Jo's POV – in Paris to take Trichard's token
"How do you know that she'll be at the bar?"
"Because she has an appointment with a Syndicate operative called John Smith. They are meeting at the hotel bar at 2230 hours".
Jo smiled lightly at his using the military time. Nobody used it in the hospital, she had kind of missed it.
While he was driving to the city centre, 87 had explained the reason for their trip to Paris: he had to steal a token from a lady – a certain Noemi Trichard – and take her fingerprint to decrypt the data which had been saved on a hard-disk in New York. It might be because she hadn't slept a minute in 36 hours or so
What time is it in Chicago?
but she found it all quite complicated to understand. False identities, tokens, fingerprints, crypted data… she felt as if she had plunged into a "Mission Impossible" film…but unfortunately it was all too real.
A few hours ago I killed a man.
"And of course this John Smith doesn't exist – I mean, you are going to be John Smith, right?" Jo decided not to point out that the name choice was a bit too obvious.
"Wrong. He is a real operative. When I contacted her and told her that Holster had died she insisted to deal with someone she had already met."
"But if she knows John Smith, how are you gonna do?"
"She'll receive a message saying that John can't meet her tonight. I'll be there, we'll talk and we'll go to her room where I'll take what I need."
Jo turned to look at him smiling at his boasting but realized that 87 was unaware of how cocky and overconfident had sounded his affirmation. He was just talking in the same matter-of-fact manner he had used for the rest of his plan. Evidently the possibility that the lady might not find him attractive, or at least that she might not be in the mood to invite him in her room, was not contemplated.
Why are you surprised? What would you do in her place?
The idea was comforting. Jo had felt quite unlucky to be stuck up in that situation with a man she found so hot. She was always embarrassed and uneasy when she had to deal with men she was attracted to. And in this situation she had been constantly reminding herself to keep focused – and not to behave like a silly little girl. But if these men, these agents, had been genetically engineered to be irresistible to women… then she was excused, wasn't she?
Will he sleep with her?
The thought stroke her for the first time. Up to that moment she had just assumed that his being devoid of feelings
Is it really possible?
made him, in a sort of way, impervious to sex. Jo had found this idea quite consolatory; relieving some of the pressure of the situation. Now her mind started elaborating pictures of his naked body, his hands on a woman's breast, his mouth on her skin... It was all very disturbing.
"Is there something I can do to help?" she asked, more to stop that flow of thoughts than because she really thought that he needed any. And indeed 87 just shook his head.
I wish I could at least joke with him! It would make things much easier. Some sort of battle buddy humour...
But 87 didn't seem someone who laughed at jokes – let alone crack them. She had tried one in the lift but it hadn't worked well.
You weren't joking. You were being evasive. And he didn't buy it.
Jo's thoughts were interrupted by 87 parking the car at the left corner of the hotel.
"Shall I get a book to read?". There, she'd taken a shot. A bit saucy, perhaps, but at least it was flattering, with its implication that they might spend hours in bed…
Lucky woman
87 gave her a side glance for a brief second then said "If you can find one…". The tone was dry but at least he didn't seem annoyed.
That's something.
He got off the car and headed to the hotel, then stopped and went back to the her: "Actually, I could use a diversion".
Jo followed him to other side of the hotel, near the entrance of the bar. 87 pointed to a woman sitting on a stool at the bar, about 40, blonde, a white shirt with a deep neckline, a tight skirt suit and high heels.
"That's a beautiful woman!" Jo exclaimed.
87 nodded and added "And she knows she is."
Jo was on the point of asking what he meant but 87 started giving her instructions. As usual, they were clear and easy to follow.
Jo entered first, asked for a cocktail at the bar, and then sat at a table. She was turning her back on the woman but she could clearly see her from a mirror on the opposite wall. She was watching her mobile and sipping a glass of white wine. Whenever she heard someone enter, Trichard turned to see if it was Mr. Smith. She seemed annoyed, certainly she wasn't used to being left waiting for long.
After a few minutes, 87 entered and sat at the bar, but not too close to Trichard. A couple of stools separated them. He ordered a beer, took out some documents from his briefcase and started perusing them. She had followed his movements from the entrance – giving him more than a cursory glance – but 87 didn't seem to have noticed her.
Then her phone beeped and she exclaimed "Connard!". Then, looked at 87, put her hand on her mouth and, smiling, said "Whoops, pardon!". And so it began. 87 smiled, said something in good French, and the conversation took pace. They were too far and speaking too fast for Jo to understand, but their body language told everything. The woman turned towards 87 and crossed her legs, then started passing her fingers on the glass, through her hair, and kept bending towards him when she spoke. 87 got up and sat on a stool closer to her.
When he unlaced the button of his jacket – the signal they had arranged – Jo sprang into action. She finished in a gulp her cocktail and went to the bar to ask for another. Then, turning, bumped against the woman's arm, knocking over her wine glass. With a barrage of swearing
This woman is certainly not a lady….
Trichard got up, and started patting her skirt with some napkins to dry it. Jo had no clear instructions about how to react so, instinctively, tried to help, getting other napkins and then offered to buy her another glass of wine. Only then 87 stepped in and said "I'll take care of it", dismissing Jo in quite a rude manner. Trichard shot her a triumphant glance and sat back on her stool.
Jo was perfectly aware that it was the course of action they had agreed on, nevertheless she felt quite irrationally annoyed at her being dismissed so ruthlessly. Before going back to her table, however, she exchanged a look with 87 and he imperceptibly shook his head. It meant that during the diversion he had managed to check Trichard's bag but that the token he had to steal was not there. That meant that they'd have to go to her room. And indeed, in a few minutes, they got up at walked to the elevator.
I should really find a book
After finishing her second cocktail Jo went back to the car. She was trying to find a comfortable position to take a much needed nap when 87 arrived. He'd been away less than 20 minutes.
Jo looked at him surprised and, laughing exclaimed "I'm sorry to have to tell you, but it didn't take you long!" then realized that perhaps that was not soft beginning...
Will he be offended? Me and my big mouth!
That was one of the collateral effects of having to deal with a man she found attractive. She always lost her ability to check her tongue…
87 didn't seem offended though. He shot her a side-glance and an almost imperceptible twinge lifted the side of his mouth.
A smile?
Then he passed her the 2 remaining phials of morphine saying "She was not my type."
"So there's a type?" replied Jo with a tone between surprised and amused.
"Of course there is" he said, this time in quite a dry manner, then started the engine.
Jo reflected that if he had used those two doses of morphine he'd positively killed the woman. She thought for a second to mention the fact to him, but then realized that there was no point. He was an assassin, he certainly knew what he had done. Jo was surprised by the natural way she accepted the fact.
"If you keep a tiger in your backyard you can't be surprised if the neighbour's dog goes missing."
Jo's granny used to repeat it but she'd never clearly understood what it meant until now.
A tiger in my backyard.
