long ago and it's made me curious about my co-workers in a way that I never was back at the Ministry. Maybe it's just because I'm getting older, but I find these days I'm more interested in human nature than when I was younger."

Taking a long sip of his scotch, Jethro found himself stalling a bit. "You know, it's a more difficult question than it sounds. If you asked me to write a story about my life and gave me a whole night to put it on paper I could spin you a pretty entertaining yarn..."

"You're not a cyborg, this isn't a homework essay" laughed Elio.

"...but just asking me...I don't know exactly where to start" admitted Blacker, "I suppose I had a happier childhood than most of the folks who wind up in this line of work, but obviously I watched a few too many spy caper films when I was a lad. The whole lifestyle, that of a secret agent or a raffish gentleman thief just seemed too glamorous to pass up...especially growing up in a boring sea-side town in Lancashire." He took a deep breath and continued "So I started on petty crimes. Just mischief really...on one particular caper I hot wired a video security system, dropped down through the roof and broke into a local grocery shop...only to replace all the light-bulbs in the freezer cases with flashing disco lights." That drew a laugh from the older man. "I'd nick the most ridiculous things...once I made off with an entire lorry full of adult nappies. Now what the hell was I going to do with that? Well I guess I fancied myself something of a Robin Hood because I drove all around the countryside dropping them off at old folks' convalescent homes...probably spent more in diesel than I would have made selling them. It was the complexity of the crimes that I was in it for...the more intricate the better."

"That policy seems like a good way to wind up in jail, not the Ministry of Intelligence" opined Elio.

"I nearly did wind up in jail" Jethro explained. "My schemes got crazier & crazier. For some odd reason I figured I'd never be a real crook until I got pinched by the bulls at least once. Doing a stretch would lend me credibility, and hopefully help me get tied in with important people. So I get a crew of my mates together and we resolve to pull a jewel heist. It was a lot riskier than anything we'd ever done but we all figured; if we succeed, good...if we fail at least we'll get noticed. We were all just lads with no records anyway, we wouldn't do any real time.

"What I didn't count on was me own mates selling me out" muttered Blacker. He smiled, but the contempt was still evident in his voice. "Yours Truly was the only one who got pinched, and it led to a revelation; I didn't want to spend even one day as a guest of Her Majesty's corrective institution! It was bloody terrifying. There I was...barely twenty and set to spend at least the next decade of my life behind bars. For the first time I was seriously considering the likelihood of being raped by a large tattooed bloke...I don't know why that didn't cross my mind earlier on."

"An important consideration!"Alboreto laughed as he refilled both of their glasses.

"Well, the rozzers have me sweating it out in the interrogation room," Jethro continued "when this chap in a tweed jacket walks in. He comes right out and introduces himself as Ministry of Intelligence. I'd never have guessed it, he looked like a gentleman farmer. He says to me 'Lad, you're a complete fucking idiot trying to pull a job like that, but your plans have got a handful of people at Vauxhall Cross talking.' Well, I figured it was just the police trying to trick me into admitting to other jobs I'd done, but the chap goes on 'You can walk out of here with me right now. You can be trained, you can be well paid and you can continue doing what you love...or you can stay here and go to prison. Personally I hope you decide to walk out with me because it's a damned long drive back and I get sleepy when I haven't anyone to talk to.' As the alternative was being buggered by my cell-mate I took a chance; I went outside with the fellow and he led me to an Aston Martin...I knew at that moment he was legitimate, no copper can afford an Aston. Worst night of my life just turned into the best...20 years old and I get recruited straight out of an interrogation cell."

"Pagani's cyborg would call that good karma" Elio pointed out.

With a little greater trepidation Jethro continued "So, that's how it began. I'm guessing it's safe to assume you know how I made my exit from the Ministry."

"Aye, I was off on an assignment in Turkey so I didn't hear about it until months later but all Field Commanders got the briefing" sighed Alboreto, "and for what it's worth I think you got a raw deal. If you're wondering, at the Agency only Lorenzo knows...he hasn't even told Croce." He paused for a moment and said "I suppose it doesn't mean much now but, you know that place eats its own. Do you know what M said to me when I came out & admitted my opiate addiction?"

"You came out about your drug addiction directly to M?" muttered Blacker in disbelief.

"Well, my direct supervisor was Alfred Purley" Elio explained.

Jethro nodded in understanding "Oh...Purley the Paperweight."

"Old Alfred was terrific at keeping the books in order but not much else" Elio continued; "When I told him I'd been taking drugs for the past seven years he turned white as a sheet and came up with a dozen excuses why he couldn't report it up the chain of command himself. Anyway, it fell to me to inform M and when I did she replied 'Well, whatever you're doing don't make any big changes. We're rather busy this season and I can't have you going through withdrawals in the middle of a job.'

"How supportive of her" Jethro scoffed, tossing back another glass of scotch.

Elio shrugged his shoulders. "That's MI6 for you. No tea parties or teddy bear collections in that Agency."

---

The girls sat on their respective beds facing each other with the night-stand between them as a table. On the headboard of Monty's bed sat a pair of portable battery powered speakers, presently belting out Miles Davis from Marisa's mp3 player. "You've got a six and a jack," explained Monique, "and since face cards are worth zero that's a score of 6. If you'd gotten 0-5 you'd take another card, but on six or seven you stand."

"Is that good?" Marisa asked.

"Depends on what the house has. See, I've got an eight and a three."

"That's eleven" sighed Mari, "so you win."

"No..." Monty corrected her, "that's a score of one. You win. Anything ten or over the score is the second digit. The best possible score is nine."

Marisa nodded, but seemed unimpressed by the game. "There's no skill involved...you just win or lose according to what cards you're dealt."

"True, that's punto banco for you" admitted Monty with a shrug "Chemin de Fer is more complicated but you need more punters to play." She scooped up the cards and tucked them back in the box. "Maybe trying to teach you this was a mite pointless. Even I get hassled by casino security if I go without Jethro."

"Sometimes we play Go-Fish in the dorm" Mari said, but immediately felt foolish for mentioning the juvenile game.

"It's still not even nine o'clock" muttered the older girl, "I don't feel a bit tired."

"Me neither" admitted Marisa "shouldn't have taken that long nap in the car earlier on."

Monty considered her course of action for a moment and ventured "I've got something that'll take the edge off." She reached into her bag and produced a stainless steel hip-flask.

"What's that?" questioned the red-head.

"My emergency reserve," confessed Monty with a self-satisfied grin, "Jethro doesn't know about it...or if he does he doesn't seem to object; just a little cognac to take the edge off at the end of a long day."

Accepting the flask from her elder sister's hands Marisa experienced a brief shiver of doubt when she considered whether Elio would approve of this endeavor, but the temptation of indulging in a touch of mischief with a cyborg held in high esteem by so many of her friends back at the dorm proved too great to pass up.

"I just remembered something" muttered Blacker with concern, "Monty keeps a flask of cognac that we both just pretend doesn't exist. It's a long shot that she'd pull it out and share with Marisa, but if she did is that something you'd disapprove of?"

The older man wrinkled his brow and considered it for a moment. "It's not exactly something I'd approve of...but honestly I see little harm in it. How big is the supply?"

"Just 30cl" replied Jethro, "any bigger and I might put the kibosh on it."

"That's only a few swallows each" Alboreto said with a shrug, "worst case scenario they'll be a little stiff in the morning. We don't have anything important to do until afternoon anyway."

Agreeing with his colleague Jethro let the matter drop. He had other questions on his mind. "I suppose you already know there's a raft of legends that follow you around."

"Ye gods not you too..." groaned the old spy.

"Come on, fair cop...I told you how I wound up at Vauxhall" teased Blacker.

Tossing back another glass of scotch Elio acceded to the younger man's request. "Go ahead..."

"Alright;" Jethro began, "legend has it that on a mission in Chile you were hit with six curare darts and still managed to terminate your target."

"Completely untrue" Elio asserted, "I did spend some time in Chile but the mission was called off and I've never been darted in my life."

"Alright, let's try; you once drank 21 pints of Guinness without having a piss?"

"Twenty-three" admitted Elio.

"You once washed a back-chatting cyborg's mouth out with soap?" inquired Blacker.

"True."

"Crikey, I'd have guessed false on that one!" Jethro laughed, "Which one was it?"

Elio shook his head and chuckled "I'll never tell...it wasn't my own though. Are you done?"

"Not by a long shot" Jethro answered "What about the big one?"

"And what do you mean by that?" groaned Alboreto, already knowing where this was heading.

"Legend has it you turned down the Vice-Presidency of Angola."

"Not exactly" sighed Elio.

Blacker's face lit up...he'd never expected to get the true story straight from the source. "Well lay on MacDuff..." he urged, refilling Alboreto's glass.

"Fine, here's what happened;" the gray haired man explained "I was never offered the position by any lawful authority. It was a guerrilla warlord who was trying to overthrow the government in Luanda who approached me and asked me to organize his army & intelligence service. In return he offered me the VP role when he took over the country. It was completely unrealistic...do you think the United Nations would have ever allowed an ex-British Secret Service man to hold the Vice Presidency of an African nation? It would have caused an international uproar and I'd probably have been assassinated by my former MI6 mates before it even got that far."

"Well fuck me dead," Jethro laughed, "so there is actually a kernel of truth behind the story!"

"If you say so" Elio groaned, "can we just drop it now?"

---

It was the first time Marisa had tasted cognac but she tried not to let on and look like a dork. The liquid had a strangely sweet flavor but it burned at the same time.

"Hennessy XO," commented Monty, "one of the best widely available brands. There are some small distilleries that put out blends I like more, but you can get Hennessy practically anywhere in the world. It's a shame to keep it in a metal flask...doesn't do the flavour any justice."

"Oh yeah" coughed Marisa, "I can taste the difference." She hoped her naivety was not too obvious. "Elio drinks cognac sometimes...in the winter mostly. He likes whiskey all year round."

"Jethro as well" the older girl replied. "I fancy a drop on occasion too, but it's not my favorite. Tanqueray Ten holds that spot in my heart. What is it you're doing with that notebook anyway?"

"Keep your head still..." ordered Mari, diligently at work scratching something out on the paper "...it's not a notebook, it's a sketchbook. I hate drawing on paper with lines."

"You're sketching...me?" questioned Monique. She considered it a bit forward to be doing so without asking but at the same time was intensely curious about the end result.

Mari's pencil never stopped moving, even when she picked her head up to look at her subject. "It's something I picked up on a mission to protect some girl at a civilian school. We have art classes back home at the compound but we just study historical art...at the civilian school they learn to make art of their own."

"Art classes, eh?" chuckled Monty, "The Skipper takes me to museums whenever we have a spare day or two...it makes him feel as if he's contributing to my education."

That made Marisa laugh. "Mr. Blacker doesn't make you do lessons? Lucky."

"Jethro explained that I was allowed to hold onto much of my scholastic knowledge when I was converted" Monique explained "as for the rest...my iPhone has an online encyclopedia app."

Her face locked in an expression of dismay, the junior cyborg protested "You have an iPhone? Arrgh! My handler doesn't let me have anything cool!"

"Precedent suggests you'd probably just drop it in the loo. Cheer up; you still have artistic talent" Monty consoled with a chuckle. "Let's have a look then."

"Sure...I mean, it's not quite done but..." Marisa turned her sketchbook around to show her older counter-part "...you can keep it once it's done."

Raising her eyebrows Monty commented "It isn't half bad." She hadn't expected much from the hyperactive eleven year old but her answer was genuine. "Marisa, would it be alright if I asked you to do one of...my partner? I would pay for it of course."

"Don't be silly, of course I'll do it. Pencil lead doesn't cost a thing" Mari assured her, "I'll study Mr. Blacker's face tomorrow and get it done at night, okay?"

"Thank you" replied Monty, "but are you sure you won't let me pay you?" She got the impression that Marisa did not know money was not as big a concern for her as it was for the other, more strictly controlled cyborgs back at the dormitory.

Shrugging her shoulders Mari answered "I won't hesitate to ask for a return favor if I really need one."

Monique eyed her fellow cyborg dubiously "I think I'd be better off paying you" but Marisa did not budge, returning a sneaky grin that let Monty know she was well aware of the strategic value a favor held.

As the younger girl continued her work Monty took a sip from her glass and conjectured "You know, your drawing talent might be a remnant from your former life."

"What do you mean?"

"A little element of your life before you became a cyborg," she explained "maybe you were really good at art. Sometimes those things show through the conditioning. Take the accent you have when you speak English for example...there's a good chance you were Irish before you got converted."

The pencil stopped moving for a moment. Marisa locked Monty in an angry stare and snapped "I am Italian." A tense silence existed between the two cyborgs for an entire uncomfortable minute, the only sound being the resumed scratching of Marisa's pencil on the coarse paper. "What about you?" the younger girl finally asked.

"Jethro tells me I practiced parkour before I became a cyborg" Monty told her, but Marisa was fishing for a deeper confession.

"I'll bet you know exactly who you were" ventured the red-head. She set down her sketchbook and rolled onto her hands & knees, crawling over to face Monty. "You're always hanging around the office building when you visit the compound...you even sleep over there. The staff treat you more like an adult than a cyborg. If I had that kind of access I'd look up my own personal file and learn the truth."

Monty said nothing, and Marisa immediately realized that she had touched upon a raw nerve. The older girl's expression froze and she took a deep breath which she let out slowly.

Her pre-cyborg past was not something Monique or her handler paid much consideration to, but just as Marisa had predicted she had in fact looked up her own file during a long boring night at the Section Two office building (waiting for a reply to an e-mail she'd sent requesting cold case information from Europol). She had only done this on a lark, idle curiosity which she expected would lead her to nothing interesting. The file was easy to find but what Monty had not anticipated was how she would feel once it lay in her hands. For reasons she could not explain and did not feel comfortable thinking about she was paralyzed. Whether by effect of conditioning or simple human fear she could not bring herself to open the folder. After an agonizing sixty seconds she simply dropped it on the floor and attempted to make as dignified an exit as circumstances would permit. Since that day she had thought of the incident many times but never dwelt on it for more than a few minutes and never brought it up to Jethro. Monty reached for her glass and took a drink to steady her nerves.

It was impossible for Marisa to know all this but she inferred enough to know this was a topic best maneuvered away from. "Rico knows about her past...it wasn't very happy though. She was stuck in a hospital bed every day of her life, listening to her parents fight about what a burden she was. She doesn't like to talk about those times." Mirroring her older sister she took a sip from her glass (wincing a bit, unaccustomed to liquor as she was) and added honestly "I don't think I'm ready look at my own past either...but someday I want to know."

"Yeah," sighed Monique, "maybe someday."

Marisa picked up her sketchbook and handed it to her. "Your drawing is done."

---

"My Monty was nearly killed in a parkour accident" explained Jethro as he & Elio worked their way through the last quarter of their whisky bottle. "She took a solid clobbering, a four or five storey drop will do that. The worst of the damage was that the entire side of her head caved in, so the French surgeons had to fully remove that part of her skull. There was nothing they could do...it was beyond their ability to totally rebuild a human head. When the Italians stepped in and offered her a slim chance at survival her next of kin were more than happy to sign over custody. She was fourteen when it happened." He took a sip and continued; "The medical technology department completely replaced her skull with a new ceramite one that could have absorbed ten times the impact that nearly killed her. That plastic surgeon Louis Duvallier completely reconstructed her face as well...bloody brilliant chap, he doesn't get nearly enough credit for what he does."

"Cheers to that" muttered Elio, raising his glass, "he's a proper artist, he is. When Marisa came to us she was like a piece of burnt meat...not one square centimeter of her skin was usable. Duvallier took skin grafts & cultures from my previous cyborg, who had died a few months before, and re-grew Marisa a completely new skin. There was not a single photograph of her previous self...Gwendolyn Doyle...the only one ever taken burned in the fire that killed her, but Louis was able to create a whole human being just from his imagination and his knowledge of tissue. Then he gave her red hair & freckles...there was no logical reason to do that. It was purely an artistic choice but every time I see her face I'm glad he did it." He took a sip and asked "Has Monique's family ever tried to contact her?"

"The Social Welfare Agency informed them that she had not survived the surgery" sighed Blacker. "Sent them her ashes...her real ashes mind you, her heart, lungs, bones, broken skull. I suppose that might be considered a mite cruel but probably less cruel than telling them the truth I'd wager."

"I got lucky with Marisa" commented Alboreto, "her only known relative was a heroin addict mother who died in a prison shower a few days before Gwen died."

"How did Marisa...Gwendolyn...die, so to speak?"

Tossing back the last of his glass Elio answered "An orphanage fire in Dublin. Most likely she burned it down herself as a suicide attempt."

Raising his eyebrows sharply Jethro muttered "Bloody hell...that calls for another drink." He refilled both glasses, emptying the scotch bottle.

"Well, she was the only casualty" Alboreto explained "and based on police statements taken from the wards after the fact she probably did the world a favour. The whole experience still left Mari with a pretty significant nun phobia." He reached over and clinked glasses with Jethro, "Well, here's to the success of the mission...Cheers. Now; it's been an 1,800 kilometer drive, an half a litre of scotch and it's now midnight so I'm ready for a decent bit of kip."

"Cheers to that" agreed Blacker, tipping back the last of his whisky.

---

There was no reason to be up at the crack of dawn so everyone enjoyed a late morning. Jethro was just getting out of the shower and Elio brushing his teeth when there was a knock at the door. It was one of the Agency's coded signals...everyone at the SWA was trained to use a recognizable sequence of hard & soft knocks so that fellow Agency members would know it was someone friendly at the door (there were of course prearranged knocks to signal trouble as well).

"That's one of the girls" said Jethro.

Spitting his toothpaste out Elio wondered out loud "Do you think they both survived the night together?"

"Not likely. Whichever one lived is gonna be properly brassed off" replied Jethro, "have you got a tranquilizer gun?"

"Just an injector pen" answered the older man.

Blacker had only been kidding, he was genuinely surprised that Alboreto carried such a thing. "Really?"

The knock came a second time, so Jethro carefully unlocked and opened the door. "Cheers Guv'nor...Alboreto" Monty greeted them.

"Good morning!" chirped Marisa, right by her side, "The hotel only has breakfast out until 10am, are you both coming down?"

"Eh...sure thing, just give us a few minutes" answered Blacker.

Monty nodded and replied "We'll save you some seats" before the two cyborgs were off.

Closing the door Jethro muttered "Are they actually getting along or just screwing with us?"

"I don't know," commented Alboreto in disbelief, "but that actually scares me more than if they were screaming and tearing each others' hair out."

_Tourists_

After breakfast Marisa went to sit in the handler's room so Monty finally had peace, quiet and a comfortable stack of paperwork in front of her. The meeting with their French contact would not occur until 3pm so she figured she could make a significant impact on the pile in front of her. It was not to be.

There was a knock on the door and it opened before she even answered. "Monty, lass" Elio summoned "we've got a few hours in hand before we meet the Frenchman...we're going out to see a bit of the town."

"Have fun" she replied, never looking up from her paperwork.

"Ahem..." the gray haired man persisted "...in this instance the term we is inclusive. Grab your coat."

Monty was becoming annoyed by his assumption that she had nothing better to do than walk around & look at Christmas decorations. Remembering Jethro's advice at the beginning of the mission she tried her best to speak with a degree of diplomacy though a palpable degree of annoyance was still evident in her voice; "Mister Alboreto...I'm doing my best to get this stack of documents finished in the hopes that you would be kind enough to carry them back to Rome for me when this mission is over. This would be a significant help and greatly reduce our turn-around time on the next occasion Jethro & I need to visit headquarters."

Elio stepped inside to look over her stack of papers. "You can do it this evening. I'll give you a hand at it."

"I do not need a hand," she answered flatly, determined not to lose a battle of wills, "I need some peace & quiet in which to get my work done."

"You need to learn how to cut down on some of this mess."

"I beg your pardon?"

He leaned down and pointed to the seven expense reports she had been filling out. "Look, you've filled out seven forms for seven different items. Each form only has one or two entries...you could have consolidated all the entries on one form and saved yourself the trouble of filling out seven header sections, which is most of the work in itself."

Monty growled "Jean Croce wants it done this way..."

"Jean is a lumberjack that wears woman's clothing" retorted Alboreto sharply. Caught off guard by the unexpected Monty Python line Monique tried hard to stifle a laugh but she failed and it escaped as an embarrassing snort. That was all it took for Elio, he knew victory was within reach. "Ferro is the one who looks over these expense reports, not Jean. If they pass her scrutiny Jean just stamps them for approval...and I assure you Ferro has no problem with you sending in one form for her to look at instead of seven. I'm sure I can show you a lot of extraneous steps you're taking, but later." He walked behind the girl and tipped her chair, forcing her forward and to her feet. "Now get your coat...Jethro & Marisa are already outside waiting."

During their stroll around the city the SWA contingent broke into two unlikely pairs. Walking ahead were Jethro & Marisa, the handler greatly enjoying the seemingly boundless enthusiasm & uninhibited lunacy exhibited by the young red-head. For her part Mari was thrilled to be conversing with an adult who, rather than stifle her wild schemes by pointing out their impracticality, actually encouraged her to greater insanity.

"What about that building up there, Marisa" Blacker challenged "if you had to bust in, rescue a hostage and kill all the terrorists how would you do it?"

"Hmm," she ran her fingers down her jaw-line, bringing them together at her chin. The observant Jethro immediately recognized it as a sub-conscious imitation of how her handler stroked his beard. "Only one hostage? I'd toss a grapple onto the roof, break through a window on the floor above, dump a stun grenade down the heating duct so it fell into the apartment below, and as soon as it went off, blast my way through the floor with a shape-charge. I'd grab my hostage and set off one real grenade as I crashed out through the window...using the grenade blast to throw us clear across the street and safely into that truck full of mattresses."

"Well I'll be damned" Jethro laughed, "there actually is a mattress delivery truck there...I'll pay you that. But don't you think it would be better if we rappelled down from a helicopter?"

"Kinda noisy Mr. Blacker. I say we use parachutes...HALO drop right onto the rooftop...Elio & I did it once in Pescara!"

Jethro laughed "I remember; Monty & I were working that mission at the same time, in Zurich."

A few paces behind them Elio & Monty strolled along with expressions ranging from bemusement to outright exasperation. "Mister Alboreto" snorted Monique in a tone of mock annoyance "I'm afraid going to have to prohibit my child from playing with your child...she is a decidedly bad influence on him."

"She has that effect on some people" remarked Alboreto. He took a step to the side and dropped a €2 coin in the open case of a guitar player, who nodded in thanks but went on playing Carmelita.

"Generous," commented Monty, "Kara had made you out to be something of a skinflint."

"Compared to her handler I suppose I am" chuckled Elio, "but I like that tune." He did not elaborate on how the song, ostensibly about heroin addiction, struck a personal chord with him.

"Warren Zevon, yes?" the girl asked.

"Very good" complimented the old spy. "It's actually a piece written for two guitars, but that fellow was playing both parts."

"Ah!" remarked Monty with appreciation of his wit, "Hence the two euro tip."

Delighted to have someone detect such a subtle move Elio answered "I doubt he was clever enough to read into the subtext of it but I'm pleased someone noticed."

She felt herself blush at the compliment, but kept her head turned down so none would notice. Something else occurred to Monique; "You seem to know a lot about the guitar."

"Played a bit back in Liverpool, before I went into the Army" sighed Alboreto "I was never really what you'd call...good."

Little did he know it, he had just completely sunk his hooks into Monty. To the girl who was fascinated by the arts & music scene of England in the 1960's Elio Alboreto was a living, breathing time capsule. She found it difficult to keep her cool with a multitude of questions flooding her lightly conditioned mind. "Did you play with any bands back then?" she asked hopefully.

"My mates and I tried to play some blues clubs on open stage nights but as for real bands...ye gods no, we were never that good" confessed Elio with a laugh, "but I saw some great acts. Being a big brutal lad with an ill favoured look I found it easy to get jobs as a bouncer or doorman for the shows. Got to see the Moody Blues in 1966...the 'Stones in '67...The Animals...Van Morrison when he was with Them...Cream...saw The Yardbirds three times. Hell I could bore you all day long with tired old rambling, a girl your age has probably never even heard of those bands."

"No, do go continue!" objected Monty, who immediately regretted sounding too eager.

He didn't seem to notice; "Well, long story made short...Liverpool was a good place to see bands because everyone wanted to play in the city where The Beatles got their start."

"Right, the Beatles were from Liverpool," Monty replied "did you ever see them?"

"No...by the time I was old enough to be into rock music they were already superstars. To be honest, among my set the Beatles were considered music for teenaged girls." Elio remembered who he was talking to and added "No slight intended."

"None taken" answered Monique with a grin. "So it sounds like you were a classic 'rocker'." It was a slight detractor in her eyes...she had always identified more with the fashion minded 'mod' set.

Elio's lip curled and he shook his head dismissively "All that nonsense was exaggerated for movies. I never witnessed any violent animosity between the groups. They had their clubs and coffee shops, we had our bars & motorway cafes. It wasn't as if you'd get a boot to the head for walking into the wrong place. I had plenty of mates that were mods as well as enemies that were rockers. But by having a motorcycle, a leather jacket and slicked back hair then yes, I suppose I was a rocker."

She could have spent the rest of the day questioning Alboreto about her favorite period in history but Jethro interrupted them. "Looks like the tour boat pushes off from here!" he called out.

"Tour boat?" muttered his cyborg, "Seriously?" Wandering around a city looking at Christmas decorations was bad enough, but actually wanting to squeeze onto an open canal boat full of tourists was beyond anything she judged Jethro capable of. Obviously he was up to something; Monty just felt a bit miffed that she wasn't in on it.

Marisa was of course thrilled to be heading out onto the water and even offered to help the Captain cast off the lines (he politely declined the enthusiastic youngster) as he pulled away from the dock. The fratelli took their places on a bench seat near the back and for the next 45 minutes observed the historic sights of Bruges as pointed out by a heavyset tour-guide who repeated each pre-written statement in Flemish Dutch, French & German.

At length they cruised to a junction point between two canals. Here the waterway widened and the tour boat had to pause in order for other traffic to pass. "Heads up girls" whispered Jethro, pointing toward a medieval tower jutting up from a Chateau that looked only a few hundred years younger, "that's our target. Martel's chalice is in that tower so start thinking about how we're going to get it out."

"You couldn't have told me this was the purpose of our trip back at the hotel?" muttered Monique, never taking her eyes off the target. She was burning a mental picture of its dimensions & features into her memory. Slowly the vessel drifted closer to the canal wall, right into the imposing tower's shadow.

Marisa had a part to play in this as well. When he had judged they were not going to drift any closer her handler ordered in a quiet voice, "Alright lass; give me a report on the bottom."

"Yes Sir!" she chirped, and after slipping out of her coat and kicking off her shoes promptly leaned as far as she could over the side rail.

"Mademoiselle! Chéri! Vous devez rester dans le bateau, il n'est pas sûr!" shouted the tour guide but she was too late. Marisa lifted her feet and flopped forward over the rail head first, accompanied by a splash that sent most of the tourist passengers into a panic. The Captain shut off his engines immediately for fear that the overboard girl would come up under the props, and the desperate tour guide began tossing as many floating seat cushions as she could into the water. Elio, for his part, felt a little guilty about the general distress they were causing aboard the tour boat & surrounding vessels but it could not be avoided. He played the part of a panicked parent and allowed Jethro & Monty (both of whom found this all highly amusing) to hold him back from jumping overboard himself to rescue his daughter.

After forty seconds, hardly a dive in Marisa's estimation but a harrowing brush with death from the perspective of the unwitting tour boat passengers, the red-head surfaced, gasping for air and pretending (over-acting a bit) to thrash around in the cold water. A nearby barge deckhand grabbed the girl first and pulled her to safety aboard his own vessel, but she was transferred back to the tour boat in short order, back into the waiting arms of her "father."

"Six meters deep...soft mud bottom deeper than my arm could probe" Mari whispered as she was wrapped in Elio's coat but he quietly replied "Keep up the act...tell me later."

The incident behind them, Alboreto & Marisa offered their abject apologies for ruining everyone's afternoon...Elio offering to refund the cost of each passengers ticket. Every individual declined the offer, assuring him that they were only glad his daughter had been recovered safely. The vessel Captain too was relieved, especially since the gray haired gentleman expressed absolutely no desire to sue him or even report the incident to the police.

On their walk home to the hotel Marisa finally got to give her complete report; "There's some debris down there, mostly old bicycles, but they're pretty well buried in the mud."

"How can you be so sure about the depth?" asked Jethro.

She shrugged her shoulders "I can't. Even if I'd brought my dive watch with the pressure sensor I couldn't have seen it in that muck. Total zero visibility. Anyway, I know how long it takes me to sink so I just exhaled, went limp and counted until I hit bottom."

"Well done" Elio told her, "but I'm going to have to find a cleaner for my coat."

Monty added, pinching her nose for effect "You smell like the bottom of a garbage ditch, Mari."

"Aye luv" chuckled Blacker, "why do you think we put her in your room?"

_The French Connection_

It took Mari almost an hour to scrub the smell of the canal off her and by that time 3pm was nearly upon them. "Time to meet our French contact and get the final mission details" observed Jethro, poking his head into the girls' room.

His own cyborg was ready (and back working at her stack of documents) but Marisa hopped out of the bathroom with only one pigtail braided and assured him "I'll be ready in just a few minutes Mr. Blacker!" The instant he saw her Jethro jerked his head back quickly and closed the door behind him.

"At least put a towel on next time Mari" requested Monty in a flat tone, "my partner's only used to seeing me naked."

"Oh" the wet girl replied with a cringe and an embarrassed giggle, "sorry about that."

"Just get dressed, our gentlemen are waiting."

The meeting was to be at another hotel, a bit more upscale than the one the two fratelli were staying in. There was little chance of a set-up but both cyborgs were vigilant regardless...Marisa leading the way and sweeping for threats in the lobby...Monty behind the two handlers watching their exit route.

Proceeding to the hotel restaurant Jethro addressed the maitre d' in French; "Good afternoon, we are to meet Monsieur d'Arbéost."

"Of course, right this way" invited the man, ushering them to a table near the back. It was between lunch & dinner hours so there were few people in the restaurant so he showed them to the table himself instead of summoning a waiter. "Here you are" the maitre 'd said, distributing menus to each of their places, "Someone will be with you shortly."

Sitting at the table was a surprise for everyone. Their French contact looked to be over eighty years of age...hardly the DGSE agent they had been expecting. "Bonjour," he greeted, coming to his feet slowly, "you must be the Italians who have come to help. I am honoured & grateful."

Alboreto moved fast to offer his hand in return "Very pleased to meet you Monsieur d'Arbéost, we are at your service."

"Please, please, call me Bertrand," the elderly man insisted, returning to his chair, "at my age I find the formality of surnames distasteful. It is difficult enough to remember my own so please do not be offended if yours slip my mind occasionally."

Introductions were exchanged, with Elio & Marisa taking to their seats first. Hanging back a bit Jethro whispered to his cyborg "This is unbelievable...I finally get to work with Elio Alboreto and he's not even the oldest one on the mission!"

"Frankly I'm rather enjoying not being the youngest for a change" retorted his quick witted partner.

"The service here is miserably slow during off-hours" lamented Bertrand in a thick southern French accent, "so I suggest we order prior to discussing affairs lest we all perish before our mission even begins. Trust me, these Belges will provide us plenty of time for conversation while we wait for our repast." He was playing up the stereotype of the irritable Frenchman but he was doing so to the extent that it was funny and he knew it. Contrary to his warning a waiter was soon there to take orders, just as the maitre 'd had promised.

The important task of dinner selection having been accomplished Bertrand began by saying "This is quite unexpected, do you intend to have the young ladies present for our discussion?"

"They will be participating in all aspects of the mission, so yes" answered Elio, going on to explain "I understand that may seem unusual to you but they are highly trained & posses very unique abilities. These girls are eminently capable of handling anything thrown at them. It would be best if you did not ask questions, and your discreet silence after the mission would be appreciated."

Bertrand shrugged his shoulders "You have nothing to fear from me. At my age if I told people I participated in a secret mission with two pretty young girls they would tell me I was senile or that I dreamed it all. Perhaps I am dreaming...and I am really back in my bed in Bayonne."

Marisa snapped to full alertness at his mention of the city (it had been one of the questions on the Geography test she'd recently done so well on). "You're from Gascony?" she asked excitedly before turning to her handler and whispering "D'Artagnan & Treville were both Gascons!"

"You are familiar with Les Trois Mousquetaires?" asked d'Arbéost with surprise, "Did you read it in class?"

"I read it on my own; it's one of my favorites" answered the red-head proudly.

Bertrand was impressed. "Young girls who appreciate Alexandre Dumas...now I know that I am dreaming." He pressed on with the business at hand; "Doubtless my government has provided you the basic information on the prize we hope to recover, but I feel it is important that you know a little more about the recent history of the chalice...that is to say, over the last 70 years.

"Prior to 1940 the artifact was housed in the Louvre but with the German army marching on Paris it was among the treasures evacuated from the city. It was part of a trove which was transported south by truck in the hopes that it could be taken to neutral Portugal for safe-keeping. It never got that far; the convoy was attacked by German planes and the treasure...paintings, tapestries and artifacts like Martel's chalice wound up in my parents' barn. It was only my twin sister & I then. Mother had died years ago and Father had recently fallen defending the Maginot Line. We were only fifteen years old...not much older that you two jeune filles before me, but we knew the treasure could not stay there so we moved it, piece by piece to caves we knew by the nearby river."

The story was visibly effecting the old man, but he continued; "When the Nazi's did take over Gascony was in the so called Southern 'free zone', so my sister Merette & I hoped that the traitor collaborators in Vichy would not hunt for treasures to be sent to their German masters in Berlin. Our hopes were in vain. Both my sister & I were arrested by the SS and tortured daily in an attempt to make us reveal the hidden location of the trove. Worst...they made us listen to the other being tormented, but neither of us broke. After four months neither Merette nor I told them a thing.

"Sadly, our efforts were wasted. The treasure was located without our help...by traitorous French milice collaborators. Our own people handed the items over to the Nazis. Merette & I were taken to the forest to be executed but fortune finally showed her face to us...we were rescued by La Résistance and spent the rest of the war with them, fighting for liberation."

Wine arrived, interrupting Bertrand's story, but once the waiter had gone he continued; "After the war ended some of the artifacts were recovered from Berlin, many were not. Over the years I have worked with the government to track down what was lost. I have experienced some joy in success, but much disappointment to go along with it. The recovery of Charles Martel's chalice will be my last hunt, and I desperately hope to return it to the city from which it was taken."

"We're here to help" Jethro assured him, raising his wine glass in salute.

In a soft, measured voice Monique asked "What about your sister? Is she still involved in the search as well?"

"No" replied Bertrand with visible sadness "Merette was always braver than I. She gave her life on the 6th of June, 1944."

"The Allied invasion at Vierville-sur-Mer" commented Monty.

Monsieur d'Arbéost nodded. "French civilians could move freely behind German lines, and Merette was a girl of only 19...nobody suspected her of being a resistance fighter. As les Américains came ashore she managed to fire-bomb three German machine gun nests before they finally shot her down."

Jethro inquired carefully "Were you there to see it happen?"

This time Bertrand shook his head. "No, I was in Lorraine during the invasion, doing what I could to rescue downed Allied fliers and transport them back to Britain. I did not learn of my beloved sister's fate until after the war ended." He took a long sip from his wine glass and added "So perhaps you understand why I consider it so important to recover one silly silver cup. It is the conclusion of the work my sister & I began together a lifetime ago."

Marisa smiled broadly, breaking the old man's gloom and said "Heck, you had me on board the minute you told us you were from Gascony!" She raised her own half-full wine glass and clinked it against that of Mr. d'Arbéost in salute.

---

After dinner the party retired to Bertrand's room upstairs. He sat down to explain his plan. "The chalice, which has recently resurfaced for the first time in over a half-century, is part of a private auction being held at a chateau here in the city. The French government has authorized a sum of €60,000 in order to purchase the item. Hopefully that will be sufficient to win the auction and no further action will be required."

"Understood" muttered Elio, "but if it turns out differently we are your contingency plan."

"What do you know...we actually have a plan B this time" Jethro teased his partner.

"We are plan B this time" she retorted.

"The chalice is the most valuable item at tomorrow night's auction" Bertrand explained, "it will be offered last."

Jethro nudged Monty, who was sitting on the arm of his padded chair and asked "Have you been giving any thought to breaking into that tower?"

She nodded; "The windows are small, but I can slip through. I've only seen it from one side though so I'll have to do some extra recon...plus a test run if we can get away with it."

"Tomorrow morning, luv" Blacker told her with a nod "we'll get an early start before too many curious eyes are up & about."

"I'm game as long as there's coffee" replied the cyborg.

Jethro turned to Elio and asked "What about you two?"

"We'll need a boat" he answered, "but that shouldn't be too hard to rent in this town."

"You sound as if you're planning a jewel-thief movie!" exclaimed Bertrand.

Mari, who had taken a great liking to the man answered for all of them "This is normal, real-life for us. It's much more exciting than a movie!"

_Ordre de la Libération_

Jethro & Elio wore their best tailored suits to the chateau and when they checked in for the auction (the French government had payed a bribe to get their names onto the list) they were greeted courteously with champagne and a selection of hors d'oeuvres. As soon as they were alone Blacker dropped a few grains of powder into his own drink and watched it for a few seconds. "It's clean" he whispered to Elio.

"Oh..." the older man replied, looking at his own champagne flute, which was already half-empty "...that's good to know. The oysters look a bit out of season though." They looked around the room, reminiscent of an old European hunting lodge. In addition to the regular furnishings it was decorated with some of the less significant auction items. Offered were a few antique carpets and suits of armour but most of it was German World War II memorabilia...and most of their fellow bidders looked as if they were avid collectors of that sort of thing. The majority spoke German and a few even wore Third Reich pins on their lapels. "Lot of Nazi's in here" muttered Alboreto.

"Well, it just wouldn't be Christmas without Nazi's" Jethro replied aloofly but then he got a bit more serious. "Seeing this makes me wish we'd insisted that Bertrand arrive with us. I hope these people don't hear his French accent and hassle him for it. I expect he's cagey enough to keep a low profile though."

Elio turned and saw their colleague at the front door; "Speak of the devil, he's just arriving right now and...oh bloody hell."

With no intention of keeping a low profile Bertrand d'Arbéost strode in wearing a defiant visage and a chest full of war medals. Foremost among these was a sword adorned with the Cross of Lorraine, hanging from a green ribbon. "Christ" muttered Jethro, finishing his champagne in one swallow, "is that what I think it is?"

"The Ordre de la Libération..." confirmed Elio, "...only about a thousand of those were ever conferred."

"That old codger just made our jobs a whole lot more difficult but I can't hold it against him" Jethro sighed. "An 82 year old man marching into a room full of Nazi's wearing the highest award of the French Resistance...that's damn near the most brilliant thing I've seen this year!"

"Well we can't leave him alone in this crowd" whispered Alboreto, "come on." The two men joined their older companion, standing on either side of him. They were still treated with cold courtesy but nobody was walking up and offering them champagne anymore.

A tuxedoed man stepped to the center of the room and announced in German "Mein Herren, the viewing will continue for 15 more minutes and then we will begin the auction. Our signature item can be inspected upstairs in the tower."

Elio leaned over and began to translate for Bertrand but the Frenchman snapped "Young man, I can understand German perfectly well, thank you! I spent four months learning it from the SS, remember?" Elio was a bit taken aback...it had been a long time since anyone had called him young. Lowering his voice d'Arbéost continued "I can not make it up those stairs, but the two of you should go have a look."

"I won't leave you down here alone" answered Alboreto, "but Jethro, you need to go have a glance." The youngest of the three nodded and left them to get his first glimpse of their prize.

Bertrand sighed. "I would very much like to see it with my own eyes as I did seven decades ago."

"You'll hold it in your hands before this night is over" Elio assured him.

A narrow circular staircase made of solid stone led up to the top room of the tower, where Jethro found 3 security guards and two patrons. In a glass case at the center of the room sat a gleaming silver cup, adorned with intricate etching & precious stones. It was impressively lit from above & below...Jethro overheard the two blonde-haired patrons remarking that the lighted pedestal was to be included for the winning bidder.

As interesting as the artifact was Blacker was not there to gawk. He inspected the only window, which overlooked the canal in which Marisa had taken her swim the day before. Summoning a guard over he snapped in officious German "Is this window properly secured?"

One man strode over and demonstrated the locking procedure for Jethro's satisfaction. After giving the lock a shake Blacker nodded in approval and moved on with his inspection of the room.

_Plan A_

By 10pm the auction had been going on for two hours. So far the most expensive item had been an autographed copy of Mein Kampf but the energy in the room seemed to be building as the program edged closer to the signature item. Bertrand was obviously very nervous...he tapped his cane on the floor incessantly until Elio leaned over to whisper that he was attracting too much attention.

At last the final lot of bayonets, helmets & uniform buttons was sold and the time had arrived. "Our final lot tonight, as I am sure you gentlemen are aware is a silver chalice dated from the 8th century. It is believed to have been the very chalice from which Karl Martel...grand-sire of Karl der Große...took Holy Communion from before driving a Muslim army from Christian soil at the Battle of Tours. This item is being offered by an anonymous seller whose family has owned it for several generations."

Bertrand growled something under his breath when the auctioneer used the Germanic versions of the two Frankish rulers, but it would have taken cyborg ears to hear him. Already proxy bidders where communicating with their employers by telephone, the assemblage could bear waiting no longer.

"The bidding will begin at €25,000." Instantly there were takers and the price was soon hovering around forty thousand. Bertrand kept silent until things calmed down and when the bidding leveled out at €42,750 he raised his hand and announced in French "Quarante-trois."

The entry of the Frenchman into their private affair inflamed the self-styled Nazi's, and bidding soon shoved the price over fifty thousand euros.

"Zwei und fünfzig fünf!"

"Cinquante-trois" replied Bertrand, getting a bit nervous.

A telephone bidder responded with fifty-five thousand euros, quickly trumped by a new bidder in the room who raised it to fifty-seven. Monsieur d'Arbéost went all-in, announcing "€60,000." The room was silent for a few moments but not for long. The new bidder immediately offered sixty-two thousand and Bertrand sunk back into his chair, defeated. Before Jethro or Elio could console & assure him that the fight was not over his eyes flashed with hot anger and Bertrand shouted out "€73,694!"

Again there was silence, but the new bidder simply laughed and answered "Very well, fünfundsiebzig tausend."

Slumping into his seat, Bertrand d'Arbéost looked close to weeping. "I offered it all, plus my personal savings" he sighed.

"It's okay" Blacker whispered, "we were ready for this. You have to go now...it's time for us to do our job." The elderly gentleman nodded and allowed Elio to help him to his feet. With Jethro & Elio on either side of him Bertrand made his exit, trying to dismiss the gloating expressions of his enemies. He felt utterly gutted by his failure and when he stumbled once it was impossible to ignore the sound of cruel laughter. Upon reaching the door Jethro said to Alboreto "Alright, see you outside."

"Best of luck" the older Agent replied before Blacker slipped out of sight. Elio led Bertrand outside but they had been followed and were quickly set upon by a trio of young skinheads. These were not the kind of men who had been inside at the action, they had obviously been dispatched by the auction staff to deal with the interlopers.

The biggest of them grinned broadly, displaying a dark gap where one of his incisors had been. "Oi, old men!" he laughed in Dutch, pointing a club at Alboreto & d'Arbéost, "Are these seriously the two Reinhold wants us to get rid of?"

"Who the fuck cares Pieter?" growled the man to his right, "Bash their skulls in and ask questions later." He swung his club first but was surprised when Elio blocked it easily, twisted his arm and stripped the weapon away. Before he could yell in protest the gray bearded man swung around and bashed his partner, dropping the big man named Pieter to the ground, screaming as blood issued from a wound on his head.

The newly weaponless man then made a mistake, he scrambled to recover his fallen comrade's club and in doing so exposed himself to Elio's shoe, which made hard enough contact with his jaw to break it in two places.

One man was left, and Alboreto had his back to him. There was no time to react, so the Agent resigned himself to the fact that he was going to take a thump. Elio wheeled around & turned his shoulder to absorb the blow which never came. Bertrand stepped in and smashed his cane over the young man's head, sending him to his knees. The blow did not knock him out but with his two friends out of the fight he reconsidered his options and fled.

Genuinely surprised by the old man's vigor, Elio laughed out loud "Très impressive, Bertrand! Shame about your cane though."

The elder man took a look at the broken shaft and shrugged his shoulders. Tossing it away he replied with a wide grin "Actually, I do not think I need it tonight. I am suddenly feeling very young again!"

Together the pair made their way to a stone staircase that led down to the canal. There they did not have to wait long before a boat arrived to pick them up. "How did everything go?" asked its freckled pilot.

"It's up to Monty & Blacker now" reported her handler, "hold her steady, Mari, while Monsieur d'Arbéost boards."

_Plan B_

For a scoundrel/spy like Jethro Blacker it was barely a challenge to reach the tower staircase unnoticed, now that the bidding was over €84,000. Keeping his calm but giving his .32 caliber SIG a reassuring pat he climbed the stairs to where he knew a pair of guards now waited. The heavy wooden door of the treasure keep was now shut...barred from the inside.

"Meine Herren," he said cheerfully in German, "am I too late to have another look at the item?"

"The viewing is over" growled one of the guards, "if the auction winner chooses to allow further viewing he may do so at his discretion but until that time this room is closed."

"Lads, come on," he teased, "what harm can a final peek do? I'm already priced out of the bidding, this might be my last chance."

The reaction was predictable; "Get lost!" Just as the guards were about to push Jethro back there was a popping sound from the treasure room. They both forgot about the annoying sightseer beneath them in the staircase and turned toward the door in time to hear a mighty crash from inside.

One of them grabbed a radio and was about to report an incident when Jethro launched an underhand palm strike into his jaw. Blacker was not a specialist in hand-to-hand combat but he was not completely bereft of training. In this confined space, with the element of surprise his skills were enough to incapacitate both men before the heavy door swung open.

"Situation well in hand I assume, Skipper?" asked Monty, dressed all in cat-burglar black.

"Just relieving the guards" he replied, stepping over their limp forms. Inside Monty had knocked out the one guard she had encountered after activating the tiny charge her handler had placed on the lock during his 'inspection' earlier on. "Any problems, luv?"

"The remote detonator worked splendidly" she told him, brandishing her iPhone, "they really do have an app for everything."

He nodded and with a deep breath said "Right. They're distracted downstairs but that won't last long. You've got the kit?" She reached into her black bag of tricks and withdrew a set of glass cutting implements. The fratello also had a dummy weight which they planned to put in place of the chalice...its mass precisely based on the measurements taken by the Louvre over seven decades ago. "No sense wasting time" Jethro told her, "let's get to it."

With a nod Monty drew out her cutter and carefully touched it to the glass. It shattered at that very instant. Before Jethro realized what was going on Monty tossed him to the ground and covered him. One of the guards had regained a degree of consciousness and was firing wildly into the chamber. "Bollocks! Get the cup before that idiot hits it!" ordered Blacker as bullets pinged off the walls. Using the pedestal as her only cover Monty grabbed the artifact and tucked it into a protective tube inside her pack.

They already heard footsteps racing up the staircase so Jethro & Monty knew they didn't have time for a fancy exit. "Pity to leave the party early but we must be going!" he decided.

Monty agreed "All over it!" She tossed a long section of climber's line out the window and secured it to a heavy bureau. Even if it did not hold both of their weights without sliding it would never fit out the window. "You go first, Skipper!" Taking advantage of a lull in the gunfire Jethro leapt out the open window and climbed a few feet down. He drew his SIG and yelled "Now you, I'll cover!"

The rest of the auction security staff arrived and opened fire with Monique in the window. None of them hit her but one scored an impossible hit on the rope from which Jethro hung. It snapped and fell uselessly into the canal below. With speed only a cyborg was capable of Monty grabbed his wrist just before her handler fell, pulling him back up to the window where he fired a burst of shots from his pistol, pushing the hostiles back and earning them a few seconds to think.

"What the hell is going on up there?" shouted Elio from the boat below.

"Elevator just went out of service!" answered Jethro.

Alboreto shook his head at Blacker's aloof flippancy at a time like this and growled a stream of obscenities under his breath (which Marisa carefully filed away for later use) before yelling "Let go! The water is deep and it's a soft bottom!"

Monty only gripped him tighter. "No!" she objected, "That water is freezing, and if you get injured by the fall you'll drown."

"Monty, you have to let me go, I'll be alright" he assured her in the calmest voice he could muster under the circumstances. "We don't have time to think about this...now let me go."

"I'm going with you," she said "I'll follow you down."

"No, the chalice might be damaged by the impact" Blacker argued. "Stick to the plan; you go up on the roof and run...only you can get away cleanly. Monty...love...let me go."

The cyborg was in very bad mental shape. Despite their well laid plans she was faced with three unreasonable options. Stay where she was and get shot...pull Jethro back and with limited ammunition risk a fire fight where they would be out gunned...or drop her handler 5 stories into dark freezing water just so she could escape herself. Chaos was rapidly overtaking her normally ordered mind.

A new voice broke through that chaos. "Monty, drop him...I'll make sure he's okay!" yelled Marisa. "I'll have him back in the boat before he even has a chance to get wet!"

"She can do it Monty..." said Jethro, "...I trust her. Please let me go."

Faced with an impossible decision Monique made her choice "Damn it Marisa, don't you let him get hurt!"

"I swear to you, I will protect him like he's my own" she promised.

With bullets beginning to fly again she was out of time. Monty looked at Jethro, angry tears pooling in her eyes and told him "Give me a direct order...it'll be easier."

"Monty" he answered softly "I trust you to do the right thing." With that he felt her iron grip disappear, replaced by cool air rushing over his wrist and indeed his entire body. As Jethro Blacker fell he watched his cyborg shrinking in the distance, hopping out the window and leaping to the conical roof of the tower. He reflected on the odd confluence of circumstances that led him to this point in life...falling from a medieval tower, counting on an eleven year old girl with a mechanical body to fish him out of freezing water...all just a few days before Christmas. At the last possible instant his instincts took over and he spun his body to take the impact feet first.

The intense pain of the ice cold canal struck Jethro first, before he even realized he was underwater. Six meters went quickly, he hit the bottom with his feet, twisting his ankle painfully on a piece of debris he assumed to be a bicycle. It was pitch black; he could not have seen his own hand if it were lain across his eyes. Survival instinct impelled him to swim up toward the air but before he even lifted his arms Jethro felt tiny but powerful hands grasp his jacket. His ankle was still snagged on debris but the hem of his slacks was no match for the force that pulled him upwards, and the fabric ripped.

In an instant Blacker found himself coughing on the surface, with the hands of Elio & Bertrand dragging him into the boat. "That was bloody brilliant Mr. Blacker!" laughed a jubilant Marisa, still bobbing in the frigid water with teeth chattering "free falling from a 15 meter tower...even a cyborg couldn't have done better!"

"Cheers Mari" he gasped, "but if it's all the same I think I'll leave such adventures to you girls whenever possible."

---

Monique did not watch her partner fall. With bullets already crashing into the window frame around her she had to spin around and make a leap for the lip of the tower roof. Once she had her grip one mighty swing was all it took to flip herself onto the roof where she could finally afford a few seconds to see what had happened to Jethro. He was already on the surface, being pulled into the boat by the two older men. She breathed a sigh of relief. Now that Monty was sure Jethro had been recovered there was only one thing to focus on, the mission, the chalice.

Using a rope she'd utilized to reach the tower window in the first place she rappelled down to the Chateau roof and began running. Already she could hear angry voices and the sound of heavy boots on pavement stones. Police sirens were drawing near as well. Gunshots have been fired, she considered, and I am carrying a stolen artifact worth tens of thousands. It's only reasonable to expect the rozzers to get involved. As she had no desire to meet either the police or the auction staff security Monty chose one of three pre-scouted routes and ran for it.

The cyborg girl built up speed on the chateau roof, enough to make a flying leap into an oak tree and catch one of the branches to scrub off momentum. She hit the pavement running, and was 25 meters away by the time the security staff noticed her. Bullets smacked the stones all around her and it was not until she leapt over a conveniently placed garbage dumpster that she had any cover.

Now the police were a concern, three Volkswagen Touareg's skidding to a halt less than twenty meters away. Monty knew she would not be safe until she reached the roof tops so she made another full speed sprint for a narrow alley she could use to propel herself upward.

Using the roof of a Citroën as a trampoline she made the leap to a store front awning and spun around a drainpipe. It was critical to maintain momentum, as soon as Monty's feet hit a stone windowsill her body compressed like a spring and she pushed off to hit the next. Handholds were great for maintaining balance but it was her powerful legs that did the real work, propelling the cyborg back & forth from one side of the alley to the other, ever upward until she reached the roof and risked a glance back at her pursuers. Fortune had smiled upon her...the police were more interested in the skinheads & suited security agents firing guns in a public square than one girl running away with a backpack. This was in itself no reason to slow her escape, but at last the worst of the pressure was off.

Although Monty did not see anyone on her tail she did not take any chances. Instead of going straight back to the hotel on the Koning Straat she set out on a seemingly random run through the city of Bruges, one carefully planned out to confuse anyone attempting to follow.

Forty-five minutes later Marisa heard a rap on her window. Dressed in a bath-robe , with a towel wrapped around her head the young cyborg hopped up and unlocked it to admit her older sister. "Ya go it?" she asked. Monty grinned and lifted her bag up. "Cool, the grown-ups are in the other room. By the way, here..." she handed Monty a rolled up sheet of paper, "...I finished your portrait of Mr. Blacker."

With everyone gathered in the handler's room Monty drew the protective box from her bag and presented it to Bertrand. With trembling hands he opened it to reveal an object he had not laid eyes on since he was fifteen years old. "Mon dieu..." he said so quietly that only the cyborgs could hear. "I can not thank you enough...all France thanks you."

"Time to celebrate I dare say" proposed Elio, drawing out a large bottle of Bordeaux that he had picked up on the way home from the mission.

Bertrand placed the cup upon the table and asked "Monsieur Alboreto, will you do the honours?"

"Are you sure?" he asked. The old man's request had taken everyone by surprise. "It's a priceless relic...almost 1,300 years old!"

"It is a vessel for drinking wine out of!" contended d'Arbéost, "Soon it will return to the Louvre, where it will be displayed for hundreds of years I hope...but not a drop of wine will it hold. Monsieur, for the sake of my thirst and for the chalice itself please...pour the wine!"

"Very well," laughed Alboreto, "I only wish I'd chosen a more appropriate vintage for such an event." He uncorked the Bordeaux and proceeded to fill Charles Martel's silver cup with the mediocre wine, which he had paid less than €20 for barely an hour ago.

"Mademoiselle, as rescuer of the chalice will you honour us by taking the first sip?" Bertrand asked Monty. She blushed slightly but did not stand on ceremony.

"I'd be delighted" replied the girl, taking her first drink after her hard run and possibly the first drink from the cup in a thousand years before passing it left to Marisa. Everyone took their draught until the chalice was once again in Bertrand's hands, where it remained for the rest of the night.

---

Their mission complete, the Blacker fratello attempted to make a discreet exit the next morning before their respective room mates awoke. They were given away by Jethro's injured ankle however, as he stumbled in the hallway, knocking over a table and vase full of artificial flowers.

Mari's head popped out of the room. "Where are you two off to so early?"

"Duty calls" replied Monty, propping her handler up, "we've still got a job in Morocco to see through."

"More likely they're trying to slip out unnoticed before we see the present they've left us" chuckled Elio as he stepped out of his own room. "Seven mission's worth of paperwork to carry back to HQ and turn in."

"Hope you don't mind" Monty replied with a sneaky grin that let all know that was exactly what she'd been doing.

Alboreto strode forward and offered his hand "Not at all...it's been a pleasure working with you, but it's back to SWA Headquarters for the two of us."

"And back to the open road for us..." answered Jethro, shaking his hand.

Nodding, Elio confessed "I have to admit to a fair bit of envy...it's a romantic lifestyle you've got there."

With a shrug Blacker replied "Well, we play up the best bits I suppose. In between all the high stakes baccarat games, 5-star hotel in exotic locales and exciting international espionage there's a whole lot of tedious driving, bad food and the ever-present fragrance of used cyborg socks wafting from the back seat."

"Quiet, before you dig a hole too deep to get yourself out of" Monique retorted in a menacing growl, "he drools when he sleeps...you should know that."

Giggling at the exchange Marisa stepped forward. "So long Mr. Blacker...Monty. Is there anything you'd like me to tell Triela when I get back?"

Thinking for a moment Monique nodded and replied "Yes, actually. Tell her The vigilant fox rests under the willow on midsummer's eve."

"Wow...is that secret code or something?" Mari asked "What does it mean?"

"Absolutely nothing" the older girl confessed, "but Triela will go batty trying to figure it out."

Once final pleasantries had been exchanged Jethro & Monty exited to go retrieve the Audi. "Here, I'll take the bags...use my shoulder as a crutch" Monty told her handler upon noticing he was having a great deal of trouble putting any weight on his ankle.

"Thanks, this is going to be more bothersome than I'd imagined" muttered Jethro.

His partner asked with genuine concern "Is it broken?"

"No, just a sprain, but I'll be on the disabled list for a week or so."

She asked with trepidation "How does that effect our Morocco job?"

"Monique luv, I intend to drop headquarters a bell and tell them we'll be back-burnering that for a while...our contact has missed three meetings without the world coming to an end I think we're entitled to stand him up for once." They reached the garage and paid a valet to fetch his automobile but once inside he continued "What do you say we head up to the chalet for a week or two? There's not much we can get accomplished before the New Year...and I need a bit of rest & medication for this ankle. I'd say that 24 year old bottle of brandy we have stashed up there is just what the doctor ordered."

"Hmm, even then, don't you think we ought to see if Lorenzo has anything lined up for us?" opined the girl.

Gingerly depressing the throttle with his injured ankle and looking forward to the moment he could switch to cruise control Jethro answered "It's the holidays, Monty...even the Padania takes a few days off this time of year."

"Then how about our Europol contacts? We could..."

"Monty," he said firmly, "we are taking some time off...just accept it."

She leaned back in her seat and let out a slow sigh. He was right...there was nothing they could make progress on until at least January. All the paperwork had been finished and sent in early with Alboreto. Monty finally accepted the inevitable. A relaxing week with her partner at a hidden alpine chalet (confiscated from a super-villain on one of their more rewarding missions and now utterly forgotten in a bureaucratic miasma by everyone but themselves) didn't really seem all that bad. "I give in," she finally sighed, "I guess it's okay to have a week like this once a year."

_A Silver Haired Girl_

Once their mission partners were gone Marisa & Elio did not waste much time vacating the hotel themselves. It was left to them to escort Monsieur d'Arbéost & the chalice back to French soil. After recovering Elio's BMW from the lot outside of town they swung by Bertrand's hotel, where they enjoyed a large breakfast with the older man before setting out on the road.

A few hours later, at a motorway service plaza outside Reims they made their rendezvous with a pair of DGSE agents waiting in a Citroën C6. The driver...a sunglassed man in his thirties stayed back and said nothing but the other Agent, a slightly older woman (perhaps as old as Elio but certainly nowhere near Bertrand's age) in a smart looking business suit greeted them warmly. "Bonjour, Monsieur d'Arbéost, I hope you were successful at your mission."

"Most successful" the elderly man pronounced with a broad smile. He summoned her to the BMW's back seat and unzipped the protective case for her inspection.

The sight drew a delighted gasp from her. "It's magnificent. You've done a great service for your nation, sir."

"The thanks should go to our Italian friends" he told her, "the mission would certainly have failed without them."

She extended her hand to Elio "Thank you Signor Alboreto, this is not the first time we've received assistance from your Agency, please extend my heartfelt gratitude to Director Lorenzo as well." She turned to Marisa and added "I'm sure you had a large part to play in this success as well, thank you. When you get home please tell Kara that Amande says hello."

"I will Ma'am." answered Mari with a smile, shaking the woman's hand. As the adults spoke something caught her eye...or rather, someone. Sitting in the back seat of the Citroën was a girl with silvery-pale hair. Their eyes met for just an instant but there was something about them...something empty yet very familiar, as if Marisa was looking into the eyes of someone she knew.

There was no time to investigate further though. Marisa & Elio got their last glimpse of the silver chalice before Amande zipped up the case and handed it to her driver. If they were ever to lay eyes on it again it would be behind security glass in the Louvre. "Careful with this Christophe" she gently cautioned, getting only a nod from him in reply. Amande turned to Bertrand and said "Well, there is a hero's welcome waiting for you back in Paris...and that won't wait. Are you ready to go Monsieur d'Arbéost?"

"In a moment, yes" he stalled. One last time the old man turned to his Italian benefactors and said sincerely "If given seven decades I could not ever thank you enough for your help. It should be you and your absent companions Monique & Monsieur Blacker traveling to Paris to be fêted for this triumph."

"Alas, that is impossible" Alboreto reminded him, shaking his hand but placing a finger to his lips in a friendly admonishment to remain silent about the affair.

Bertrand continued; "I hope that you will accept this as a token of my gratitude." From his pocket he pulled a medal on a green ribbon and handed it to Marisa.

Eyes wide with surprise Elio protested "Bertrand, that's your Ordre de la Libération...you can't..." but the older man interrupted him.

"No, I still have mine. This is the medal posthumously awarded to my sister Merette" he informed the fratello. "After I am gone there will be no one who remembers her story."

Elio was still skeptical about such a significant gift "Do you have no heirs to pass it down to, no children or grandchildren?"

Cleaning his throat a little, Bertrand reminded him "I was a 'guest' off the SS for four months you will recall...they made it quite impossible for me to father children. No...my family ends with me." He placed the medal in Mari's hand and closed her fingers around it. "You and Mademoiselle Monique are capable of great things...and I can surmise that back in Rome there are more young ladies like yourself; brave & strong like my sister. Perhaps her medal might merit just a small corner of the trophy case at your school, where girls like you can see it every day, and perhaps know of my sister's courage so many years ago."

Marisa nodded gravely, understanding the gravity of what he asked. "I will see that it becomes an heirloom of our Agency sir...and every girl will know Merette's story."

"You will do me a great honour by doing so" d'Arbéost thanked her, bending down to kiss her once on each cheek.

As the Citroën pulled away Marisa caught one last glimpse of the mysterious silver haired girl in the back seat, but their eyes did not meet again. Mari was left to wonder who she was and if she would ever see her again.

"Seems we have some free time" announced Elio, once they were alone "what do you feel like doing? We could go down to Paris, Nice or perhaps somewhere else if you'd like."

Marisa considered the medal still cupped in her hand. "I'd love to do that, but...this is very important, isn't it?"

Elio nodded gravely "Aye, it is lass."

"Then I think we should get it straight back to headquarters."

Proud of her, Alboreto put his hand on his young charges shoulder. "Then it's straight back to Rome. That suits me. I know you're still dead-set against celebrating the holiday & you'll probably be angry with me for doing it, but I couldn't resist getting a few Christmas gifts for you. They're waiting back at headquarters."

Instead of being angry, Marisa blushed. "I...kinda did the same thing for you...they're back at headquarters" she confessed.

_Natale_

The fratello did not make it back to Rome until the evening of December 25th. After checking in with the duty officer (Alphonso was on call) and stopping by the dining hall to see who was around Mari dashed off to her room, arriving at Elio's room in the handlers' office building minutes later carrying a cardboard box. After one last affirmation by Mari that this in no way signified a softening in her attitude toward religion (especially nuns) the fratello opened a bottle of wine, cut into a panettone they had picked up on the way home and exchanged gifts.

For Marisa there were a few packages of her favorite hard candies & nuts, a new outfit (picked out with help from Priscilla) and a pair of athletic shoes which Elio had previously declared too expensive. The centerpiece was a custom made stainless-steel wristwatch, specially modified by the Agency's Special Weapons Lab to contain a hidden spool of piano wire. In addition one of the buttons activated a laser pointer, which really served no purpose beyond playing with the resident cats that hung around the compound.

Lacking the mobility & financial resources of her Master, Marisa's gifts to Elio were by necessity more creative. She presented him with a book of hand-drawn coupons for five car washes (redeemable once the weather got a bit warmer) and a hand-made picture frame she had assembled in the Agency's fabrication shop. Mari pointed out that it was specifically measured to fit one of Elio's favorite pictures; one of his Mother (looking barely older than Triela in the photo) shaking hands with a thin, bald Indian man with round eyeglasses and a bushy moustache. There was also a fine silk necktie...a bit garish for Elio's tastes but over the coming years it would prove to be one of his favorites. Alboreto had no idea when his cyborg had gotten the opportunity to go shopping for it without his knowledge but he suspected that Michele Pagani was somehow involved.

"There's one more thing," ventured Marisa timidly, "it isn't much, just something I've been working on." She gave him a carefully rolled sheet of her gray artist's paper, bound by a single red ribbon. Elio untied the ribbon and looked upon her drawing.

Since her mission to the Catholic school in Rufina Mari had drawn a portrait of just about everyone willing to sit still long enough (and even a few who were less than willing) but she had never produced a sketch of her handler. He did not think much of it at the time, she'd never drawn a self-portrait either, but at this moment her reasons were perfectly clear; she'd been waiting for the right moment. This was Marisa's masterpiece and it took Elio's breath away. Every crease, every hair, every nuance of his face was perfect...he could not have looked upon a more accurate representation of himself even in a mirror. The portrait was inspiring and heartbreaking at the same time; this was a labour of love from one who was bound to love by conditioning and her very cyborg nature. Does that make her love any less valid? he considered, but the answer was clear in her eyes as she anxiously awaited his opinion of the gift. That love was the most important thing in her life, and hard candies, tennis shoes & a wristwatch hardly seemed ample reward for such devotion.

Looking up from the paper Elio told her "This is absolutely wonderful, my love. If I live to be a hundred years old I promise you I will always cherish this."

"I'll be long gone by then" replied Marisa, her eyes pooling up with happy tears, "but maybe all those years from now you'll remember the one who drew it whenever you look at it."

Still carefully holding her gift he put his right arm around her and held her close. "I could never forget the one who drew this...but whenever I look at it I will remember the time, patience & hard work that went into it, and it will remind me to always be worthy of that love. This will remind me to be a better man, Marisa, thank you very much."

"Buon Natale, Elio" she whispered, nestling her head against his big shoulder.

A light snow was falling, spoiling the night for stargazing, but that did not stop a small group of cyborgs, handlers & staff from gathering on the rooftop to wish each other happy holidays and enjoy a bit of company on the cold night. Marisa & Elio joined them. Between impromptu snowball fights, singing of songs and the passing of a warming bottle of brandy Mari cast her eyes to the North...to France where Bertrand was, and to whatever place Monty & Jethro might be at this moment, hoping all of her friends had found their fair share of happiness tonight, just as she had.

END