A/N:Thanks for all the kind reviews of chapter 1. I mentioned there would be adventure in this story. Here we have it. (I hope) The cutlery question will be answered. Apparently the definition of cutlery varies. By the term I do mean knives, forks, etc. Used because it fits my titling better.
This is the longest chapter of all and sadly one with no Chuck. (Although there is a sneaky reference to him. In a way. Hint:Think Spanish name translated to English equivalent.)
All that I said in the authors notes for Chapter 1 apply here. Won't bore you by repeating them here.
Don't own Chuck. Just enjoying the writing about him and his world.
—
Chapter 2:The Colonel, the Coup and the Cutlery.
Asunción, Paraguay
Sarah Walker really, really dislikes having to be a brunette. She's not certain why she has such a strong antipathy towards that coloring, yet she does. Sure, some of the people who'd cruelly teased her in school and training had that shade of hair, but she doesn't think that is reason enough to bring on such a strong reaction. She suspects it's just temporary, that her aversion will eventually pass.
After all, she can't really come up with any legitimate reason to dislike brunettes, and doesn't think it likely she ever will.
For the meantime, however, she has to live with it. In a shorter mission, she would have simply worn a wig. Longer term missions like this one required a dye job and constant maintenance.
This all because her superiors felt that her being blonde would stand out too much in a country of primarily darker haired people. Sarah was reluctant, but had to agree that they didn't want to draw unwelcome attention.
However, that doesn't mean she has to like waking up every morning, wondering for a second who is looking back at her in the mirror.
She's here because the current Paraguayan government has the support of the U.S., despite the fact that it's far from perfect. Considering the country had thirty-one presidents in the first half of the twentieth century, the current regime is at least comparatively stable and less autocratic than most. So when intelligence uncovered information on a possible coup d'état, it was decided to intervene in an effort to maintain the status quo.
Sarah, with her perfect Spanish and chameleon like abilities was chosen to go undercover. Hopefully, she would be able to infiltrate the rebel's organization and obtain the intel needed to defuse the situation.
Since she speaks no Guaraní, (a native language which 95% of Paraguayans use to some degree) it was decided that Sarah's backstory would portray her as a Colombian who'd recently married a Paraguayan man. In her carefully constructed history, her "husband" had been rounded up after a anti-government rally and then disappeared. This had all taken place a month ago, just after he'd moved them back to Asunción.
Since that time, Sarah, or Sara Belissa Franco, as she was now known, had made herself a thorn in the governments side. She continued to be a vocal critic of all the secrecy, demanding information on her husband and the others who had also vanished. She'd even been arrested a couple of times for her activities. The government, feeling the increasing pressure of international criticism over human rights, had released her each time and allowed her to continue in her protests.
All of this was part of the effort to gain the notice of the suspected leader of the plotters.
The intel had indicated this was most likely to be either a General Duarte or Colonel Costa. Both were known to be ladies men, so it was hoped that her politics along with her beauty would attract the attention of the guilty man.
And it did.
...
As Sarah is returning to her apartment, groceries in hand, a uniformed chauffeur approaches her and politely invites her into the large car parked at the curb. Her body language conveys a defiant but slightly nervous apprehension as she approaches the rear door. The chauffeur takes her bags, placing them on the ground, then opens the door for her.
This may be the break we're waiting for.
Once seated, she immediately recognizes the man beside her, of course never giving him any indication of such.
Colonel Emilio Costa. 43 years old. Five foot ten (too short for her, assuming she had had any actual interest). 185 pounds (a little on the heavy side). Single, with a continuous succession of women in his life.
He oozes confidence, in his looks, his power. Dressed in civilian clothes, he is moderately swarthy with a dark hair and moustache. Good teeth, which he is showing in what she thinks he thinks is a charming, reassuring smile.
The smile of a predator.
"Señora Franco, my name is Emilio Costa. I am delighted to make your acquaintance."
He holds out his hand and she takes it, somewhat nervously, conveying to him her trepidation.
With a slight tremor in her voice, she asks, "Señor Costa, what is this all about? What do you want with me?"
"Sara. May I call you that? It's such a pretty name."
He's a fast worker.
She nods, hesitantly.
"Sara, you have nothing to fear. Your plight has come to my attention. It touches my soul to see you in so much distress. I am here to offer my assistance."
"How can you possibly help me?"
"Sara, I am a Colonel in the Presidential Escort Regiment and am close-"
Before he can finish the sentence, she yanks her hand from his, and practically spits out the words, "You're the problem, not the solution! It's men like you that made Carlos disappear!"
She starts to reach for the door handle.
He quickly grabs her hand, "No, Sara, It is the President's secret police who are to blame. I have made it my life's work, protecting the rights of Paraguayan citizens."
Yeah, right. How about telling that to the survivors of that village you had destroyed for suspected anti government activity?
She lets his statement mollify her apparent anger a little and curtly nods for him to go on.
"As I was saying, I am close to the President and have constantly encouraged him to deal with these outrageous violations of human rights in our wonderful country."
He looks very saddened and discouraged, "But, alas, his other advisers have more sway over him and so he continues in this foolish course. It makes me ill to see these terrible things happening."
How stupid does he think I am?
In a somewhat conciliatory tone, she says, "Perhaps I have misjudged you."
"Do not blame yourself. It is natural to assume that someone in my position may have been involved in these terrible acts."
"I feel that the Paraguayan people will shortly stand up and say, 'Enough'! When that day comes, I promise that whatever modest authority I have then will be used to ascertain the true fate of your husband."
Yes, I'm sure that when you're dictator you'll be able to do whatever you want.
She asks in a voice filled with doubt, "Why would you do this for me?"
"I know you are not a native of our country and only newly arrived. It does not seem you have many friends." He pauses, "Or anyone to protect you."
He smiles, "So I am volunteering my services."
Does this fake chivalry actually fool anyone?
She sounds skeptical, angry as she asks, "How do you know all these things about me?"
"My duties include the assessment of those who may be a threat to our President. Your recent activities, justified as they may be, have brought you to my attention. I found it necessary to read your file. You will be happy to know that I have informed my superiors that you are not to be considered as being of any real danger to the government."
Giving him an expression of relief, she says, "Thank you for that. However, you should know I will not stop until I find out more about Carlos and the others."
"I would not expect that a woman like you would stop. I applaud your courage."
"I only have the courage because I care for my husband and others who have lost someone close to them. I am normally not this bold." Sarah's instincts tell her that Costa isn't attracted to an overly strong type of woman, so she knows she needs to add this amendment to her character.
"Sara, that makes your bravery even more remarkable." He pauses to give her a meaningful look, "It is only your beauty which is more remarkable still."
Sarah rarely ever really blushes anymore, but her training has enabled her to give a convincing impression of doing so on demand.
Her head down, she quietly says, "Señor Costa, I am a married woman and I love my husband."
"Of course, Sara. I am not suggesting anything improper. Your beauty is such that all the world can it appreciate, however, it is only to be possessed by him that is closest to your heart. I offer only my friendship. Your unhappiness pains me, so if my company will allow you to regain even a little joy, I will be content with that."
Sure you will. And where does he come up with this stuff?
"Thank you, Señor. It appears I may have once again misjudged you. I can only attribute it to the anxiety over my husband."
"Do not concern yourself. I can only imagine how distressed you must be over the even temporary loss of one you love so much. Fate has never given me a woman for whom I can feel such strong devotion," he pauses, his eyes downcast, "although I do have hope that in the near future she may appear."
I'd bet he thinks he's being subtle.
"Thank you again for your concern."
"You are most welcome. Sara, your situation has inspired me to take immediate action. I will look into your husbands case, quietly, so as not to alert the secret police. I will contact you as soon as I have any information."
"Thank you so very much. How can I repay you? Your kindness is more than I deserve."
"Nonsense. This is much less than you deserve. I have only one request."
"Anything within my power."
"Could you possibly find it within your heart to address me as Emilio?"
Sarah pretends to blush once again, "Alright...Emilio."
...
Two days later, the car is waiting as Sarah returns from her morning run. Once again she's politely ushered into the back seat.
Her running outfit is much more conservative than she would normally wear. Even so, she can sense the lasciviousness in Costa's gaze as his eyes sweep over her. However, by the time his look reaches her face, he displays nothing except an expression of sorrowful concern.
"Sara, I am just going to say this quickly as I am a plain spoken man of few words."
He actually believes that?
"What is it?" She lets a note of worry creep into her voice.
He hesitates for a moment, "Sara, your husband is dead."
He's obviously read the file we planted at the secret police headquarters.
"What!? No, it cannot be true!" Whenever Sarah needs to cry on demand she thinks of the day her father was arrested. Imperfect a dad as he had been, he was nonetheless the only family she really had, the only person with whom she could ever let down her guard.
It's been so long since I've been able to do that.
As the tears come, she asks in a quiet voice, "How did it happen?"
He appears to hesitate once again.
"Please tell me."
Emilio reaches over to take her hand, "It appears he died under torture. I was shocked and saddened to find out there are those of my fellow countrymen who would do such things."
"Why would they do that? Carlos was a kind man, he never hurt anyone. He was always loving, gentle, concerned about the needs of others, even ahead of his own."
What I wouldn't give to really have someone like that.
"I do not know. But you have my promise that when I find out who these...these bastardos are that did these things, I will have them brought to justice."
She uses her fingers to wipe away the tears, "Thank you, Emilio. I know this was difficult for you. It was very kind of you to come and tell me personally." She reaches for the door handle, "I really need to be alone right now."
"Are you certain? Perhaps it might be best if you had some company."
Probably hopes the grieving widow will turn to him for comfort.
"You are kind, but no, not right now. I'll need some time to work through this."
"Sara, I know you must hate this country right now. However, I believe there are changes coming, good ones, for a better Paraguay. Soon, very soon."
She just nods, numbly, opens the door and moves herself from the seat. As she walks away, she hears Emilio, "Take care, my dear. I will call you on Friday."
She gives him a tremulous, sad smile over her shoulder and says nothing further as she turns away and shuffles off to her apartment building.
We're getting closer.
...
As promised, he called on Friday and every day thereafter. The conversations had been brief, with Sarah usually on the verge of tears, always refusing his offers of companionship. But after the first week had passed, Sarah had allowed herself to be coaxed out of her apartment.
She agrees to meet him for lunch at a nearby sidewalk cafe. Wearing a conservative black dress, she approaches the table where he is already seated. Catching sight of her, he immediately stands and moves to slide out the chair for her. After she's seated, he sits and looks across the table for a few seconds before speaking.
"How are you, my dear?"
She shrugs her shoulders, "As well as can be expected."
With a concerned look, he says, "It is so sad to see you in black. It is not right, natural. A woman as beautiful as you should be dressed in bright, happy colors. You should be laughing, enjoying all that life has to offer."
"Maybe one day, Emilio, one day."
"Perhaps you will allow me to help you find even a little bit of that again. If you permit, I would like to show you more of our fair city. Please correct me if I am wrong but it seems to me that you have not had much of an opportunity to do so."
"No, you are right. With all that has happened, I have had little chance to appreciate Asunción."
"It will be my pleasure to escort you."
"Perhaps a few days from now."
He nods, "Certainly." He hands her a card, "Here is my personal number. I will await your call."
"But now we must have our lunch." He snaps his fingers and the waiter who had been standing respectfully out of earshot, quickly approaches.
"Parrillada of beef and the usual side dishes."
"Yes, Senõr. And to drink?"
"The Bodega Catena Zapata 2005."
"Excellent choice, Senõr." He bows and then scurries off to the kitchen.
"I am certain you will enjoy the food. It is a Paraguayan favorite. The wine, however, is from Argentina. That is one area where my country does not do so well."
Sarah is used to men like Costa flexing their power and masculinity, so hadn't even batted an eyelash when she was not even acknowledged during the ordering procedure.
Would be nice to be treated like I was actually here.
"I am sure I will very much like all that you have chosen, Emilio."
He looks pleased with himself.
Her crossed arms on the table, she leans towards him. Putting a look of determined cheerfulness on her face she requests, "So tell me a little about your city."
...
Since that lunch, they have spent the better part of the past month together. He has taken her everywhere around the city and it surrounding countryside.
Sarah has learned much about the country, it's people and history as he does seem genuinely proud of his heritage and homeland.
They'd explored a number of the best restaurants. She's really enjoyed getting to know the cuisine of the country, even though she has never once been allowed to choose her own meal.
She had pretended to enjoy the operas that they'd attended, putting on a smile and feigning interest in the convoluted and melodramatic plots. She swore to herself that the next time he made plans to listen to another soprano screeching away, earplugs were going to be packed in her clutch.
Sarah is sure they have the right man. His character, his background, the hints he'd dropped all pointed to him as the head of the revolutionary forces.
But he was cagey, never saying or doing anything that would unequivocally tie him to such.
She knew it was time to turn it up a notch.
Sarah is very grateful for the cover that had been chosen for her. The "grieving widow" gave her plausible reason to resist Emilio's increasingly less than subtle advances. She was surprised how patient he had been in pursuing her although it was very likely he wasn't exactly remaining celibate while doing so.
But now it was time to push matters.
One evening as they drove back to her apartment after a particularly annoying opera, (She'd quickly realized it would be too obvious if she actually used the earplugs) she reached over to take his hand, something she hadn't done before.
Looking him straight in the face, she quietly says, "Emilio, you have been very kind and patient with me. I have been thinking about things. I have come to realize I have been grieving over Carlos since that day he disappeared, not just the past few weeks. Part of me already knew he was dead."
She stops as if she is a little ashamed to go on. She turns her eyes away from his gaze.
"What is it you want to tell me, Sara?"
She takes a deep breath, looking down into her lap, "I believe I am almost ready to move on, that I have been mourning long enough. I know Carlos would want me to be happy."
She turns her head to look at him again and shyly says, "And you have had made me happy this past month."
Most people would not have noticed let alone recognized the look that flashed so briefly across his face. But Sarah, ever observant, ever perceptive, did.
Triumph. Greed. Lust.
"My dear, does that mean what I think it means?"
"Yes, Emilio. I will need just a few more days, but yes."
"Sara, you have made me very happy as well. I have cared for you even before I met you, since the day I read your file. When I did meet you, I started to believe that you were that woman, the one that fate finally sent me. The one to be by my side for the rest of my life."
Sarah thinks he probably actually believes there is truth in his words. This is probably the reason why he has waited so long, at least a long time for someone like him. If she hadn't seen that expression cross his face a few seconds ago, didn't know what she knew of him, she may almost have believed it herself.
She imagines for a moment what it would be like to be married to someone like Emilio Costa. She wouldn't be a person, rather just a thing, a beautiful possession to show off to others. Any pretense of genuine love would quickly pass as would any show of concern for her needs or feelings. Faithlessness and betrayal would be a constant theme of any relationship with such a man.
Far better to be alone.
He continues, "Sara, my dear, there is a momentous event this coming Saturday. Our president will be signing a accord of peace with the president of Bolivia. It is a symbol to demonstrate that there a no longer any hard feelings between the two countries."
"General Duarte has decided to assume command of the Presidential Escort for that day, so I will be free. I have a modest apartment overlooking the Presidential Palace and I would ask you join me there for lunch. We will be able to observe the ceremony to be held in the Palace plaza."
"That sounds delightful."
"My driver will pick you up at 11am."
"I will be ready."
"And Sara, please bring whatever you need in order for us to enjoy breakfast together on Sunday."
She looks shyly down to her hands, before quietly responding, "Yes, Emilio."
"Good. I am looking forward to Saturday, in more ways than you can now know. I tell you confidentially there will be some very surprising events happening that day, ones that I know will please you very much."
"What kind of events?"
"Patience, my dear. All will be revealed when you join me there."
"Alright, Emilio. I am looking forward to it."
After they pull up to her building, he walks her to the front door and quietly asks, "Sara, may I kiss you?"
She nods, seemingly a little unsure, then says, "Yes, Emilio, you may."
He leans closer until their lips meet. The kiss is surprisingly gentle, almost chaste. Nonetheless she has to work hard not to shudder at the contact. It's strange how his kiss, rather than conveying as it should, affection, instead somehow manages to reveal the true depths of his cruel and dangerous character. Sarah has had to kiss quite a number of men in the course of her job. Yet none of those previous times have had anywhere near this effect on her.
Sarah Walker, who is afraid of nothing, is suddenly a little afraid of Emilio Costa.
...
Since going undercover, Sarah has had almost no communication with her backup team. Not being certain of the level of surveillance assigned to Sara Belissa Franco, it was decided to keep all forms of contact to an absolute minimum.
They had resorted to the tried and true method of dead drops. Each day of the week had it's own rotationally assigned spot that she could check during her morning run. If she saw the indication, one of her team reading a newspaper on a park bench, walking a dog, etc., she knew there was something for her. So while stretching against a wall or drinking from public fountain she would recover the tiny micro SD card from it's designated hiding place. In turn, a subtle innocent looking gesture from her or certain color of headband would alert them to a drop from her.
The cards, if ever found, only appeared to contain multiple touristy photos. Only the appropriate program could extract the data contained in the harmless looking images. She'd wondered a couple of times if the tech geeks might someday find a way to make this technology even more useful.
The morning after she "revealed her feelings" to Costa was certainly a dead drop one. After encoding her intel and suspicions onto the card, she inserted it into a tiny hidden slot in the right heel of her running shoe.
As she exits her building, right on schedule, she sees the lead of her backup team across the street enjoying his morning coffee at the small outdoor cafe. She hadn't met the man before this assignment and had known him only by reputation. While Sarah recognized that he was very capable and fully trusted him to carry out his role, she hadn't really liked him since that first mission briefing. Good looking, with brown wavy hair and blue eyes, she'd thought him a little arrogant, full of himself. She hasn't really minded that operational security kept their contact to a minimum.
This morning, she knew her red headband would alert him to her drop, so without a second glance, stretches and then goes off on her run. After two miles, she stops at the designated drinking fountain, and while waiting to use it, pretends to tie her shoe while quickly palming the memory card. As she drinks, she surreptitiously slips it into the small crack on the rear of the fountain. Invisible unless actively searched for, it's one she's used a few times in the past.
Now they'll know what she knows. Is it enough to help figure out what's going to happen? To stop whatever that might be? We'll see.
She starts on the run back to her place.
...
The next morning she gets her reply via the park bench dead drop. After returning home she inserts the card into the reader. Opening the correct program, she decodes the images and reads the contents of the file.
She's presented with a list of the heightened security measures for the ceremony on Saturday. It's felt this will be enough to prevent any serious attempt to disrupt matters.
Sarah is ordered to remain close to Costa, to keep the appointment for Saturday. It's felt wearing a earwig or a wire would be too dangerous. Instead she will wear a specific bracelet that when activated will alert her backup and bring them to her within five minutes. Of course she is only to use this if there is a significant development that requires an immediate response, beyond what she can handle on her own.
Sarah has a gut feeling that tomorrow is going to be the day. She's not sure what is going to happen but whatever it is, she will do her best to make sure that people like Emilio Costa don't triumph.
…
The next morning finds Sarah waiting in front of her building. She has her hair down in soft curls and is wearing an emerald green sundress that falls to her knees. As usual she's wearing flats. Yellow ones with a small bow. She knows that being taller than Costa is a definite no-no, so she's had to banish her favourite high heels to the back of the closet.
After much internal debate the only weapons she decides to bring are the knives strapped to her thigh. If she's wrong and nothing happens this day, she'll have to remove even these when she slips into "something more comfortable."
With this possibility in mind, her overnight case contains a number of items beyond what would be normally expected. A lipstick that she can safely wear that will knock out the person she kisses. The newly developed twilight tranq darts that will eliminate the last five minutes from the recipients memory. These could be safely hidden. However, her favorite Smith & Wesson was another matter. With reluctance, she's had to leave it behind.
Sarah again mentally reviews how she'll handle Costa if she does wind up spending the night.
She believes she could still fall back, at least one more time on the grieving widow act, tearfully requesting his patience once again. However, she'll tranq him if she gets the feeling that won't fly and he wants more than she'll give. It's not the best option, but she thinks she be able to convince him he just had a little too much to drink.
Hopefully it won't come to that. She strongly suspects he'll reveal enough today so her team can simply grab him and stop his plans before they ever really get going.
Exactly on time, Costa's car pulls up to the curb. The chauffeur quickly exits and holds the door as she enters the back seat. He takes her overnight bag and deposits it in the trunk. As he starts driving, Sarah knows without checking that her two car backup team is following.
A few miles later, the chauffeur stops the car in front of an imposing colonial style building. Reversing his procedure of a few minutes before, he opens the door and helps her exit. He gives her overnight case to a white jacketed servant waiting by the building entrance, who then opens the door for her and leads her to an old yet still beautiful brass and glass cage elevator.
As it takes them to the third floor, Sarah can't help but marvel at the beauty of the well maintained building.
Obviously the Colonel business pays very well.
She follows the servant down a short hallway to a set of tall double doors. Without knocking, he opens one and gestures for her to enter. She does so and is immediately impressed by the grandeur of the room. It could easily hold her whole D.C. apartment with room to spare.
This is his idea of modest?
The twelve foot ceilings and tall windows give it airiness. It's tastefully, exquisitely decorated. Sarah wonders for a moment whose concept she is seeing realized. This elegance and beauty certainly had not come from the heart and mind of the man now walking towards her.
"Sara, my dear. It is so good to see you." He kisses her cheek and then looks her up and down, "And I must say, you look ravishing as always."
He's wearing a lightweight gray suit and tie, even with the heat. She's noticed that most Paraguayan men dress up in public. She has to admit it looks quite classy.
"Thank you, Emilio. You are too kind." She looks around her, "Your home is beautiful, stunning." As the words come out, Sarah realizes this is one of the few times she's actually been truthful with him.
Proprietary pride is evident in his voice as he replies, "It is impressive, is it not? It once belonged to a prominent opposition politician. Unfortunately, his health suddenly deteriorated and he felt it necessary to move abroad. Out of gratitude for services I had rendered him, he gave me this place for a very reasonable price."
Probably literally gave it to you after you threatened him with a firing squad.
He takes her hand, "Come, my dear. We will enjoy our lunch outside."
He leads her through a set of tall French doors onto the large balcony. An intricate wrought iron railing encloses the space, giving safety yet not blocking the view overmuch. Under a large umbrella there are three chairs around an elegantly set table. Next to it is a standing ice bucket containing an unopened bottle of champagne.
Noticing that third chair, she glances questioningly at him.
"A slight change in plans. A business associate of mine who has just arrived back in the city will be joining us. But do not fear, we will have an abundance of time for ourselves later."
I hope whoever is coming will not put a crimp on what he wants to tell me.
Almost as if he's read her mind, he takes her hand and leads her to the table, "We have a few minutes before he is due, so please sit. There are important things I need to tell you."
He slides out a chair for her. Sarah feels uneasy as he chooses the one that places her back to the door. It's likely he just wants her to enjoy the marvellous view, but his choice makes her feel vulnerable. It's not as if she can complain, however.
I'm sorry, Emilio, could I please have that other chair? As a trained CIA agent, I don't want someone to be able to approach without me being aware of it.
It would certainly be interesting to see the expression on his face if she did say that.
He sits in the chair to her left, "Sara, today is going to be a momentous day for this country. For far too long those who love Paraguay have had to sit back and watch her slip into dissolution and ruin. The man who is supposed to be leading us, setting the example of courage and strength, is, in fact, a coward and a weakling."
"This farce of a ceremony today only confirms what kind of man he has become. Bolivia has been and will always be an enemy of this country. To sign any sort of accord with them is a betrayal of everything I and many others hold so dear. The time has come for a change."
"I tell you this, Sara, because I know the actions of those in charge have caused you great sorrow. While I believe that true enemies of peace and security have to be dealt with appropriately, ones who are innocent, like you husband, should never have to suffer at the hand of the government."
He pauses to look into her eyes, "And when I am in charge, you have my promise that actions like that will not be tolerated."
"Emilio, what are you saying? Are you going to run for president?."
He shakes his head at her naivety, "No, no, my dear. The problem requires a much more immediate and drastic solution."
He gives her a wicked smile, "As one wise man said, 'You can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.' "
"What does that mean?"
"It means that no changes can be made until those who support this corrupt regime are quickly and forcefully removed from their positions of authority. Our President and General Duarte, who leads our armed forces, along with many of their sycophants will be at the ceremony today."
He looks at his watch, "In fact they should be arriving quite shortly. The official events start in just a few minutes."
At this, Sarah can't stop herself from looking towards the Plaza. About two hundred yards away, a large crowd including a small band, has gathered around a raised platform. Sarah is aware of the heavy security measures that have been set up, so wonders what Costa could possibly be planning.
I need more information!
He catches her glance, "Sara, I know you are unused to violence."
If you only knew.
"But they have left me no choice in the matter. So I must apologize in advance for the terrible things you may see today."
With a blazing, almost fanatical zeal in his eyes, he goes on, "But after these needed things are done, I will, with you by my side, lead our people to transform this country. A year from now no one will even recognize it!"
I'm sure they won't.
It's at this moment that Sarah realizes she has underestimated Costa. It's quite evident that part of what drives him is a self-serving, greedy lust for power. But it's also evident that there's much more to him than just that.
She now clearly sees that Costa is that most dangerous type of revolutionary, one who truly believes in the words that come from his mouth. One that is fervently convinced that only his actions can save the country he loves.
"Emilio, you are frightening me. What are you going to do?"
He appears to be ready to tell her, but just then the servant comes onto the balcony.
"Sir, the gentleman you expected is waiting at the front entrance."
Dammit! I just needed another minute!
"Thank you, Marcos. Tell him I will be there in a minute or two. Please bring our lunch in ten minutes."
"Very good, sir."
As the man walks away, Emilio turns back to her. She hopes that he will continue with his revelations but no such luck.
Instead his conversation takes a different path, "Sara, the man you are about to meet is a former American intelligence agent who has been working for sometime as a freelance security expert. He has the ear of the Bolivian President, his advisers and is trusted by them."
In her mind the alarm bells are starting to go off, but externally Sarah shows nothing except attentiveness to his speech.
"In actuality he has been working for me, aiding me in my crusade to heal my country. He has been gently nudging their President to accept the overtures of accord from our side, to come here for the ceremony. Equally important is that he has arranged matters in such a way that after today's events transpire, the blame will rest squarely on the heads of Bolivian fanatics. He's arrived just this morning along with their delegation. I have invited him here to see the results of his hard work. Then later to reap his rewards."
He gives her a smile. However, she can sense there's seriousness in his tone as well, "I need to warn you. He is a very pleasant, handsome man. You must not let him come in here and sweep you off your feet."
She smiles back, "Of course not, Emilio. I am not some flighty teenage girl to be thrown into a tizzy by a charming smile."
He chuckles at this, "Then I will bring him here and introduce you."
He stands and heads towards the front door.
Damn. Damn. Damn. What do I do now? I still don't know exactly what's going to happen. But what if this guy knows me? Calm down Sarah, the chances of that are almost nil even if the man was a real agent of some sort. He's probably lying about his past anyway.
She takes a few deep breaths, calming herself as she hears voices approaching. She thinks of standing in order to see their entrance but knows this would only display her anxiety. She puts on the large sunglasses which up to this point have been sitting on the top of her head.
The lenses aren't very dark, but if I do know him, it might give me a extra second or two.
She hears the man say, "Colonel, we need to be very careful. I have just heard from my local contacts that the CIA may be sniffing around."
Costa replies, "Do not concern yourself. I have been very cautious these last few months."
Sarah looks to her right and sees in the reflective surface of the wine bucket a distorted image of the two men walking onto the balcony.
There's something about his voice...
Before she can think any further on this, the two men reach the table. Costa sits first to her left and as the other man goes to the chair at her right, Emilio says, "Sara Belliso Franco, may I introduce you to..."
Bradley Pittfield.
"...Bradley Pittfield."
In the past, there had been a number of occasions where random chance had worked in Sarah's favor. When it had facilitated the success of a mission, kept her from serious bodily harm, or helped her avoid dangerous situations.
This is clearly not one of those occasions.
Of all the balconies, in all the towns, in all the world...
Sarah can't help but reword a quote from one of the few movies she knows well.
When she'd finished her CIA training, she found she had little or no desire to follow the careers of her classmates, and especially no inclination to know of this man's path. Nonetheless unsolicited tidbits of information kept coming her way. After graduating near the bottom of their class, he'd bounced around for a few years in various low level assignments. Rumor had it that after resigning, he'd gone into the private sector, using his CIA experience (if so, greatly exaggerated by him, she'd been certain) to land a variety of jobs in South America.
It appears the rumors were correct.
It amazes her how chance has brought her back in contact with this person she dislikes so intensely. And, of course, at the worst possible moment. If she believed in karma or fate or bad luck she would be cursing them all right now. As it is, she knows that sometimes you're simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.
No matter what happens in the next few minutes, Sarah is determined she'll either get out of it or go down swinging. It's in her hands.
As Bradley sits, she notices he looks a little soft around the edges, like he's leading the good life, not taking care of himself as well as he should. He offers his right hand and says in excellent Spanish, "Sara, it is a pleasure to meet you."
She notices he uses the correct Spanish pronunciation of her name. It's apparent that he has not recognized her and for a heartbeat she believes he may not do so at all. After all he hasn't seen her in a good eight years, her hair color is different and the sunglasses are doing a good job of obscuring at least part of her face.
But then as she takes his hand, she sees something flicker across his face. She recognizes it for that niggling sensation people get when they feel they should know someone but can't quite figure it out.
She tries to deflect his thoughts by replying to him in heavily accented English, "The feeling is mutual. I believe, Mr. Pittfield, that you are an American?"
"Yes, I am. But I enjoy conversing in Spanish. You don't have to trouble yourself on my account." He smiles at her, but she can tell he's still puzzling it out.
She smiles politely in turn and it's at that instant she can see it finally clicks in for him. It was probably her slightly imperfect front teeth which gave him the final piece he needed.
No matter, really. The jig, as they say, is up.
She can see the shock pass across his face as he blurts out in English, "Sarah? Sarah Walker? What the hell are you doing here?!"
He had never been the most brilliant amongst her classmates, but even he can connect the dots.
He looks over to Costa, who, hampered by his lack of English, is looking very confused.
In excited Spanish, Bradley exclaims, "Colonel, this woman is a CIA agent!"
He starts to withdraw his hand from hers, obviously going for the pistol under his jacket that she'd observed as he sat down.
One of the reasons Sarah is such an effective agent is that in situations like this, time seems to slow down for her. Her reactions and thought processes are so incredibly fast that it appears everyone else is moving in slow motion.
can't let him get his gun knives under my dress no time right hand tangled with his my left hand free use what's there
As Pittfield's hand comes free from hers, Sarah's left arm flashes across, the heavy fork in her hand pinning his right sleeve to the table.
Then, in one smooth motion, she uses her now free right hand to grab the neck of the nearby bottle of champagne. Swinging it quickly, she slams him hard across the left side of his head.
It had always frustrated Sarah to see how easily wine bottles shattered over a person's head during TV or movie fight scenes. The truth of the matter is that real wine bottles are much tougher than that, and champagne bottles are tougher still.
So with that in mind, even during her haste, she hadn't hit Bradley hard enough to seriously hurt him. Certainly he would be unconscious for a while, would probably be concussed, and would undoubtably have a doozie of a headache when he did wake up. But he would wake up and when he did, she wanted to see him squirm, face the consequences for his actions.
He falls to his right, dragging the tablecloth with him, throwing everything into disarray.
Sarah has a tiny moment of satisfaction as he hits the ground.
Told you what would happen if you touched me again.
However, she does seem to recall that it was a different body part that she'd threatened to break.
Sarah turns to see Costa lurching up from his chair, tipping it onto it's back. He appears to be bewildered, shocked by the sudden turn of events.
He takes a few steps backwards, almost tripping over the fallen chair. His hand instinctively reaches towards his right hip but stops when he apparently realizes he's not wearing his sidearm. It appears that he is unarmed as he makes no further effort to reach for a weapon.
He probably didn't want to spoil the lines of his expensive suit.
He backs further away from her, keeping his eyes on her face the whole time.
Sarah can imagine what's going through his mind right now. Gone is the gentle, submissive woman of just a few minutes ago replaced by this vengeful fury.
He finally manages to speak, confused, "Who are you?"
Sarah takes a few seconds to calmly place the champagne bottle back in the bucket. As she stands, she removes her sunglasses, dropping them on the table. She then activates the emergency beacon in her bracelet.
For a moment she'd thought of going for Pittfield's gun but had dismissed it. He's face down and covered by all the debris from the table, so by the time she dug it out, Costa would be gone inside, perhaps for a weapon of his own.
So instead, she faces him, keeping eye contact, the fork still in her left hand.
For a moment she entertains the idea of saying something along the lines of "Your worst nightmare", but instantly dismisses it as being overly melodramatic.
Instead, in a quiet, nonetheless firm voice, simply says, "I was sent here to stop you."
"You really are CIA?" He asks as if he can't fathom the fact he's been deceived so thoroughly.
She just nods while taking a few slow steps closer.
This seems to move him to action and he quickly reaches into his right pants pocket. For a moment Sarah thinks she was wrong, that he does have a weapon, however, his hand comes out holding only an old fashioned flip phone.
"No point to that, Emilio." She speaks to him quite differently than she had just a few minutes ago. She's no longer diffident, but rather is authoritative, confident.
It's obvious who now is in charge and Sarah thinks this may be more of shock to him than the ruination of his plans.
She continues, "My backup team will be here shortly. No sense calling for help."
She takes another step and he backs up further, until he's right up against the wrought iron railing. She stops about twenty feet away from him.
"Emilio, there's no place to go. You've failed. Give up now and perhaps your president will simply throw you in jail rather than having you shot."
"Well, Sarah Walker, it seems you are not quite as thorough as you thought."
Something has given him back a measure of defiance, confidence. She's not sure what but she needs him to keep talking with the hope he'll give himself away.
His thumb is hovering over the keypad as he speaks, "If I press this, everyone at the plaza ceremony will die, blown to pieces."
Sarah feels a stab of fear, but suppresses it and in it's place radiates confidence. She shakes her head, "No. I don't believe you. There's no chance you could get a bomb close enough. They've increased security so much that it never could happen. I'm not sure why you're even bothering to bluff."
He actually laughs a little bit, "It is no bluff, I assure you. I have been planning this for a very long time. Last year the water lines that pass under the plaza needed work. During that time I secretly arranged for a number of high explosive devices to be planted at various points, including the location I persuaded our president to use today. The bombs are underneath the flagstones where even the dogs cannot smell them. Each of them is wired to receivers which will respond to a specific number that I call on the speed dial."
She has to admit to herself that this is a clever plan.
"Why bother to do this? You know you'll never get to be in charge now."
He actually seems to ponder at this, "Spite, maybe? Anger towards those who are ruining my homeland? Perhaps. But hope as well. The explosion was to signal the start of the coup to my loyal subordinates. Maybe one of them will find the ability to step up and take control when I'm unable to do so. Although I do admit that is quite unlikely. None are as capable as myself."
Even now he's still arrogant.
Sarah wants to keep him talking until her team arrives, so is glad he seems so willing. But she has to wonder why he hasn't simply pressed the key and be done with it.
But then it becomes clear. He's delaying her until he knows the two presidents have arrived at the ceremony. She brings her left arm up so she can see her watch without taking her eyes from him.
It confirms what she thought. They should be arriving right about now.
Almost out of time.
She knows if she makes any overt move to grab one of her knives or rushes him, he will simply go ahead and set off the bomb, even if that doesn't give him exactly the outcome he prefers. She takes another slow step.
"No closer, Sara." He reverts back to the Spanish pronunciation as he looks somewhat wistfully at her, "You know, I really did care for you. This last month was one of the best I have ever had."
Sarah knows he will see through any efforts to placate him. She's playing a risky game as she decides instead to make him angry, to attack him personally.
"Well, Costa, I'm very good at my job, putting on the act. For me, this last month was sheer torture. You believe yourself to be god's gift to the female sex. However, I tell you, every moment I spent with you made me feel physically ill. I practically vomited when you kissed me. I can only imagine how nauseating it would have been if things had gone any further."
Sarah looks him pointedly up and down, "Not that you likely have what's needed to satisfy a woman in any case."
She believes it may be working. He can't conceal the fury in his eyes as she so viciously assaults his manhood. The phone appears momentarily forgotten, as he lowers his arm. She takes another step closer.
He looks as if he's ready to physically attack her. She prepares for his furious charge.
But just then, there's a fanfare from the plaza, obviously announcing the arrival of the two main participants in today's ceremony.
This seems to bring him back from the brink, "Good try, Sara." He raises the phone to eye level once again, "You almost made me forget my greater purpose."
"The irony is that the chaos you hoped to prevent will now be much more severe. With the president gone, the head of our military dead, there will be no one left to take charge. The end result will be much worse than than if I had been in control."
"Think of that when you hug your self-righteous, interfering attitude to yourself this evening."
His thumb starts towards the keypad.
Out of time.
Sarah desperately wishes she had one of her well balanced throwing knives in her hand. But she doesn't, so will have to make do with what's been given her.
Despite all her training, Sarah knows she can't be as accurate as she needs using her left hand. So, with a flick of her wrist, she flips the fork up into the air above her head, towards her right side. Taking a step forward with her left foot, she rotates her right arm like she's pitching a baseball, catches the handle just as it starts to descend, and in one continuous motion slings the fork as hard as she can, tines forward.
It hits him in the wrist, reflexively causing him to release the phone, tumbling it over the railing, down to the street below.
She hears the clatter as it hits the sidewalk. Both pause for a moment, holding their breath, one fearing, one hoping. After a few seconds pass, it's clear that nothing is going to happen. He either hadn't quite pressed the key or the impact broke the phone apart before the call was completed.
Costa looks disbelievingly at his right wrist. The fork has only stuck shallowly into the skin and falls to the ground when he lowers his arm, leaving behind four dots of blood.
That went well. Maybe they should add fork throwing to basic training.
When he raises his eyes to look at her, she thinks she is finally seeing the real Emilio Costa. The polite, smooth spoken, suave facade has been stripped away leaving only the vicious animal in it's place.
He's been beaten. And what's worse, by a woman.
Sarah can easily see the murderous intent in his eyes. If he's going down at least she mustn't be allowed to gloat over his defeat.
This time he does rush her, arms outstretched, teeth bared and an actual growl coming from deep within his throat.
Sarah can easily tell he has not engaged in much hand to hand combat during the course of his career.
So she just waits for him to close the gap. At the last possible instant, she steps to her left, ducks below his flailing arm and simply trips him with her right leg.
He goes down hard, landing flat on his face. Rolling over he sits up with a groan, just in time to catch Sarah's swinging kick to the side of his head, knocking him cold.
That's what you get for delegating all the grunt work to your subordinates.
Now, where's my backup?
She hears a noise from the doorway and turns expectantly towards it.
Marcos is standing there, a food cart in front of him.
Damn! Forgot about him. Rookie mistake.
He appears bewildered for a second, taking in the chaos, the two unmoving men. But then he moves, reaching towards his back, undoubtably for a gun.
She quickly hikes up her skirt and reaches for one of her knives, knowing it will be a close thing, maybe too close. But then she sees Marcos' hands change their direction and go up over his head instead.
What?!
The explanation is quickly evident as the head of her backup team pushes the servant onto the balcony, gun shoved firmly into his back.
Sarah is still standing there, her skirt halfway up her thigh, her hand on one of her knives. She straightens up and hurriedly smooths out her dress.
"It's about time."
"I believe it was less than the five minutes promised. I think this means we get a free pizza." His irritatingly smug expression grates on her nerves.
I really don't like smirkers.
His eyes sweep over the scene, "Dead?"
She shakes her head, "Unconscious."
The other members of the team appear. One makes sure Marcos is secure and leads him inside. The others rapidly go to the two immobile men to ascertain if they pose any threat. After the two are cuffed, they're dragged by main force inside the apartment.
Quite quickly, the balcony is cleared, leaving just the two of them.
Holstering his pistol, he observes, "Well, Sarah, it appears you pretty much had everything under control in any case."
"Agent Larkin, I would prefer the proper mode of address while we are on a mission."
He gives her a cocky grin, "Certainly, Agent Walker. Please accept my apologies."
It's obvious from his tone of voice and expression that he isn't really sorry at all.
Sarah hopes that future events don't throw them together again. She's not sure if she could work closely with him, that she could tolerate his cocksure demeanour for any length of time.
Just then he breaks into her thoughts, "You've done a great job here. You should be proud of all that you've accomplished these last months."
She looks at him closely, however senses nothing except genuine praise.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
He looks at her with an expression she has trouble deciphering, "It must have been lonely, with no friendly contact for so long."
Sarah is not about to admit to this man that he's right. Or to anyone else for that matter.
She's not going to tell anyone how there were times she felt so isolated, so detached from the normal world of humanity that flows around her. How all the weight she carried made it nearly impossible to rise from her bed some days. How often she longed for a real connection of some sort, for an actual honest conversation.
She firmly quashes these thoughts once again, as she has done so often in the past.
After all, this is what I signed up for, isn't it?
"Thank you for your concern, Agent Larkin. I assure you that I had no problems. I am perfectly fine."
He looks somewhat dubious but doesn't pursue the matter. She's grateful he's sensitive enough to drop the subject.
Maybe he's not quite as intolerable as I thought. Now back to business.
"Agent Larkin, I need to bring you up to speed about what happened here and what other measures we should take." As she says this, she walks to the balcony railing and picks up the fork from where it had fallen.
"Certainly, Agent Walker. Please fill me in." He looks around him again, "I'll admit I'm very curious." Pointing to the implement in her hand, and then sweeping his hand over the scene, he asks, "What does that have to do with all this?"
TBC
—
A/N:I did some research on Paraguay. Hope I got the details right but apologies to any and all if I got anything wrong.
I'm had a little fun with some foreshadowing. Hope you enjoyed that as well.
Next time:Berlin, Breathing and Blondes