CONCLUSION:
She had fled out of her bedroom window, onto the fire escape, pulling up the ladder behind her. It had not been rushed or hap hazard. Cinnamon may have reflexively planned it, unaware she was doing so, from the moment she returned to the embassy.
Both men, not speaking a word to one another, dashed from the room. "Where are the stairs to the roof?" Phelps called to the guard.
The woman pointed to a door at the end of the hall.
Rollin was agonized and furious. He thought of her manner this morning while they were shopping, how melancholy and introspective Cinnamon had seemed while reflecting on their time together during the cruise. Was she trying to tell him something even then? Was she, in fact, saying she was not long for this world, that their time together would be one of the few pleasant memories taken with her into the afterlife? Had he been too damn blind to see the obvious?
Cinnamon had a start on them, that much was certain, but quick observation made the men believe there was still a chance. The agent had removed her clothing, showered and redressed before she left her room. They weren't certain why, if it had been part of her programming or if it was something she, Cinnamon herself, chose to do before she met her end.
Rollin was told once that a person under hypnosis could not kill themselves unless they really wanted to die. He understood the situation with Cinnamon was different. She had been drugged, abused and conditioned in a manner that was completely new to them. Perhaps there was still a little of her true fighting spirit in there, grappling with Dr. Kwik's influence, the voices in her head telling her she must meet a violent end. Perhaps it was Cinnamon, the rebel, who was doing what she could until her friends came and rescued her from a fate that had been foisted upon her.
And she was strong. Even Dr. Kwik had his doubts the conditioning would work on Cinnamon until, ultimately, she had succumbed.
Rollin was the first on the roof when they burst through the door and he frantically looked from end to end, trying to find her.
"Rollin!" Jim, following him, spotted her and pointed to where she stood, on the ledge, her hands raised, her head and hair tilted back and her eyes focused on the half-moon above. "Careful, Rollin …" Phelps warned as he slowly approached her from behind.
"Cinnamon." Rollin spoke gently, his voice barely heard above the night sounds, the busy traffic so many floors below them, "Come down."
"It's peaceful up here." She replied, not looking at him, her voice wistful.
"It's just as peaceful down here." He was close to her now and perhaps she sensed it because the woman scooted her bare feet up a few inches on the ledge, her toes dangling over the side now. Rollin stopped moving, frightened. "Please come down." He implored.
She was dressed in a lovely, lace nightgown – had been bold enough to model it for him this morning in the lingerie shop – and she had smiled at his reaction. She also wore a thin robe tied at the waist. Her hands raised to the heavens reminded him of wings and she did appear nearly angelic, with the light of the moon and stars surrounding her pale skin and blond hair. "Why?" she asked, nearly childlike, "Why should I come down?"
Rollin could have said so many things, including that if she were to fall and die he would never forgive himself for being a visionless fool, unaware of her needs. He wanted to tell her he adored her and his life would never be the same without her, that he needed her in his life. Instead, he said: "I have something for you."
Her head turned ever so slightly so that Rollin and Jim were now looking at the profile of her comely but drawn face. "I don't need anything …" she started.
"Not just anything." Rollin gulped, reaching into his pocket. "Remember?" He lifted the necklace, the chain dangling from his fingers, with its lovely set and three perfect pink pearls.
Phelps expression reflected his confusion but obviously Rollin knew what he was doing. He watched as the woman turned ever so slightly and looked at what he held; her expression softening. Cinnamon's eyes lost the vagueness and became warm with remembrance.
"You found it." She murmured, smiling gently, her arms lowering.
"Yes, for you." Rollin replied, "Let me help you down and I'll fasten it around your neck." He urged, lifting a hand for her.
"No." she whispered the warmth now replaced with regret. "You keep it, Rollin, and remember what we had …" She turned forward once again, moving a few more centimeters on the ledge.
"No!" Rollin still spoke quietly but his tone was pleading. "Cinnamon, I love you. Please stay with me!"
Jim Phelps eyes widened. The earnestness in Rollin's shaking voice was jarring.
Cinnamon leaned forward ever so slightly and her body was shaking, "Oh." She turned to look at him once more, tears in her eyes. "Oh but Rollin, I …"
He moved forward very slowly, his hand extended to her, his fingers nearly touching her own. Rollin said, "Do not force me to live without you …" His voice still trembled, "I cannot do it … Please."
Finally, she nodded and reached for him just as the police appeared, in a mad rush, on the roof. Suddenly distracted, Cinnamon teetered and nearly fell.
Rollin discarded the necklace and lunged forward just in time to grasp Cinnamon's wrist, yanking hard and bringing her down to him, holding her close. A hand lifted to touch her cheek as she looked up at him. He smiled gently, grateful, and looked deeply into her eyes as Phelps spoke with the police, explaining as best he could about what was going on.
Cinnamon, lifting shivering fingers to touch his firm jaw, sighed very gently. Growing faint, she whispered: "I love you too." before she fell unconscious in his comforting arms.
[]
Back in the United States, in Los Angeles, she rested in City Hospital. It was a private room inundated with flowers, photographs of friends and their children, fashion magazines and – with the curtains opened - the room was comfortably bright with the early afternoon sun.
She had been there for a few days. Her doctors, both physical and mental, told Phelps and her associates that Cinnamon was basically suffering from neglect. She was weak and dehydrated; lost weight and vital nutrients and, of course, she was also emotionally fragile from her ordeal. Her memory had taken a beating and although her long-term was fine Cinnamon's short-term was very spotty and, the experts feared, she would never get it all back.
"What does that mean as far as her work with the IMF?" Willy had asked, uneasy.
"She's been through a trauma." Jim had told Willy as he, Barney and Rollin spoke with Phelps in his apartment, before visiting her at the hospital. "Fortunately, she remembers very little of it. She is much less affected than we might think."
It seemed true. She was sitting up in bed, smiling, well-coiffed, lovely and appeared happy if a little anxious. "I want to get back to work." Cinnamon said, wearing a tastefully elegant nightgown and robe. "And as soon as I'm released I expect to be back in action." She looked pointedly at Phelps.
"No rush, Cinnamon." Barney told her, snickering. "We want you healthy first."
"If I get much more rest I'm going to become out-right lazy." She grumbled.
Rollin stood to the back of the room and remained quiet, observing her. What he wanted to say needed privacy. Yet, watching her – noting she had not attempted to make eye contact with him - he was not sure where to begin.
Their work was completed in Belkholt. Knoll and Kwik were both found guilty during their treason trial, Barney's video of their antics during the party vividly played before a stunned if somewhat impressed jury. Cinnamon, under the circumstances, was dismissed in abstention. Prince Shadin appeared in court and advised the judge that his country and Belkholt were now in the midst of a trade agreement so, despite Knoll's attempts to break the alliance, matters were better than ever. Also, he had no urgent need to press charges against Miss Razzman (even if they could find her). Shadin reasonably believed she was acting out of an involuntary compulsion, especially after Dr. Kwik explained his procedure to the jury.
The Secretary had receives reports from Phelps and Cinnamon's doctors and was satisfied she would be fine and fit after a short time. Removal from her job, The Secretary was assured, would not be necessary.
After the others had left her bedside, Rollin remained behind and when the door to her room shut he lifted a hand, crossed to Cinnamon and grasped her own, bending down to kiss the woman gently on the cheek. They gazed into one another's eyes and just when Rollin thought the time was right, when he was prepared to tell Cinnamon he was willing to leave the IMF if it meant they could be together, she sighed and spoke her own mind.
"I so wish I could remember more about Belkholt." She said, releasing his hand. "So many things confuse me."
Rollin felt something strange over-come him. An intuition told him to stay quiet, not to step over the line because, if he did, he might regret it. "Such as?" he asked, listening.
"I recall very little about my captivity. I know you took me from the house and we had breakfast the following morning with the others in the embassy. I even remember the two of us going shopping …" she chuckled, "How dull that must have been for you."
He gently shook his head no as she continued.
"But really, after that everything becomes very … fuzzy."
"In what way?"
She paused and thought for a minute, "Barney and Willy brought me down to the party …" she concentrated, "I can almost see it … I remember the music. But then I go blank. Nothing else registers."
Rollin felt ill. "Nothing? You don't remember anything after that?" he asked.
"No. They tell me I took the Prince out onto the balcony and nearly killed the poor boy. Also, that you and Jim rescued me from throwing myself off a building. But I don't recall any of that." She shrugged and smiled, looking at his enigmatic expression.
"Maybe one day it will come back to you." Rollin held his hands behind him, preventing them from shaking, and gave her a mild smile. For her the experience on the embassy roof did not happen. Nor, he suspected, did she completely recall their conversation in front of the jewelry store. For Cinnamon Carter he was still merely a former lover, a current friend, and workmate who was wishing her well.
"Maybe one day but …." She shrugged, "… I suppose it doesn't truly matter, does it?"
He tried to make his smile look genuine, "No, I guess not. What's important is that you're fit." He reached over and picked up a fashion magazine and placed it in her lap. Rollin then bent down and once again kissed her gently on the cheek, "For now you rest, read, and get healthy. We're going to need you next month when we go to Paris. Jim tells me we may have an assignment in the fashion industry. Who better than you to lead the charge?"
Cinnamon chuckled. She was often teased by the men with regards to her glamor and sophistication. "I'll be ready."
Rollin gave a short wave and exited the hospital room, the door closing behind him.
Halfway down the hall he felt his legs go weak and he had to sit down. Rollin closed his eyes and took a deep breath to steady his nerves. He had nearly given up everything for her, was prepared to toss away a career for a woman who, for now, did not feel the same about him. Even if Cinnamon had recollected their declarations of love on the roof of the embassy - would he have just embarrassed himself? Was her reply purely in the heat of the moment?
Alerted, he felt someone beside him and looked up.
Jim Phelps stood and was staring down on him. "Are you okay?' he asked, shifting to sit next to his fellow agent in the row of chairs.
"Fine." Rollin said but his appearance was all but well. He was having a difficult time holding his emotions in check.
Jim Phelps was not a fool. He saw what was developing between his agents for months now and tried to ignore it. He suspected they were already lovers but, until he heard and saw them on that embassy roof, he had not realized how deep their affection truly was. But, in the end, he could predict what the outcome would be. Rollin did not know it but Jim had spoken to Cinnamon before he and the others had seen her. He could have allowed the relationship to crash and burn; dismissing both of his agents. However, they were also his friends … and Jim Phelps was not an entirely heartless man. Cinnamon, the more practical of his two agents, was made to understand …
However, at a moment like this, when Rollin appeared so miserable, his heart broken, Jim could not ignore the man's pain. He gently slapped him on the back, "You want to go get a drink?"
"Yeah." Rollin did not hesitate. He stood, looked down the hall once again at the closed door to Cinnamon's hospital room, took another deep breath, and walked from the building with the IMF leader.
Life would have to go on.
[]
Cinnamon tossed her magazine aside and leaned back in her up-righted hospital bed. Pensive, she reached over and opened the drawer to her bedside table. She pulled the necklace from its hiding place and she stared as it dangled in front of her eyes. Jim had brought it to her this morning, having picked it up off the embassy roof when the others were not watching, and told Cinnamon what he suspected Rollin was about to do. If he did, and she was receptive, Jim would be forced to fire them both. There was no room in the IMF for such emotions and relationships.
Although Cinnamon was wiling she could not be selfish. She simply could not allow Rollin Hand to sacrifice his career for her. He loved his work, thrived on the challenge, and he was too important to the IMF.
Cinnamon, most unfairly, felt herself a broken woman. Too much had happened and she was far too tenuous to be a good companion for any man now. Rollin deserved better, to be fulfilled by his life's ambition, to be an important man, not to settle for a woman he felt – certainly – love for but also an obligation.
Later, she and he might change their mind but, for now, they were simply teammates. It had to be this way, she knew. With a deep sigh of regret, recalling a romantic cruise, his lips on hers, and the strength of his wonderful body, Cinnamon clutched the three perfect pink pearls to her chest, over her heart.
On the embassy roof she admitted she loved him and it was true …
Cinnamon lifted a hand, fingers wiping away a single tear that had escaped her left eye. They would continue to work together, share a remarkable chemistry, but nothing more. In time the regret would lessen.
However, she would always remember.
[]
THE END
June-July, 2013
Thanks to everyone for your encouraging comments. May the IMF ever be out there saving us all from harm! Becky