Hello folks! Once again, I must apologize for the delay on getting this chapter out. My life has been consumed by that pervading beast known as Latin. Ugh…learning languages, especially dead ones, is not my forte. Ah well. Thank you all for your patience and support, I really appreciate it!
Disclaimer: I don't own Inception.
Tap…Tap…Tap…
Eames rubbed his tired eyes in frustration as he listened to Cobb persistently tapping a table where his cell phone lay. It had been a full day since Arthur disappeared and there was absolutely no word from his captor. If it had been anyone else, Eames might have guessed that the kid had run off, but Arthur would never do that. He respected Cobb far too much to do anything remotely unprofessional like run away.
Tap…Tap…Tap…
Eames's jaw clenched. "I swear, Cobb, if you keep doing that I'm going to chop your fingers off."
Cobb swallowed, only now realizing how annoying he was being. He retracted his fingers from the table. "Sorry."
Eames grunted and a few precious moments of silence followed…until Cobb's leg started to go up and down nervously. The Forger hissed, "That threat applies to any other unnecessarily moving body parts as well."
The other man stood up, running his hands through his hair that looked like it hadn't been combed…probably hadn't. "I'm sorry, I can't help it. I don't understand why they're not contacting us."
"It doesn't make sense to me either, but driving the other people around you crazy isn't really a good idea either." Eames stretched out his arms overhead, suppressing a yawn. Neither of them had gotten much sleep last night. He was surprised at how much Arthur's abduction bothered him. He had never considered him a friend, though it was fun to pick on him. But now he could honestly say that he did like the kid and found himself more and more concerned about just what those Russians were doing to him. He stood up impatiently. "Cobb, we're going to drive ourselves mad if we stay cooped up like this. I'm hungry, let's get something to eat."
Cobb paced back and forth a few times, as if he couldn't decide whether leaving the hotel they were in was a good idea or not. But he soon stopped and scooped up his cell phone. "Alright. I suppose we can answer our phones just as easily in a restaurant as we can here."
"That's the spirit." Eames managed a tight smile and they both headed out the door.
They didn't go far from the hotel, for there was a small, outdoor café located right down the street. They took a table outside and ordered their drinks, before settling down to scan the menu.
Now that they were seated, Eames suddenly felt his appetite disappear. The gnawing concern for Arthur zapped any enthusiasm he might have had for food. That kid manages to kill my fun even when he's not present.
Looking across the table, he could see that Cobb had the same problem. He skimmed over the menu a few times, but didn't appear to be reading any of it, for his eyes kept darting to his cell phone.
That reminded Eames of something he had been meaning to ask. "Say, have you called Mal and let her know what's going on?"
Cobb's eyes shifted nervously to the street. "No, I wanted to make sure I didn't miss any calls from the Russians."
"You mean you didn't want to get chewed out by Mal for not having done your research well enough to make sure you weren't endangering your teammates."
The extractor's lips flattened in a thin, annoyed line. His silence, however, proved that Eames was right.
Before either man could speak again, the waitress appeared at their table, bearing a plate of bruschetta. She set it down between them. "Here you are, sirs, enjoy."
Eames exchanged a puzzled glance with his friend, before saying, "Uh, miss, we didn't order this."
She smiled and jerked her thumb back over her shoulder. "There was a man at the bar who ordered it for you all, said you were old friends."
"Indeed, we are, my dear." The thick Russian voice that sounded behind her made the other two men freeze.
"Enjoy, gentlemen," the waitress smiled and trotted off to her next table.
Cobb and Eames glared at Pyotr as he snagged a chair from a table nearby and pulled it up to theirs. Sitting down quite calmly, he grabbed one of the bruschetta appetizers and took a bite out of it. Chewing it thoroughly before swallowing, he said, "Forgive me, I'm being rude, you may help yourselves to this as well. It's quite good."
"Where's Arthur?" Cobb spat, trying very hard to keep his tone even so as not to attract the attention of the people surrounding them.
"Really? Not even a bite first, just straight to business?" The man sucked some of the sauce from the bruschetta off of his finger, all the while keeping an infuriating smile on his face.
Eames slammed a clenched fist on the table, rattling their glasses. "Stop stalling. Where is he?"
"You too, eh?"
Cobb leaned forward, steepling his fingers in front of him and letting out a long, slow breath. Eames knew from experience that he only did that when he was dangerously angry. The extractor lowered his voice even further, "Stop toying with us. For all we know, you might have killed Arthur already…or you may not even have him. How can we even know that you have him unless you give us proof?"
Pyotr's grin widened. "You can't."
Eames's jaw clenched. "Are you actually trying to discredit yourself?"
"No, Mr. Eames, I am not. But no matter what I say, you're never going to believe that Arthur is alive and well unless you either see him or hear from him…neither of which I am willing to do."
"Why not?" Cobb was a few steps away from throwing the man across the restaurant, regardless of whether it got him arrested or not.
Pyotr grabbed another bruschetta piece and took a bite out of it. He chewed with maddening slowness, watching them with sparkling eyes. After he swallowed, he said, "Because I've discovered that letting people talk to their loved ones always compromises what I want to accomplish. Somehow someone always ends up tracking the phonecall or seeing something in the photo that gives away the location of the hideout or, the hostage manages to communicate something important one way or another. I prefer to ensure my success in whatever way I can."
"I've had enough of this." Eames's hand darted across the table and seized the Russian's wrist. Twisting it roughly, he growled, "Tell me where he is or I'll break your arm."
His threat didn't exactly have the result he wanted. It only made the Russian laugh. "Really, Mr. Eames, resorting to physical harm already? I'm surprised…I thought you didn't like the little Point Man."
"Let him go, Eames," Cobb said in a measured tone. "That is not going to help our situation."
"A wise choice," Pyotr commented as the Forger reluctantly released his wrist.
"So what do you want?" Cobb desperately tried to keep his anger from showing and to communicate as clearly as possible. Something told him that if he gave this man even the slightest amount of ambiguity, he'd take it and run, never letting them know what he wanted.
"I want you to build a dreamworld for me, Mr. Cobb. Anything you like, make it as detailed and as realistic as you would for a regular extraction job."
"You mean all you wanted us to do was another extraction?" Eames couldn't keep the disgust from showing in his face. "You could have just hired us. We do this for a living, you know."
Pyotr smiled again. "I do know…and I never said I wanted you to perform another extraction. Just create a world."
"What for?" Cobb frowned.
The Russian finished off his second piece of bruschetta before he saw fit to answer. "That's all you need to know for now."
Anger rushed through the Extractor, hot and volatile. This man wasn't being clear and that could very well endanger lives when entering a dreamworld. "I need specifics, Mr. Smirnov, I can't do my job without them. You have to let me know what I am getting into, or I will not cooperate with you."
"You don't need specifics to build a dreamworld. However, should you need…inspiration…I can provide that for you." Pyotr reached into his coat pocket and pulled something out. Resting his elbow on the table, he stretched his hand out in front of them so that they could see what he held.
They both swallowed uneasily.
A small red die rested in the palm of his hand.
"Do you know what this is, gentlemen?"
"That's Arthur's totem." Cobb's mouth suddenly felt very dry.
"Maybe, maybe not. You never know…I may have just picked one up at a nearby gift shop. But if it is Arthur's, do you know what I could do with this?" He rolled the die between his fingers. "Totems are so very important for a dreamer, aren't they? That's why no one else is supposed to touch them, because they could easily be manipulated in a dream. Right here in my hand, I have the one thing I could use to destroy Arthur's mind…I could make him doubt which world is real and which is not. Could lead to some tragedy, don't you think? Especially for someone so young…so easily manipulated." Pyotr grinned at their dumbstruck expressions and tossed the die up into the air. Catching it in his hand again, he swiftly pocketed it. "But of course, that all depends on whether you actually believe that it is Arthur's. Do you really want to take that chance?"
"You monster, you-" Eames let loose the string of colorful swear words that came to mind as he tried to restrain himself from pounding the smug Russian's face into the ground.
Cobb remained silent, only the icy look in his sharp eyes gave away the repulsion and fear he felt.
Pyotr, on the other hand, stood up from the table. Taking out his wallet, he lay a few bills on the table. "For the bruschetta. Take the next few days to dream up a world for me, Cobb. Or don't, if you so desire…just remember the potential stakes in this game of ours. I'll be in touch with you again."
As soon as he left the enclosed restaurant space and began to walk down the curb, Cobb stood up. "We should follow him."
Eames shook his head as he threw some money on the table for their drinks. "No."
"No? Why not?"
"Think about it, Dom. This man has been careful to leave no clues for us to follow, he won't even confirm that he has Arthur, do you really think we'd be able to just tail him to his hideout? Take my word for it, he'll probably stay away from the place for a day or two just to throw us off. Although, he's confused us so much already that he could probably lead us straight to the hideout and we'd be questioning whether it was the place or not. It's no use."
"I suppose you're right."
Eames chuckled derisively. "Yeah, but this time I wish I weren't…what do we do now?"
Cobb stared down at the remaining pieces of bruschetta, picturing the red die that had been held so casually by the Russian. That small game piece had the potential to destroy Arthur's mind. He sighed. "We need to start dreaming."
