Chap 22 Misevaluation.
Ian glared angrily at the black and white photos before him, unable to believe what he was looking at. "These were taken this morning?" The words were calm and controlled, the tone born from years of experience and trail. Patience was the key here. If a man believed he was threatened he would yield no answers and this man's answers were vital.
He nodded then signaled that he had just developed them. Thinking quickly Ian realized that the frame of time now became within three hours. Looking up from the photo's he moved his gaze to the man before him, silently inquiring for the rest of the man's report. Sliding Ian a paper, the man still stood straight, his eyes taking in everything, the list was brief, and it listed Sarah's activities that morning, as well as Luka's current place of residence. Nodding Ian put the photo's down then reached into his Jacket for a lighter, quickly he set fire to the photo's up, watching them burn before reaching for the negatives and burning them as well. "You will tell no one what has happened today. These photos were never taken, and thus these events never occurred. Understand?" The man nodded, and when he blinked Ian had gone.
As he left the premise Ian worried. The man could not speak, he had no tongue, but that did not mean the man could not communicate. He could've killed him, except that Irons would have noticed and that would've raised more questions then if the man did speak up. Those photographs were disturbing, the images burned themselves into his mind. They heightened his need to see Callie, but he had somewhere else he needed to be, or else he would be missed. An Assassins job was never done, and because of that Ian shoved aside his emotions, composing his face and thoughts. Irons would never know about those photos, Luka Giamano's life depended on that much.
***
Irons sat at his computer and cheeked over the electronic account books for Vorschlag, it was a tedious task, and one he did daily, but today he found it particularly hard to concentrate. His mind was instead occupied by Ian's report this morning what he'd said, Irons could tell was true but there were also the things he didn't say. Those things which were so much less conceivable. Irons was so caught up in his doubt that for once he did not notice Sarah's presence until she cleared her throat. Turning he found that she was studying both him and the room, at last she spoke, unwilling to give him the opportunity to best her before she began. "Well, I'll say I'm surprised. You actually do work." Smiling she walked up behind him and glanced briefly at the computer screen. "I thought you just sat around looking imperials all day." Irons quickly thought up a retort but unfortunately she was quicker turning away from him and dismissing his presence before he hand a chance to make a reply of any sort.
Languidly she walked around his study regarding the paintings that hung on the walls, occasionally running her hand over his well-stocked bookshelf. "Tell me Sarah, Is there a reason for you're disturbing my work? Or are you simply here to amuse yourself?" Sarah turned to him and cocked her head staring unblinkingly f. for a moment he felt unnerved, then dismissed the emotion as meaningless.
"Actually I was looking fir a phone book." He could've laughed, but her flat tone indicated she was serious, and for the first time Irons wondered if she was bored. In New Zealand he had work and physical therapy to do, as did Ian, but Sarah had nothing of the sort with which to occupy her time. He remembered Ian saying something about a heavy and a drum set in her apartment, and wondered if she missed them. Filing the information away, he returned his attention to Sarah, only to find that she had moved to study a painting on the far side of the room.
The sunlight sparkled throughout the gallery of copied painting. Elizabeth Bronte stood in front of one carefully scrutinizing it. Behind her Irons walked up and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Beautiful isn't it?" She nodded, and smiled.
"It reminds me of the Witchblade, a fallen knight at the feet of a beautiful – yet deadly woman. La Belle Dame Sans Merci." She stared at it some more, and her face became almost sad. Lost in thought.
"… she lulled me asleep,
And there I dream'd-ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dream'd
On the cold hill's side.
I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried- "La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!"
I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill's side…
Her eyes were riveted on the painting and Kenneth's eye's were riveted on her. "The Original was by Sir Frances Dicksie." She nodded but did not reply, and as they stood there Kenneth too looked at the painting, wondering what it was that drew a woman so powerful, to a painting so trivial.
"Sarah?" Drawn out of her Vision, Sarah spun on her heels to face Irons, he sat in his chair with his Arrogance well in place. "Do you like the painting?" Narrowing her eyes, she shrugged.
"I need to go." Quickly she made for the door, and it was only when she reached it that he stopped her.
"Oh, by the way." Sarah paused but did not turn. "Here's the phone book. Flushing she took it. Then made an impossibly fast exit. Watching her, Irons thought that it almost matched Ian's.
***
Returning to her room Sarah opened the phone book and after flipping around for a while, found what she was looking for. Picking up her phone, she quickly dialed the number Luka had given her this morning. "Hello?"
"It's me. I have the information you wanted"
"That's taken care of as well, here's where to meet me…"
