SIX DEGREES
A Gunslinger Girl fanfiction, based on works by Yu Aida.
John Darme belongs to Officer_Charon, and Professor Voodoo takes credit as original owner of Genco Ribisi.
Chapter 03|A Season for Orchids
While pleasantly cited upon an ancient stone courtyard, the Section 02 Intelligence Department occupied a somewhat less comfortable position within the Agency structure itself. Technically intelligence gathering and assessment fell under the auspice of Chief Draghi and Section 01, a fact the Chief seemingly felt required to regularly and pointedly remind them of. No one in Operations had ever felt entirely comfortable with that arrangement though, and so the in-house office remained: small and carefully targeted in an effort to avoid treading too hard on too many toes and, as a result, always busy.
Always.
Resisting the urge to glance over his shoulder, Genco Ribisi made sure to leave Monty's latest transmittal in its online dead drop, before letting go of his mouse to stretch mightily, for once he would not be the only person needing to access it, so he could not be the one to delete it either. Extending the stretch he leant back farther to feel fingers bump against the corkboard standing behind his desk, a recent addition, its confining presence was one he had yet to adjust to, but it did make him feel less exposed, and prevented anyone peering over his shoulder too easily.
Of course, that only really worked for casual passersby.
"Anything interesting, Golden Child?"
Letting his chair swing back upright, Genco continued forward, landing hands on the keyboard to lock his computer. Waiting half a heartbeat, he swung around to face the stocky form of Benito Bortolussi, peering past the partition's edge, one arm draped orangutan-like from its top.
Sighing, the younger man took a moment to adjust a pair of eyebrow glasses, before looking toward his fellow analyst. "I've asked you not to call me that."
"Well, you look after Blacker, and now Vitale as well, all the cush-jobs... sounds like golden child material to me."
Internally he grimaced as the man's tone carried across their airy workspace floor.
"They're hardly cush-jobs, and I really suspect Priscilla only gave me Florentino so all the international focus could be kept in one place." Now the grimace made itself visible. "Frankly I could do without him; the Blackers keep me busy enough as is."
A white lie... well a half truth at least... he really didn't need the extra bother, and in interests of maintaining peace, the other half of that statement he was not prepared to utter in public.
"Well, whether you want it or not, my question still stands: anything interesting Golden Child?"
"Don't know, I've not had a chance to check." Much to his own chagrin, Genco felt eyes flick away for a second, searching for a means of escape, while another thought crossed his mind. "Besides, I'll only be dealing with Florentino once he goes active."
That however earned a disbelieving look.
"Porca Madonna Ribisi, I know you get the play with more exciting people than the rest of us, but pay some attention to the world around: Vitale's cyborg passed her VdCO a week ago."
Genco blinked. Surely if Odile had gone active Priscilla, someone, would have told him, and he would have been busy working up a package for whatever the new fratello were to be deployed after first. Not that he would bemoan missing being stuffed in a room with Florentino day in and day out but...
Feeling an overpowering urge to place eyes someplace else again, the analyst glanced at his watch, and found his much sought justification to leave.
"No I was not aware of that, and now, if you'll excuse me, I need to put some range time in."
Bortolussi snorted. "I still think you'll do yourself more harm than good carrying that thing. You're an analyst, not a field agent, start confusing the two and you'll only get in trouble."
Wrestling his desk drawer open on ancient wooden sliders, Genco extracted the Beretta 1934 rested there, standing to slip its shoulder rig on before shrugging his jacket over the top. Shoving two spare loaded magazines in one of the tweed coat's large pockets, he unplugged his hard drive from the computer and stuffed it in the other, before turning to his companion.
"Well, as you said Benito: I get to play with more interesting people than you, so I should probably be prepared to meet other interesting people as well."
Turning at that, he walked quickly for the door, hoping to God the other man would not find a suitable comeback before he escaped. Only once safely in the partitioned corridor outside did his heart finally begin to descend from his mouth. That was the sort of discussion he could do without and, while most of the SWA's intelligence staff took an interest in the Blackers' activities, Benito seemed to be particularly sour at being frozen out.
Well, if he was so hot on the idea he, Genco, would be more than happy to relinquish Florentino's reins.
Stepping out into the administration block's sunny main car park, the analyst started toward his FIAT's small, yellow shape, nestled amongst much larger and newer machinery. Pausing after a couple of paces however, he glanced at his watch once more: truth be told, he was running early for his appointment... well, sort of an appointment. Either way, he had time to kill and, shrugging, turned a heel, heading instead for the stone entry archway on foot.
The walk would do him good anyway.
Shoes crunching across loose, bitumen-coated, gravel, Genco passed out of the courtyard, one hand rising to shield eyes from the lowering sun as he turned down the building's length.
Should have brought sunglasses.
At that, another thought made its presence known and, patting at a jacket pocket he sighed: in his haste to exit not only had he forgotten sunglasses, but extra ammunition as well, the small box previously procured still residing half full in his desk drawer.
He certainly wasn't going back to retrieve it, not and potentially face Benito's renewed questioning.
'Anything interesting', huh?
One could say that: two transmittals from Monty in just over two weeks was unusual, though he doubted anyone beyond himself and Priscilla had regular enough dealings with the girl to notice...
...speaking of whom, his boss should be informed as well.
That was relatively simple to do, Hilshire on the other hand... well, that would normally also go through said boss, but changing things up a little did not hurt either, and his accusedly useless new interest in firearms training had proven helpful there.
Still mulling, Genco found the kilometre or so walk from office to range pass quickly, and soon he was strolling across the bunker's busy apron, a line of cars stretching either side of the entrance. Sliding between a silver BMW hatch and black Mercedes estate, he nodded to himself at the latter's presence, before descending stairs to push open the bunker's heavy door, muffled pops of training fire resounding through its hard walled lobby in greeting.
Training was all well and good and, after months of aborted attempts and forgotten visits, he was finally managing to get into a routine with it, but the armoury still felt an alien environment. An alien environment, and one not generally frequented by the SWA's non-field personnel, so it was with a small sigh of relief he spotted two familiar faces, lined up by the range clerk's counter.
Well... familiar, but not that familiar.
Fortunately the uncomfortable balancing act of when to raise a greeting was resolved by the pair's shorter half turning around, long blonde twin tails swaying. "Hello, Mr. Ribisi."
At the words, her companion also turned from ammunition and equipment being issued across the clerk's counter. "Good afternoon, Genco."
"Hello Triela, Hilshire."
Before he could say anything else however the clerk leaned forward to peer around the wall, adding his own voice to the conversation. "Back again, Ribisi?"
Nodding thanks as the fratello shuffled politely clear, he turned to the man, one hand patting at his jacket breast. "I figure if I'm going to have the gun I should probably learn to use it too."
"How's that going for you?"
The analyst hesitated, which seemed to be all the information needed.
"That good huh?" Pausing to pass a form across, the man apparently took pity. "Well, at least you're actually here regularly, which is more than can be said for most of your crowd. Fill that out... I presume you want ammunition."
Taking the proffered paper and a pen gratefully, Genco nodded. "Yes, a hundred of 9mm corto, over-glasses and earmuffs."
"And targets?"
"Uhh... yes, please."
Bending over to start filling out the requisition, he watched as the facility's minder turned away toward the armoury proper, waiting until he had disappeared from sight before clearing his throat, speaking as if to break the awkward silence left by that departure.
"I see Milan had a good game."
It took a moment for Hilshire to respond. "Did they?"
"The scores are on the net."
"I'll check once we're finished here." Another pause. "Have you heard anything new out of the Blackers?"
"Not a thing, they tend to respond in big chunks at irregular intervals... umm, how are things down your end of the office?"
"We are starting to make progress again, being able to track Vito's movements back from the border has been helpful..." Trailing off, the German handler glanced around, holding his tongue as the range clerk returned carrying two, fifty round boxes of ammunition. Trading his form for those, along with targets and protective equipment, the intelligence man gestured for his companions to lead on as, clearing the desk, Hilshire continued. "Unfortunately, Italy's police are not so technologically advanced as France's, so it is a slow process... and we have now been instructed to take Florentino with us when we leave campus."
The little group paused again as Genco's brow furrowed. "I thought Odile had passed her VdCO?"
"She has done, and well from what I am told. However, someone decided she needs more field experience before being deployed in-role, which is why she has been coming with us."
Now a wry smile spread across the young analyst's features as he opened the range entrance, freeing loud gunshots into the lobby, covering his next words.
"I bet Florentino is just loving that."
The responding smile was thin, totally devoid of humour, and its accompanying words uncharacteristically sour. "It is making him enjoyable to work with."
Ushering the fratello through ahead, Genco split off from them, wandering down the firing line until he found a spare lane, wedged between the SRT's American, Darme he thought the name was, and Fleccia, the latter pausing to give a friendly wave. Behind, her handler's attention was split between talking to Ferro and observing as the cyborg sent shot after shot downrange at a maximum-distance target.
Personally, he had no intention of even attempting to match that feat.
Running his own target out to ten metres, the staffer swung his Beretta's safety forward with his off hand and, chambering a round, took aim. Inhaling, he held the breath as previously instructed and squeezed, feeling the gun kick as it fired.
So, Florentino was still confined to Italy, and still seemingly under observation, that would certainly explain why nothing for the man had crossed his own desk.
Well thank God for small mercies.
Another shot.
Having him work with Hilshire was, however, a little close to home for comfort, that he may need to somehow raise with Priscilla and see if she could do something about it.
The rest of his magazine was emptied into the target and, spent firearm being placed back on the table, he reeled it back in to inspect holes now scattered across the formerly pristine surface.
'Scattered' was probably a good descriptor.
Well, at least the number of impacts on the sheet corresponded to the number of rounds fired this time. It was a start, but he was also probably not in danger of requiring another excuse to meet Hilshire any time in the near future.
Hong Kong: former jewel in the British Empire's crown, gateway to the East, centre for trade, centre for business, centre for finance, one of the most powerful cities in Asia... former outpost of the Her Majesty's Secret Intelligence Service, and now stomping ground for the institutions of its returned Chinese masters.
Relaxing back into comfortable business class seating, Monty felt the big Airbus lurch slightly, engines changing tenor as it continued to descend, and she looked up as a shadow fell across printed notes in her lap. Flipping over the sheaf of papers, she met the gaze of a sharply dressed air hostess, that latter offering a small face towel, rolled neatly and steaming in a pair of silver tongs.
"Hot towel, Mademoiselle Lynd?"
Taking the proffered item, she nodded thanks before dabbing at her face, the same service being extended to her handler, wedged between her and the window. Wiping his own face as the woman moved on, Jethro glanced out clear Plexiglass, before turning back to his girl and throwing her a smile.
"Looks like we'll be looping around Kowloon, always nice to get the grand tour first."
Leaning forward in her own seat, she peered past him, through the window onto cloud scattered landscapes beyond. In the distance, lights strung out across Macau's far shore, made hazy against deepening evening by humidity-laden air as it passed by their beam, flight sauntering east along the Southern Chinese coastline.
Sitting back again, she returned her partner's gaze with a small grimace, voice remaining low for his ears only. "I'm still not sure about staying on the Hong Kong side, Kowloon would probably have been handier."
That was answered with a shrug. "It's appealing believe me, though the city is that small distance and location are a bit six of one, half a dozen of the other. Besides, the only place we'd really fit in around Kowloon would be Tsim Sha Tsui with the tourists, and most anybody we'll likely want to talk to avoids the place like the plague."
"I doubt expats make much better company."
"Give and take."
Those last were spoken away from her however, Jethro instead craning around, nose against tough plastic again in an apparent attempt to peer father up along the aeroplane's course. It was an attempt in vain however, and outside the view went dark as they disappeared into another floating cloud. "Pity we're not flying in through Kai Tak: best approach in commercial aviation."
Sometimes it really was like travelling with a child.
"Something experienced with our friend Charles?"
That brought his own grimace. "'Friend' might be pushing the definition somewhat. No, long before that, a family trip the first time... I think father may have been doing something... I didn't know Charlie had even set foot out here until a week ago."
"Didn't exactly stay in contact I presume."
"Not really, no..." now the Englishman sighed, resting one elbow on the wide centre armrest to lean in closer to his girl, a hand settling gently atop hers in the process and giving a squeeze. "Charlie was of similar seniority to Algy, and they did not always see eye to eye, so neither did I. While it makes a certain amount of sense for us to work here under our own steam anyway, let's just say I doubt he'll be shedding any tears over not being asked to help. In this case, I would be treating our own side with as much suspicion as anyone else present."
Underneath them the aircraft banked back toward land, levelling out again to the whine of dropping flaps as Monty digested that.
"I presume then we can expect a few familiar faces?"
"Familiar yes, but only friendly insofar as working for the same people, and I don't believe for a second there are no warm bodies on the ground."
"I suspect that was a given."
"I'll sketch a few characters you're possibly going to encounter later, so you know who to avoid."
That sounded like a topic requiring further discussion, but later, ideally somewhere more private.
As if on cue, clouds outside disappeared again, giving way to bright city lights below, painting misty bases burning yellow. In the place of pitch darkness, high-rise buildings stretched away down Victoria Harbour, technicolour facades reflected in its mirror, and she took the excuse to drop their conversation. Behind tall spires, dark slopes bounded the city, stretching up to meet their passing airliner as it crossed the water's inky expanse, surface speckled by a galaxy of bobbing lights, and Monty's gaze followed those away, across hazy shapes of ships riding at anchor and on to the bright wharves of Hong Kong's port, guarding the waterway's far western end.
Now, the cyborg felt their aircraft bank again, engine note rising as it looped around Kowloon, away from the Chinese mainland and back out to sea, toward the dark shape of Lantau Island, crouched beyond spindly cargo cranes. Gliding closer, she kept an eye on those, details appearing out of the heavy glow hovering above as they descended.
"Would you like to swap seats?"
"Probably too late now."
Another whirr and whine as flaps came down one more notch, their captain's French accented tones cutting through the cabin.
"Cabin crew, be seated for landing."
Craning a little farther over her partner, Monty felt him reach across to loosen her seatbelt, before nudging her slightly closer to join him at the window. That extra inch made all the difference, and the port below was drunk in through sharp cyborg eyes: long canyons of containers on hard concrete, stacked like Lego bricks by cranes hauling from ships pulled in against their fenders. Those would not be short of supply either, hulls packed bow to stern alongside massive water frontages, lining the channel out toward tall masts of Stonecutters Bridge and the harbour beyond. Algy's pictures had been taken on the western shore, and now she turned her attention to tiny shapes of people and trucks, scampering between metal cliffs, following their trails out a multitude of exits and into the night: good for logistics, bad for her narrowing down options.
And then they were past.
Maintaining her position, the girl continued to stare back down the glittering harbour like any awestruck tourist, across Hong Kong's gaudy skyline and the looming shadow of Victoria Peak behind it, until she felt her belt drawn tight, pulling her once more against the seat.
Removing his hand from the webbing tail, Jethro leaned in again. "So, what do you think?"
"I think we might want another look, I'd like some idea of where the outgoing traffic heads, and I suspect walking into the police station may prove a tad more problematic here."
"Might be hard pressed to find a decent vantage point."
"Since we're on the Hong Kong side anyway, we may as well try Victoria Peak first."
There was a pause, filled by a final whirr and clunk as landing gear locked into place.
"It might not be a bad idea to play the tourist card and hike the peak anyway... but I may have some other options too."
That earned a raised eyebrow, but no words, their place instead eventually taken by a squeal of rubber grazing tarmac and deafening roar as thrust reversers slammed into position, bodily hauling down the A380's massive bulk. That took time for such a large aircraft and, conversation over for the moment, Monty turned back to her notes.
Those at least filled the crawl from runway to gate, but unfortunately presented a less viable option once passengers began to disembark, or in the queue for immigration, express lane or no. Beyond it, the tall-ceilinged baggage claim hall also remained busy, hubbub of voices bouncing off hard walls and terrazzo flooring. Standing next to her handler, the young agent slowly scanned crowded faces around them: a smattering of internationals amongst Chinese locals, the latter talking rapidly in what, this far south, she had to assume would be Cantonese. She had spoken truth in Paris and, frankly, would be hard pressed right now to tell the prevalent local dialect from Mandarin without a prompt, but there was only so much could be learned in a few days. That said, there was also significant meaning to be gleaned just from the tone of words, and so she settled for trying to isolate individual speakers, listening for the flow of conversation; an imperfect solution, but as good of a place to start getting her ear in as any.
The wait for luggage was however mercifully short and, tearing business priority tags from two Globetrotter cases, her partner hefted them up, heading for a customs 'nothing to declare' lane.
Emerging from its far side into Chek Lap Kok's cavernous arrivals hall, Monty pulled up next to him, turning her attention to the crowd of greeters held back by steel railing: plenty of families, a few singles, crisply suited drivers holding up signs for their pre-assigned fares scattered between. Passing again over ranks of the latter, one of those placards caught her eye, and she forced her gaze past, lest lingering be taken as recognition. Apparently Jethro had seen it also, as now he bent down to speak quietly.
"Does our hotel have a limousine service?"
The response was dry. "Not that I ordered, and certainly not under that name."
The holder of the sign was moving now, pacing the pair toward the crowd's extremity, and she took the opportunity to better inspect him: short, little taller than herself, with wire frame spectacles and oddly drooping features, all encased in a neat black suit. That was topped by black gloves and a black cap, a driver's uniform, but the way he moved spoke of other professions.
Halting now before the pair he bowed slightly, before holding up his placard once more.
"Mr. and Mrs. Blacker? I am Lau Fei-Hung, The Upper House has sent me."
Monty cocked an eyebrow at those accented words, seemingly the sign had not been a translation error after all. "Sorry, I suspect you have us confused with someone else."
"No, I do not. The hotel has sent me to pick you up. If you do not wish to cause a scene, I suggest you accept their hospitality."
Letting his words hang, the cyborg weighed options: her pistol remained ensconced in its suitcase smuggling compartment, unloaded to boot, though the combination of paper notes and computer lent their cabin bag some heft. This early on however, the last thing she wanted to do was draw attention, and if whomever Lau worked for was feeling polite enough to not cause a ruckus...
Her handler had apparently been thinking down similar lines, as now he spoke up. "Sorry Lau, we just weren't expecting the help, how very thoughtful of them."
"We are best hotel in Hong Kong, would you like me to take your luggage?"
"I think we'll hold onto it ourselves, if it's all the same to you."
Pausing for a moment, the man seemed to shrug. "Follow me then if you please."
Sharing a glance with her handler, Monty hefted their cabin bag again to follow the newly acquired chauffeur through rapidly dispersing crowds, toward the terminal's tall glass facade and passenger pick up area beyond.
Exiting sliding doors, heat and humidity hit her full force, bringing with it scents of ozone, jet fuel, and faint damp of the tropics. Lau was moving again however, and she dropped back behind her partner as they squeezed between private cars, traipsing across public drop-off thoroughfares to the covered taxi-rank, red and silver vehicles stretched along its length making a continuing dance of arrivals and departures. Nestled amongst those however stood a black, long wheelbase, Mercedes S-Class, sinister amid blasting horns and shouts of drivers. Opening its wide tailgate, their host motioned for luggage to be handed over. Ignoring the signal however, Monty breezed past, halting by the gaping maw to inspect inside quickly, around its edges and under the floor, before standing back to nod at her partner. Taking the cue, Jethro put their cases down to be hefted inside, commodious space swallowing both whole, dwarfing them against acres of grey carpet.
"Would you like to put your cabin bag in as well?"
Reaching up by way of answer, the girl pressed a button which would close the boot, before patting at her soft duffel. "This has some breakables in it, so I'll keep it with me."
Leaving no chance of reply, the young agent started to walk again, their driver moving quickly around the car's outer flank to open a passenger door for her. Making herself comfortable in deep, plush, leather, she looked over to share a glance with Jethro as he let himself in on the other side of a deep central divider. Door closing behind him, the exterior clamour disappeared, sealed off behind double-glazed windows, and the girl set her soft bag against the driver's seat as they pulled away from the airport, serenity disturbed only by softly humming air conditioner fans.
Turning off the airport concourse, in the distance could be seen faintly glowing skies above China's Shenzhen industrial district, its sprawling mass cited to best make use of Hong Kong's less restrictive export gateway. That was soon gone however, and she shared another glance with her partner, one of his hands again finding its way atop hers on the broad centre armrest. For now, it was time to wait it out and play stupid, though the extent of stupid would depend on discovering just how much Lau's employers actually knew.
With nothing to talk about in their current company, Monty instead turned her attention to the world outside, head rolling back against a goose down rest so she could peer over the car's sill, not that there was a whole lot to see at present. High fences on one side of the airport highway and darkness of Hong Kong's vast nature reserves on the other made for decidedly uninspired viewing, the stream of taxis and buses that shared this stretch of tarmac doing little to add excitement to the trip along Lantau's north shore. The bored stare did however set useful precedent and, emerging from the island's far end onto cable-stayed bridging, Victoria Harbour's western entrance swam into picture, made bright by seemingly endless ships riding at anchor.
Not that those on this outer side of the port were of great interest either, mostly gas and bulk haulers, but she stowed away what names were visible for later reference. Cutting around the facility's rear however, their road swung back east again, disappearing into a long tunnel, fluorescent lamps casting uniform, shifting, shadows zoetrope-like across the car's occupants, before emerging once more onto wide bridging. Now she was paying attention as, beyond speeding light poles, was laid the port proper, this road over its northern waterway affording a straight vision down both container wharves to Stonecutters Island at its mouth.
As they cruised around its eastern flank, the young agent drank in that view, features still common to any other port, same cranes, same ships, same trucks moving in and out of its gates. The devil however was in the detail, cranes from different manufacturers standing over ships from different companies, trucks headed to different exits to seek different destinations, all of which would hopefully provide some clue as to where their own target had vanished.
Then they were past, tarmac diving into deep urban crevasses as it began to penetrate urban outskirts proper, snaking away from the New Territories and toward neon-lit Kowloon.
Their driver however apparently had other ideas where they were going and, exiting onto another expressway, the car began to sidle along densely wooded mountains behind the city. Soon however their course changed again, plunging south, trading the jungle of trees for one of rundown buildings and narrow streets, tiny shops lining each side flashing bright signs above wares hawked on the pavement. Picking its way along pedestrian packed tarmac, curious faces turning to peer at privacy glass windows, the big Mercedes finally glided to a halt by the side of an even tighter alley.
Despite making its entrance amongst decrepit trucks, no one present seemed to pay the big saloon any heed... bar one. Outside, a wizened man watched them from atop his tall stool, positioned to keep an eye on white goods arrayed haphazardly in a shop doorway, cooling himself with a paper fan in one hand as rusting air conditioners whirred away above. Higher, spider web electrical wires linked crumbling concrete walls, peeling casement windows looking out over patched together tin and iron balconies, dull lighting inside doing little to expand on what lay behind dirty glass.
"You will get out here..." Lau paused, watching his passengers in the rear view mirror, "...do not worry, I will wait. For now, we are polite."
Reading emphasis on that last world, Monty cocked an eyebrow at her partner: a warning of how things could go, or a reminder to extend that same courtesy?
The reply she received however was a shrug and, seeing little other option, the young agent collected her cabin bag, reaching for the door handle.
Stepping from the limousine's sealed environment, she was suddenly on the ground proper, heat and humidity of a Hong Kong night once more washing over her, bringing with it sweet, tropical scents of South East Asia, no longer tainted by airfield notes. Carried with those same, bellowing trucks overlayed harshly shouted Cantonese, echoing between concrete walls as a crash of metal out of sight was accompanied by more raised voices. That was someone else's concern however, and now the elderly guard looked directly at her, flashing a near toothless grin before gesturing toward the darkened shop interior.
Giving a mental shrug, she moved around their vehicle's stern to meet her partner at its opposite flank. In the doorway, a gold cat statue waved its paw in mechanical greeting, and she peered past it, between red and white signage, into the gloom beyond. In that darkness, strings of dim, multicoloured, bulbs hung from concrete girders did little to bring out details but, as her eyes quickly adjusted, Monty spied their apparent intended destination. Ahead, deep toward the space's back, a glow showed over carelessly arranged goods, someone's shadow moving briefly in its throw before disappearing once more.
The cat beckoned again, and she felt Jethro's hand rest at the small of her back, guiding her forward.
Inside was dingy, difficult to see, its air close and pressing, tight confines forcing the pair into single file to thread through narrow mazes of stock, toward the glowing light. That was slow progress but, picking her way around another battered piece of equipment, its younger half finally found their path open out, boxes giving way to bare concrete floor. Here, in a little cleared area at the retail space's back, someone had set up a desk, figure behind it neatly suited, watching the new arrivals as Jethro joined her, illuminated by a single desk lamp.
Theatrical.
Standing from his chair now, the man seemed to study them a moment longer, dark shadows cast across a powerfully sculpted face, and Monty returned that gaze levelly. He was young-ish, probably in his late thirties, warm brown skin and slender, recruiting poster, looks covered in a well tailored suit of British cut.
Now almond eyes flicked to the bag in Monty's hands, before resting firmly on her partner.
"I see you bring your luggage with you. Do you not trust us, Mister Blacker?"
The words were clear, snap of an accent barely evident, and there was a pause before Jethro finally answered.
"I'd say, all things considered, I would trust you to be untrustworthy."
That got a dry laugh, carefully enunciated... the shape of a laugh, performed on stage.
"Ah, the famous British wit, now somewhat lacking in this part of the world." Abruptly the man's expression changed. Joke over. "Well Mister Blacker, we do not trust you either, which is why you are here. I am Captain Zhang Jianyu, section commander for Second Department, People's Liberation Army."
"It's always nice to feel welcomed, though I suspect the Autumn Orchid is not particularly concerned with making me feel all warm and fuzzy."
"The Autumn Orchid was disbanded after The Return." Zhang's words were snapped. "Any spy competent enough to be retained in his own service would know that."
The cyborg carefully kept her pose relaxed at those words, face impassive, fighting down an urge to make some retort or reach out to her handler. For his part however, the latter seemed to ignore that barb.
"I'm sure it was... obviously there would be nothing to spy on once the British left."
"China has its interests to safeguard, that I'm sure you can understand, and these are our people now, so they will be treated as such."
"All loyal comrades of The Party no doubt... I'm not entirely certain who would be getting the shorter end of the stick." A pause and, when no retort was forthcoming, her partner sighed, one hand lifting to pinch at the bridge of his nose. "Tell me Captain, what do you want with me here? We've had a long flight, and I would quite like to go find a hotel and a bed."
Monty felt eyes slide toward her again, something else flickering behind that hard gaze as they lingered, before moving back to her handler.
"I'm sure you would." Now the captain seemed also to relax slightly, as if some carried burden were being allowed to show for the first time. "As you are so forthright, I shall do you the courtesy of replying in kind: what are you doing here Mr. Blacker? Hong Kong plays host to enough of the world's espionage fraternity, making their own varying amounts of trouble, as it is. I do not need one more adding to the mix."
"As you already pointed out, I've been absent from the SIS quite some time now."
"Yes, and the SIS we tolerate so long as their interests do not intersect ours. You, on the other hand, have disappeared from the radar almost completely, so your intentions are more... opaque."
"We're on holiday."
"In business suits."
"Aeroplanes get cold, plus a suit is both a handy thing to have and a practical way to travel, you would know that yourself, Captain." A beat as he nodded toward their companion's own attire. "What I would be most interested to know is how, and why, you were made aware of our arrival. I do not appreciate people attempting to make my life difficult sans cause."
The look became hard again, held a moment longer than perhaps polite. "That is not for you to know. Just know that we will be watching."
"Be rest assured Captain, I have no urge or intention to cause Second Department trouble."
"I hope, for your sake, that you are telling the truth. We will be watching, Mister Blacker, I trust you will not give us reason to meet again. Good evening to you."
That, it seemed, was their dismissal and, as the captain sat once more behind his pantomime desk, Monty turned, leading her partner back out toward bustling streets, crowded pavements suddenly distinctly less welcoming.
There was conceivably some irony to be found in the concept that Kowloon offered a more stereotypically 'Hong Kong' experience than much of Hong Kong Island itself and, perhaps in reflection of that, the journey from one to the other offered significantly less interest than that from the airport. Crossing of Victoria Harbour dispensed with via tunnel, the Blackers' car was soon pulling in under dark stone cladding their hotel's façade, seemingly without input from either fratello member.
Big limousine oozing to a halt in the low-ceilinged arrivals area, Monty changed mental gears, waiting for Lau to open her door before stepping out, bag in hand, and around to join her handler facing the small, minimalist, reception area. Before its light wood and stone entry stood a woman wearing plain, neat, greys, tablet under one arm and, as the pair's two suitcases were handed to a porter, she bowed slightly.
"Ms. Lynd, Mr. Steed, welcome to The Upper House. I am Faye Song, and will be looking after you for your stay, if you would care to follow me?"
Resisting an urge to join the porter disappearing off another direction with their luggage instead, Monty handed the cabin bag to her partner, falling in behind their host to be led inside and onto long escalators. Carrying the small party up through a dimly lit, torii-esque, tunnel, those deposited them into another minimalist lobby, sudden deserted tranquillity a far cry from the bustling city outside.
"Hotel accommodations only start from floor thirty-eight, so we have a climb first."
Now Faye continued on, past fine sculpture and glass exterior doors, to elevators at the space's far end, click of heels echoing around empty walls. Those continued their journey up, through the building's core to its upper-most levels, before walking again across the establishment proper's water-bottomed, full height, atrium space.
Another elevator ride ended in a short hallway, and the pair were directed to a plain door in its flank, set beside a glowing floor to ceiling lamp, corridor stretching back toward the atrium's void. Producing a key card, their hostess ushered them through into a world of clean, light woods and dark, sharp detailing: to the left a lounge area and table, to the right a large bedroom and bathroom beyond, panoramic glass offering spectacular views toward Kowloon from wide, cushion-festooned windowsills.
Somehow their luggage had arrived first, two cardboard suitcases placed neatly behind the bed head, itself faced out to the harbour and, checking both pieces against something on the tablet, Faye turned to her guests.
"I hope everything is to your liking?"
From where he had been inspecting their bags, Jethro gave her a cheeky grin. "I'm impressed, I don't think I saw a single stray housekeeping trolley or room service tray on our way in."
That got a polite smile. "Yes, and you never will."
"Trade secrets?"
Again the smile, this one more conspiratorial and, producing a stylus, she held it and the pad out. "If one of you could please sign?"
Taking both in lieu of her partner, Monty made the appropriate scribble for her cover, before handing them back, receiving another bow in return. "Thank you. You will find key cards in the lounge with your room amenities. If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to call down."
With that she was gone and, waiting for the door to close securely, Jethro began to move around the suite, slowly inspecting it inch by inch, his young partner heading the opposite direction, through a well stocked kitchenette and over the wide, L-shaped, sofa, heavy design books stacked on its accompanying coffee table. The dining setting provided, as promised, key cards along with a city guide in neat black boxes, and an iPod Touch, the latter being turned off until it could be properly checked.
Crossing paths with her partner halfway, the bedroom next received her attentions, then its large attached bathroom, voyeur and exhibitionist-friendly windows providing similarly stunning harbour views to those in the living areas from a free-standing spa, shower, and his and hers sinks.
Meeting with her handler again however, Monty shook her head, receiving a similar gesture in return. Content with that, she bent down to open their cabin bag, finally feeling safe enough to talk.
"Nothing?"
"Nothing. I do believe it's clean, surprisingly."
"Could be someone expected us to change rooms immediately... or intends to play Peeping Tom." Extracting her laptop and power pack the girl stood again, back remaining to panes of glass. "I want to run a scan on that Touch before getting too carried away, but it first might not be a bad idea to clear out my computer and destroy Algy's hard copies. Clean the room may be, but after Zhang's sidetrack I feel it best we didn't leave anything laying around for idle eyes."
"The boffins did a pretty good job securing your machine."
"They did, but I will be taking the extra precaution anyway. At the very least, if someone causes it to fritz itself, the data will be off. You should probably wipe your iPad too."
There was a pause, and a nod, then Jethro shrugged, turning away as his voice became brighter. "Well I found coloured pencils, and a notebook, so once we're unpacked I'll look to doing those sketches."
Setting her laptop on the table she started it booting, before plugging into the mains. "Do you think many will actually be present?"
"Couldn't say," now her partner's words wafted in from the bedroom, accompanied by the sound of latches opening, "Zhang certainly seemed to be labouring under the impression there were agents on the ground, but who's still around will likely have changed well and truly since I was collecting Her Majesty's paycheques. That said, if Charlie is here, then you can stand fairly assured he'll have brought one or two with him, probably Martin for starters."
Computer booted, Monty plugged her phone into it and, commencing the transfer of everything pertaining to their current engagement, moved through to join her handler. Finding suitcases already half empty, she inspected firearms removed from their shielded hole: two pistols, two magazines each, one suppressor between them, and fifty rounds of ammunition, all accounted for.
"Martin?"
"Martin Case, he joined the service about the same time I did... interesting piece of work. Charlie recruited him straight out of one of the better universities, old school tie and all that, and he is to Charlie what I was to Algy, a protégé, someone to take under his wing and train as he sees fit. However, while Algy and I eventually parted ways, he's stayed on."
"And you think he'll be here?"
"Where Charlie is, Martin will most surely follow. Together they were very effective, so I doubt any of the brass would see reason to split them up."
Lifting her own carefully packed Mondrian dress, the cyborg set it upon one of the surprisingly plentiful hangers provided while her handler continued to talk.
"That said, I don't even know if Algy informed Charlie we were coming. Technically it would be polite but, if he did, then the latter is unlikely to be pleased."
"Enough so to actively hinder us?"
That got a sigh as, closing up one emptied suitcase, her partner hefted it into the top of the wardrobe. "Honestly, I don't know..."
A pause now, and at it Monty glanced back, finding him standing still, one finger tapping hollowly against black, vulcanised, cardboard.
"How so?"
He started at that, shooting a small smile her way, voice however still pensive. "I just... don't. I would like to think he's professional enough not to, but I also suspect he likely considered any dealings with me dusted once I had been turfed out, a win for him. If nothing else, he would certainly be just as interested as Second Department in our movements."
Stowing the last of her own items, a lightweight yellow romper-suit, Monty passed the second case off to be put away as well, before gathering up her pistol and trailing back through to the wood-floored lounge, padding across its accompanying patterned rug to inspect her computer. Transfer complete, she unplugged the phone, flicking through quickly to ensure everything had indeed arrived safely, looking up as Jethro joined her, pencils in hand.
"What I would like to know is just how Second Department knew we were coming. It certainly wasn't on the SWA end, as far as they're concerned we're still in Paris."
Moving up beside her, the ex-SIS man placed his own firearm on the table along with its accompanying box of ammunition, before resting a hand on her shoulder. "And I suggest it's best they remain holding that notion, we're playing with the big boys now luv."
"Which means, unless we got very unlucky in France, the only other interested party is the SIS."
Another pause, and in it, his thumb started to work at the base of her neck.
"I doubt Algy would have sold us out, and I also doubt he would have let too many people in on our involvement..."
"...which leaves the next most logical choice to be someone from the Far East Station."
The thumb stopped.
Content her data was securely moved, the girl leaned down again, flicking through computer menus until she found what she was looking for. Opening a command window, she typed in the code which would set the machine wiping itself clean of all non-programme data: a blank slate, all the tools but with nothing for them to be applied on.
Her handler however was talking again. "Again, I doubt Algy would have let anyone in on what was happening who didn't need to know and, since we're not interfacing with them if at all possible..."
"...that means only a select few," she finished for him, "which brings us back to Charlie and his protégé."
"It does."
"So again: does he dislike you enough to sell us out, even to the SIS's detriment?"
Silence, then another sigh as strong arms wrapped around her from behind, their owner moving forward to squeeze closer, and this time his words were quiet. "As I said, I just don't know. I like to think Her Majesty's Secret Intelligence Service employs people that will put the nation's interests before their own grievances..."
Reaching up, she placed a long fingered hand gently atop that of her partner. "There's a 'but' in there somewhere."
Now she felt him move again, head tilting forward to press hard against her crown.
"There is... I said I hoped the SIS's people were above personal grievances, but..." he trailed off, and the girl found herself turned to face him, letting arms snake up and around his back as the embrace became tighter, more urgent, "...well... who do you think led the charge for me to be drummed out in the first place?"
Leaning away from a set of coin-operated binoculars, Monty scowled at the humidity-hung vista stretched out before her. Four hundred and twenty-eight metres, that was how high Sky Terrace, placed atop the Victoria Peak Tower, was supposed to put her, its literature promising unparalleled three hundred and sixty degree views across Hong Kong, Kowloon, the New Territories and beyond. It would have too, had the weather decided to cooperate, and now damp air softened sunset soaked buildings across the harbour, erasing any details from sight.
"Not precisely the most conducive gawking weather."
At her back on the crowded viewing deck, Jethro leaned forward to bring his head close to an ear, one hand slipping around her waist as he did so.
"No joy?"
"I could get some general idea where the traffic's going, but any details are just lost in the haze, so it's somewhat difficult to keep a bead on any individuals."
That was answered by a finger's pressure on her chin, craning her head around to bring them nose to nose, and she offered a small smile, which earned a quick peck on the lips. "That's better. Try to look happy, it'll give us an excuse to come back with a better lens once the weather clears."
The smile became indulgent now, and she found herself shuffled away from the binoculars' pedestal, leaving them for some other unfortunate to waste money on.
Foregoing any further tourist gawping, the pair instead moved toward glass encased escalators, heading down and, letting her partner lead onto a lower step, the girl waited for him to turn, drawing her into another embrace, once more nose to nose. Another kiss, this a little longer, and she felt a hand make its way down her back, over her romper suit's wide white belt to stop at a buttock. Parting again, she kept their faces close, eyelids heavy as she cocked a brow.
"Our tail?"
Jethro gave an echoing smile. "He's tagging along. If I were to hazard a guess, this one will stick with us at least until we hit the tramway."
"Nice to know he can keep up, even if we are making it easy."
"Innocent tourists remember? Besides, it'll leave them guessing as to whether we know they're following or not."
"Not too innocent," now she twitched her head sideways slightly to look over his shoulder, "and you might want to consider an about-face, I'm not scraping you up off the floor."
Letting go, her partner turned just in time to avoid meeting the escalator's terminus heels first and, stepping neatly from it, he waited long enough to gather her up, one hand again finding the small of her back and guiding toward the Peak Tower's exit.
Outside, stone pavement, baked in the day's sun, sent tropical heat rebounding skyward, and the fratello made quick progress across it to the Peak Tram's uppermost station. The platform here was crowded as well, equal parts tourists and locals and, standing taller than most, Jethro kept one eye toward the entrance, waiting for their unwelcome companion.
It wasn't a long wait and, as the red car pulled in on its cable, their watcher appeared amongst the milling throng. Most likely he would be too far away to make it onto this carriage, which was interesting. If whomever was controlling the tails wanted to ensure picking himself and Monty up again, they would need eyes at each stop down, ready to follow... perhaps somewhat overzealous for a straight babysitting detail.
Ushering his girl onto the now empty car, the ex-SIS man slipped across a wooden bench, letting his partner take the aisle seat, an arrangement he had long learned better than to argue against. Drawing her in once more, he brought his head down as the tram continued to fill.
"If this is all Zhang, he's certainly keen on keeping us under close tabs."
Pausing while a family passed close by, Monty turned her head up to look at him. "He does seem to be taking a particular interest. Between this and his stunt in Mongkok, I'm starting to wonder just what he has to hide. Not that I'm complaining, but he could just as easily have pulled us in at the PLA building."
"That was rather courteous of him wasn't it?" Underneath them, the tram began to move, rolling sternward off the station's end to immediately drop, leaning its passengers against hard backed seating. "It makes one wonder if he's not trying to fly under the radar himself..."
"...In which case: what about us is concerning him enough to bother, and how would he know about it to begin with?" Monty finished for him, voice darkening. "Presuming they are Zhang's."
"Yes... Of course it could have been simple professional courtesy as well, or posturing and, frankly, if you know where the competition is from the off, it's generally preferable not to lose track."
There was a pause, followed by a sound of acknowledgement, but no more as the tram descended into trees. Hemmed in by sheer, overgrown rock faces on one side, windows opposite offered fleeting views of the city beyond, sunlit tops of buildings glowing gold above the peak's cast shadow drawing nearer with each glimpse. Finally however, the funicular rail levelled out, grinding to a halt at its final destination and, standing with his girl, Jethro let the crowd carry them into station concourses beyond.
Staying with that human tide, the handler bobbed along in its current, meandering through tramway historical exhibits, slowing to let the swarm from their own journey flow away. Pulling up before the glass of one display, he took a moment to inspect its reflection, before leaning down as if to look closer at an item, head hovering by his partner's ear once more.
"Any ideas as to who our next customer is?"
Moving slightly to get him in view, Monty shrugged. "Some, there are a few still hanging around from our car. This time of day though, I would hope them intelligent enough to send one of the better dressed individuals, otherwise they're going to have trouble following us to dinner or drinks anywhere nice."
"Let's find out, what say we visit a few bars between here and Wan Chai?"
That received a nod and, continuing out of the small museum space, the spy ushered his companion onto wide streets. Across parched tarmac rose high walls and iron fencing of the United States consulate, lights just starting to come on its gardens and, hearing the small snort of derision uttered by the girl at his side, he guided her away, back toward the harbour.
At this end of the island, and at this elevation, the city was clean and airy, suited to wealthy expats and high-ranking officialdom; gentrified, was the term. This was not the Hong Kong he remembered so fondly, that lay ahead, or at least some of it did and, sauntering down off the lower slopes of Victoria Peak, the pair quickly found their first stop. Still in neat surrounds, he left Monty to maintain a footpath table, stepping across the small bar's threshold to soon return with two tall glasses in hand, condensation already forming in evening heat to dribble over grasping fingers.
Sliding beside his partner, one Bahamas Highball was set down before her and, removing its straw daintily, the girl ran it through soft lips, catching any residual gin, vermouth and tonic mix, before placing it neatly on the table. Lifting his own drink now, the handler raised his glass, using it as an excuse to look along the straw's vector, scanning bodies on its end. Running one arm behind his companion to tap her offside thigh, it then wrapped around, drawing her slender form up to sit on his lap, thumb caressing just below her romper's deeply unzipped front.
"White t-shirt, skinny chinos, Doc Martins?"
His voice was low, and the reply came equally so. "With blazer and slicked back hair, yes. He left the toilet just as we were leaving."
"Could be he just followed a pretty girl."
That earned a flat look. "He's the only one so far with potential."
"I'll be interested to see if he hands off again at our next stop then. Presuming this crowd could cover every station from The Peak, they should have enough to change the guard a couple of times, and they'd have to suspect we're, or at least I'm, looking for them." Jethro paused, taking another sip of his cocktail. "How many stations were there?"
"Not including where we got on? Five."
"Good thing you hold your drink okay then, let's see what we can do toward running Zhang out of people."
Letting conversation degenerate to small talk, the pair slowly finished respective glasses before standing to move on. Beginning a leisurely stroll from bar to bar, the warm glow of evening once more gave way to neon night, buildings becoming older and less carefully maintained as they worked gradually east through bustling streets. Exiting their final stop, Jethro allowed the slightest hint of sway to enter his step as flashing markers of Wan Chai's entertainment district spread out before them. Under lurid lighting, revellers meandered along its pavement before club entrances, here and there guarded by short skirted hostesses: visible tips of a seedier underbelly. This was where they needed to be.
Guiding his partner through the throng, past ranks of red and silver taxis, polished flanks painted into psychedelic novas by flickering signs above, he finally found what he was looking for: another entrance, watched by a safari-suited minder. Over her head, writing across the door proclaimed it to be "Tarzan's", sounds of brass, strings, and percussion issuing from inside.
Beside him, Monty eyed it distastefully. "Remind me again why we're going here?"
"For old time's sake, and because it brings back some fond memories."
Waiting for the girl's passport to be checked, Jethro paid his own dues, before guiding her through the doorway into a darkened tunnel beyond, low level lighting picking up small palms and broad-leaf rainforest plants lining either flank. The music was louder now and, continuing down, they pushed through a heavy curtain into the room beyond...
...almost collecting a waitress as she passed by the other side and, sighting the near-bare retreating back, he felt his stomach sink.
He'd forgotten about that.
Glancing down he saw his partner's eyes follow the woman, before continued to scan the room, taking in more palms, tops edging this mezzanine level's rail and lining steps down to the main floor, serviced by similarly lightly clad wait staff below.
Leopard print, palms and plastic monkeys…
Cocking an eyebrow she turned an unimpressed gaze on him, voice flat. "'Fond memories'."
That was answered with a wry half grin. "The music's good?"
"Be glad you've a grander purpose here."
Deciding silence represented the safer option, he rested a hand again in the small of her back, moving them down stairs and through crowds below as the suited band on stage finished its set. Finding an unoccupied standing table, he swung around it, leaning down to talk into Monty's ear, just in time to watch their current tail push through the same curtain.
"Any preferences for drinks?"
"I've this nasty inkling they'll be tiki-heavy. Pick something."
Leaving her be, he instead shouldered his way to the bar, scanning the menu half heartedly until a spot along its front became free. Pushing forward into that freshly cleared space, the spy flagged down one of the older barmen as his turn came up.
"I'll have a Piña Colada, and an Eye of the Tiger, if I could."
There was the faintest flicker in the server's eyes. "The Piña Colada I can do, but an Eye of the Tiger I've never heard of."
"Do you have coconut rum?"
Turning, the other man stopped to peruse tall shelves of liquor behind, seemingly missing a large bottle of appropriate spirit set directly at eye level.
"I'm sorry, but I can't see any."
Jethro sighed. "Pity, I had a friend used to make it, but I've lost contact with him now... Give me a Vesper martini instead.
Answering with a small nod, the server set about his work.
That was not a short process either, and the band was starting up again as a martini glass and hollowed out pineapple were placed before the waiting handler, who winced at the price, before collecting both to return toward his girl. Threading through the crowd, he found their table no-longer private, two dress shirted bodies towering over her diminutive form. Expats, probably, both of them significantly bigger than himself to boot.
Sometimes being given the pretty one could be a fraught exercise.
Ensuring to stay out of the new arrivals' sight until the last moment, he pulled up at Monty's side once more, shooting a less than friendly glance at her companions as they shuffled around to keep him in view. Receiving a reply in kind, he reached past his partner to place the rum and coconut filled pineapple down, arm dropping back to rest at her waist.
"Making new friends?"
The girl however seemed to be studying garnish sprouting from the top of her cocktail.
"When I said 'pick something', I didn't expect you to return with half the Amazon in hand."
Before he could make a retort however, one of the opposite pair spoke up, eyes flashing to Jethro again before resting back on the petite girl with a sickening smile. "See? Come and have a drink with us instead."
Now his friend also joined in. "I bet we could find something more to your tastes."
"Really? And just what would you like to bet?" Even in the low light, Jethro saw two sets of eyes flick down toward his partner's deeply unzipped front at her words, and his resting hand involuntarily tightened. Before either could reply however, Monty continued and, though he couldn't see her face, he felt her lean forward slightly. The movement's accompanying heavy lidded expression didn't require much brain power to visualise.
"I'll tell you what. How about you... gentlemen... go and pick me something each and, if I like it, we can find somewhere else to discuss this further."
"How do we know you'll stay put."
"You're just going to need to trust me aren't you? If you can't do that here, how can you expect to do so anywhere else?"
Now the two glanced at each other, the larger one's mouth beginning to open, only to be once more cut off. "Go on, run along... it's the best offer you will get all night."
Another glance, and the pair turned, swaying slightly as they ducked away into the hubbub.
Looking down, Jethro turned his girl to face him, slipping her a quick smile. "I'm done, did you want to hang around for them to get back?"
"Not particularly."
"Thought as much."
Giving the two another few seconds to be properly gone, with enough crowd intervening to prevent their returning in a hurry, the fratello swung toward stairs, leaving untouched drinks behind.
Exiting back onto the street, Jethro carefully arranged his face into an expression of relief, before aiming his partner along its length, putting distance between themselves and Tarzan's doors.
"At least those two gave us an excuse to leave somewhat expeditiously."
Glancing at the auburn-haired figure at his side, the spy gave her another half grin, squeezing her in against himself as he did so. "There is that. All the same, and I don't know about you, but I think I've seen enough bars for one night. What say we find something to eat?"
"I think that sounds exceptional."
Another grin. "Good, because there's a Cantonese barbeque a few streets over may be very worthwhile visiting about now."
Rundown compared to its more gentrified twin farther west Wan Chai may have been, but the older streets made excellent ground on which to perform a half-hearted clearance drill. Devoid of a similarly handy reason to leave, their tail had been left in the club but, if Zhang were organised, a replacement should have been waiting outside and, passing the turn he should have taken, Jethro moved farther into the milling crowd.
Eventually cutting down a darker lane, leaving neon lights to silhouette anyone at its entrance, he placed Monty against the wall. Bending down to plant a kiss on her lips, he moved to her cheek before beginning to work downward, giving her excuse to look back toward the lane's entrance, one slender fingered hand settling upon the back of his scalp as he proceeded down her neck.
He was nose to collar bone before feeling himself pushed back.
"Careful, people are watching."
One hand on the zipper ring-pull just below her sternum, he lifted eyes to her face, expression querying. "Anyone we know?"
"Yes, oddly. Across the way."
Nuzzling briefly into where neck met shoulder as her caressing hand lifted him back up, he used that movement to glance sideways, catching the figure observing them from the street's far kerb, floating on the edge of a similarly dressed crowd. The blazer was over a shoulder now, but slicked back hair remained above the same features and, as another passer by looked curiously at their hiding spot, he took the opportunity to gather Monty up, hustling her toward the lane's far end, girl making a show of lifting her zipper half an inch as they went.
Merging into thoroughfare foot traffic beyond, the pair slowed to give their follower a chance to close again, and Jethro leaned down toward his partner once more.
"Zhang must be short warm bodies if we're back to the start now."
"Or he's decided not to show his full hand straight up. We're not right back to the start either, but that's definitely the same tail as followed us from the tram stop."
"I think we should call him 'John'."
That suggestion earned a withering look, and he threw it a big grin in return.
Monty cocked an eyebrow. "Feel lucky I'm willing to put up with you, no-one else would."
The grin stayed.
Passing a bus stop, Jethro's gaze swung toward its waiting double decker, finding their returned tail hurrying through the crowd in its reflective rear glass. Content they had been reacquired, he put an arm around his partner's shoulders once more, guiding her back toward their original destination.
And not before time, he was getting properly hungry.
Packed with so much wealth, Hong Kong offered a myriad of high-end restaurant options, happy to charge all comers correspondingly extravagant prices for exquisitely prepared meals. They were, however, not the only places to taste exceptional food and, turning down another neon-lit backstreet, he found what he had been seeking: a tiny shop, strings of whole cooked ducks hanging in its window.
Guiding Monty inside through a heavy strip curtain they were met by a chattering din, and he let the small space's noise, smell and heat wash over him, suppressing a smile as the crowded interior's clamour bounced off hard walls and floors. Pausing in the doorway, the pair found themselves being waved through by a small woman in a cheap vinyl apron who, bustling up, said something rapidly in Cantonese above the racket.
At her words, Jethro's smile became fixed and, trying to prevent its being replaced by a more confused expression, the Englishman tentatively held up two fingers, rapidly searching his own minimal and rusty grasp on the language. "Umm... ngóh séung... dehng yātjèung tói?"
The waitress looked puzzled for a moment, then a grin spread across her face. "Table?"
The grin was returned, accompanied by an enthusiastic nod. "Yes, please."
Being motioned energetically to a place up against one wall, the fratello was directed onto cheap plastic chairs, his girl taking the outward facing position, as their new hostess pointed to sheets of paper arranged under the setting's glass surface.
"Menu."
Jethro nodded, his partner echoing the sentiment. "Ḿhgòi."
As the woman moved away, he leaned forward. "I must admit, it's taking somewhat longer to get a handle on the language again than I would like."
"Be glad you've not had to start from scratch." Now, his partner tapped the table top. "Can you read any of this?"
Following her motion, he studied the paper beneath, small characters strewn across it, as the buzz of conversation and clatter of plastic cups and chop sticks continued around them.
"Some, the writing's the same whether it be Cantonese or Mandarin, so I've a fighting chance..." he circled one block of text with a finger, "...these are all duck."
Working down the pages to find familiar symbols, he read out what he could, trying to string them together until the waitress mercifully returned again. Placing a large jug of hot tea on the table, she pulled out a paper pad.
At least they'd know vaguely what their order contained...
"Food."
Pointing randomly at an entry in the duck area, he gave her a worried grin. "Ḿhgòi?"
Nodding, she turned to Monty, who made her own, equally random, selection.
"Drink."
At that the handler shook his head to point instead to their jug. Receiving another nod in return, the fratello was left alone again, and he took a tall plastic cup from the stack on one side of their table, half-filling it with tea. Selecting two pairs of chopsticks and two wide plastic spoons, those were dunked in to swirl through the piping hot liquid.
"It's been awhile since we played meal roulette."
"It has." Picking out two more cups, Monty set about pouring drinks, glancing outside before re-focusing on his face, voice lowering. "Looks like John has set up across the way from us."
"Good for him, I hope he's comfortable."
Accepting a set of freshly cleaned utensils, the girl pushed one full cup across to him. "Even if Zhang is concealing his hand, that he would even attempt so suggests he may be working with limited resources... I thought the standard Chinese approach was to throw people at a problem."
"Could be he's part of a smaller cell, or we're worth a bit of extra effort, but not enough for a particularly big push."
"Or, again, he's trying to fly under the radar, which raises the possibility he's not entirely got his organisation's full support."
Taking a sip of tea, the spy sighed. "I wish we had more current information on the Chinese's structure. Unfortunately, the last decent rundown I got on this part of the world was with the SIS, everything since has been pretty average..."
He trailed off as the waitress returned, carrying two meals, along with a large tub of rice. Putting the latter down, she leaned in, plates clattering on glass panes, before turning to Jethro.
"Tiger will see you. Two night. On Kellet. Dress."
"Thank you."
Looking across at his partner as they were left alone once more, he gave her another grin.
"Though, we may just be able to do something about that situation."
"I heard."
Doling out a serve of rice to his plate, the handler picked up a morsel of duck, placing it in his mouth to chew contentedly. Getting a response aside, that wasn't the only reason to come here.
Even this late, The Upper House's central atrium remained well lit, warm lamps filling in for vast tracts of glass above, reflecting off water to trace shifting patterns across high walls and installation art to the bridge at its peak, connecting hotel lounge to restaurant. Cascading over that latter came faint voices and the clink of glass, dancing on the edge of hearing, a comfortable sanctuary from bustling streets outside.
Walking quietly so as to not disturb that peace, Jethro drew level with the fratello's door, producing his key card in the process.
Before he could use it however, Monty laid a firm hand on his wrist, pointing toward the floor. Following her finger down he found what had stopped her: no hair at its base... and the room had been cleaned when they left.
Standing back he glanced up and down the corridor, finding it empty as, beside him, his partner performed her own check. Seemingly coming to the same conclusion, she unzipped her romper suit farther, withdrawing the PPK concealed at her back and sweeping the safety off, nodding at him to unlock their room.
Extracting his own firearm from its hiding place he did as instructed, before standing back to let her move swiftly inside, gun leading.
A second passed.
Then another.
"Fond memories of Tarzan's, was it?"
All clear.
Pushing his own way in, the spy found his partner halfway through re-holstering her pistol, computer already open and booting. Despite all evidence to the contrary outside, nothing looked like it had been touched... which was not entirely comforting.
"Sorry, I honestly don't remember it being like that."
"Really…" the word had spikes on, "…it looked as if it dropped straight out of the 1970's."
Fortunately he was saved any more by the laptop coming online and, reading something from its screen, his girl held up two fingers: two access attempts, neither successful. That was a half blessing, who ever had broken in stopping just short of the machine automatically frying itself.
Or course, if someone had tried the computer...
Holstering his own weapon, the spy began to sweep their suite once more, checking in shadow-lines between ceiling and walls, through air-conditioning vents, before moving on to hidden blind recesses.
It did not take long to locate what he was searching for.
Feeling along the spine of a hardcover design book, probing fingers discovered a low lump which should not have been there and, opening the thick volume, he held it end on to the light. Looking down the gap between pages and cardboard, attached to the outer lining was sure enough a flexible circuit and small battery, backed by sticky transparent plastic.
Gesturing Monty over, he held it up once more for her to see, before closing the volume and placing it carefully back on the window sill whence it had come.
So, someone had decided to listen in after all.
Motioning for his partner to begin her own sweep, he picked up the hotel's provided iPod, flicking through its music collection. Playlist yielding up some downbeat, sensual, French jazz, something which would give them an excuse not to talk, he started it piping through their space, before resuming his own search. This was an issue they could have done without, admittedly not unexpected, but highly inconvenient nonetheless.
Their task was however one well practised and, meeting up with his girl again quickly, she held up three fingers, then tapped her ear: three more bugs, all listening devices... which matched his own count.
The question of course now was: what next?
Pausing for a moment to think, he spun the girl to face away from him, hands crossing just below her navel so he could speak into her ear, voice lifted minutely into the hearing range of any any snoop.
"What would you say to a nightcap before bed?"
Another silence as her head tilted back to match his gaze.
"Mmm... I think you'll need all the help you can muster getting me there."
"So that's a 'yes'?"
"Work it out yourself."
Making for the door once more he ushered his partner out, keeping one hand at her waist as the room closed and locked itself again, for all the good that did. Two elevator rides had them back at the hotel's upper lobby but, instead of heading for the escalator to ground, the pair made their way through glass doors halfway up its length. Ascending low, candle-lantern lit stairs to a rooftop green space, they found themselves amongst umbrella covered lounges, carefully manicured plants separating here from the outside world. At this hour few people remained scattered across fake grass, but none paid the new arrivals any heed as they moved to the bar, collecting a champagne flute each, before retiring to a more secluded corner of the garden. Not ideal, but the area looked thoroughly and regularly cleaned, making bugging it hopefully a short term affair.
It would have to do.
Plonking down on one of the wide outdoor sofas, Jethro leaned back, staring up at towering buildings above as Monty arranged herself crossways on his lap. Resting back against a shoulder to bring their faces close together, she let one of his arms wrap around her, fingers now slipping inside the still unzipped romper suit to stoke back and forward across soft skin, just above her belted waist.
Sipping her drink, her spare hand moved rest atop those caressing fingers.
"So that's rather inconvenient."
Pulling her closer to steal a kiss, he nodded, voice lowered for cyborg ears only. "Question now though is: what do we do with it?"
Taking another taste of champagne to buy thinking time, the girl withdrew her glass, subjecting it to study under flickering light. "I'm glad we didn't get the whole bottle, I'm not really in the mood for much more."
"Keeping up appearances luv."
"Only to a point... and I would be tempted to find an excuse to move rooms."
Jethro tapped a fingernail against his own glass, hearing the crystal ring, before replying. "If we did though, how long do you think it would take for the next to be compromised also? No, I think for the time being we stay put, save moving for if and when we absolutely need to. We've been playing stupid so far, continuing to do so for a bit will not hurt... How many did you find?"
"Four, including the book, another under the sofa, one in the bedroom shadow-line, and one in the bathroom, near the sinks."
"The same ones I found then, and audio only."
"Bar the Touch, and I would treat that as a bug also for the time being."
"It can be kept out of sight easily enough, so we can work around that, plus there's plenty of excuse to make noise in the bathroom..." he paused, now giving her a small, cheeky grin, "...and plenty of reason to close the blinds with a spa that size."
That earned him a cocked eyebrow, but he continued.
"Alternately, you're in Hong Kong, it would be a travesty to eat room service every day we're here."
Monty however still seemed to be thinking, finger now mimicking her handler's previous motion to tap against crystal, sending ripples across the flute's pale contents and beaded moisture coursing down its sides. Putting his own glass down, her partner used now spare fingers to prod her face toward his, letting lips linger until she pulled back slightly, still nose to nose, ready to begin speaking again.
"I can't help but wonder if leaving our new houseguests be is not just a tad too clever. We're playing stupid I realise, but you're still an ex-spy and, out of the service for awhile or no, old habits die hard. If we start getting cute it may end up arousing suspicions anyway, Zhang's... or anyone else's."
A pause.
"It's a point and, frankly, there are more choices to whom they actually belong than I really feel comfortable with, but that doesn't change that they're there, and we at least know where right now." Another pause. "No, I still think we leave alone. I'm in Hong Kong, in a very nice hotel, with a very pretty girl, I have reason to be distracted."
That earned another deadpan look, the eyebrow arching once more. "Do you have a history of letting girls distract you from the task at hand?"
Mouth opening for a reflex retort, the spy froze, words never making it out... she knew the answer to that, he knew she did.
Sighing, he let shoulders slump, giving his partner a comforting squeeze. "I may have done so once or twice, yes... but not for very long, and we can always find an excuse to kick our listeners out later."
Lips closing on the rim of her glass again, Monty nodded slowly, which was probably as close to agreement as he was going to get, and so he continued.
"For now though, Tiger can't meet us for another two days, so what do we do to fill the time?"
Silence, other quiet conversations creeping in as his partner contemplated those words. Finally however she spoke up, raising her champagne to once more scrutinise it.
"Seeing as we're set on maintaining innocence, and as much as I am loath to suggest it, I think we should do exactly that: remain innocent, play stupid, play tourist..."
"...and see who decides to tag along."
Now he received a genuine smile, but it was not one of humour. "That was the thinking."
