Thursday, 1:45 pm
If there were any regrets leaving the states to come to France, there weren't any now. The crystal clear sky shown overhead in its radiant sapphire glory, the sidewalk café bristled with activity. Tourists were enjoying the sights of France, while the Parisians were enjoying there coffee and chatting with friends. Everything seemed so perfect.
The man formerly known as Jack sat across from Rose on a curbside table. He was dressed casually, his whole demeanor changed since the Big Shell incident. He seemed more relaxed, and more open. A great weight had been lifted off of his chest, and he was finally free. Solidus was right. His death had freed him from the bonds that had held him in place to his past. He was free now.
Rose looked up at 'Jack', gently stroking his hand from across the table, "You chose a new name?"
He sighed and glanced to his far left. Paranoia was his best friend, watching his back gave him a sense of security. All he saw this time was a pair of tourists chatting with each other. His gaze turned from them to the sky, which seemed much more blue than normal. It was good to be alive.
"I think I have one. How does Alex sound?" Alex smiled to Rose, putting his other hand around hers.
Rose smirked and gently pushed her chair in closer to the table, staring into Alex's eyes. "This Alex sounds like a real upstanding guy."
Alex grinned at Rose, "I'm just getting to know him, but he seems that way."
Rose smirked, "Are you sure this guy just isn't some jerk?"
Alex laughed, "Hey, come on."
Rose cocked her head and used a free hand to brush her brown hair out of her face. "One can never be too careful around new people."
"I know you'll like him."
"How can you tell?"
"Lets say I just have a feeling." Alex gradually leaned in to Rose, his hand left hers to cup her cheek. Their eyes met each other, her brown with his twinkling blue. The charged romantic spark between them could be felt for miles around. Alex gently turned his head to kiss Rose…when a tap on his shoulder alerted him to a waiter standing over his shoulder.
Alex narrowed his eyes and fixed them upon the waiter. "Que?"
"Vous avez un appel téléphonique, monsieur." The waiter responded politely and brandished a glistening black cell phone. He caught the number in the screen. It read: (202) 890-6742. From the states? Strange indeed.
"Hello?" Alex stated curiously. Rose motioned the waiter away, who bowed his head toward her and turned off toward the kitchen.
"Raiden." The voice was fuzzy and inconsistent. It was indistinguishable from male or female. It was computerized monologue.
"How do you know that?" Alex stood up in his chair, angrily. Fuck them! This was his life now! He won it!
Rose looked startled, "Alex?"
Alex growled and got back in his seat. Luckily, not that many of the patrons had noticed his outburst. He cracked his neck and listened to the 'voice' on the other end of the line. He'd have to play this cool. See what was going on.
"I know everything. We know where you are. We know what you were."
"Get to the point. Spare me the intimidation bullshit."
"The point is you are about five minutes away from being dead. Don't ask any questions."
"What?"
"Just LISTEN."
"And why the hell should I trust you?"
"Listen Jack, don't argue. You now have three minutes to live. Want to press your luck?"
Alex stood up and grabbed Rose's hand, she appeared to be very confused at the whole thing.
"Whats going…" Jack cut her off with a motion of his finger, and she gritted her teeth. It was obvious that she didn't like being kept in the dark with such things.
"Get out of the Café. Don't worry about the phone or your tab, just move."
Alex growled and dragged Rose through the busy Paris side streets. It was crowded with shoppers and tourists. Alex plowed through them all, gripping Rose's wrist so tightly his knuckles were turning white.
"Goddamn Alex, what the hell is going on?!" Rose struggled and squirmed as she was being pulled. Being dragged through the streets of Paris on some super secret mission wasn't what she had expected when she had booked the plane tickets.
"Not now!" Alex yelled at her, while he was dodging the angry pedestrians he plowed through.
"Ignore her for the moment. Go down the street until you see a small cigarette shop. Stop there. You should be safe."
The man on the other end of the line clicked off. Alex threw the cell phone down to the ground, shattering it in half. It was the easiest way to do things, those little bastards could easily have carried a tracking bug in it. He kept moving until his legs burned with acid. It seemed that pedestrians had gained a psychic collective and moved out of his way instead of the opposite happening. The cigarette shop came closer and closer, until he finally made it there. He breathed heavily, flustered from the run. Rose hadn't fared much better, her brown hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat and her cheeks deep red from exhaustion. It was no wonder that she wasn't happy.
"Now….will you please tell me why the HELL you dragged me half way through Paris?"
Alex was still breathing heavily, so he held a finger up. "Someone wanted us dead."
Rose rolled her eyes. "So you trust an anonymous voice on the phone?! That's a beautiful idea!"
"He knew my name. Both of them. And he was calling from the states, area code 202." Alex leaned on the back of the brick wall, face still beaming read from the run.
"That's the area code for Washington…" Rose ran a hand through her hair.
"What is going on…"
"I don't know. But I think we had better head out of Paris."
Alex nodded and began to walk off. "I second that."
All Rose could respond with was a short cry. A man dressed in a brown trench was holding Rose's throat with an illusion of love. He had somehow sneaked up on them from behind. He made his movements as inconspicuous as possible. He was an expert at this.
Alex started forward but the man stopped him. "Smart little boy, running from our little sniper point. It was good luck of you; we had your pretty blond head in the sight. But I'm afraid your luck stops here, child." He sneered.
Alex opened his mouth to speak, but the man stopped him again. This time by flashing a glint of a knife up against Rose's throat. It was hidden by his hand, but apparently Rose could see it. She instinctively inched away from it as far as she could, though her eyes seemed defiant of fear. She cringed but tried to maintain as steady a face as she could.
"Lets play a little game." The man backed up with Rose against the wall, still beaming as happy as could be. "You're going to be working for us. But if you chose not to, I get to make a little cut."
He gently stroked Rose's neck. "Here."
He began to move his hand from Rose's throat down to her stomach, rubbing it ever so lightly with his fingertips. "And here."
Alex narrowed his eyes to the white haired Frenchman, "What do you mean by 'us'?"
White head smiled. "I think you know."
Alex looked on helplessly as Rose was dragged into the small cigarette shop. Their eyes met for one last time before she faded away. The door closed with a hollow sound that resided in his soul. Their lives had been so perfect, yet every time they get time alone things such as this happens. Alex walked up to the glass and pounded on it. He was helpless again. Manipulated, coerced. You can't care for someone without marking them off as a casualty.
He was tired of the games. He wouldn't let them have Rose. He tried the door, it was locked. He couldn't punch and chop his way through the glass frame; the area was too populated for that. He checked the lock. It was pretty simple, nothing too expensive or elaborate. Luckily for him, it wasn't a dead lock. He could easily pick it with minimal tools, which is just what he had. He took out a small pocketknife and toyed with the lock a bit, attempting to look as inconspicuous as possible. He managed to pull it off, hearing a satisfying click.
He slowly pushed open the door into the cigarette shop. The smell of the different types overwhelmed him at first and his nose twitched, he resisted the urge to sneeze as he slowly closed the door behind him. The shop was extremely dark, even for this time of day. The light filtered through the windows created a yellowed haze that permeated the cramped shop. There wasn't any sign of movement or disturbance. It seemed that the shop was completely empty. Where the hell had they gone? It seemed that they had disappeared from the shop all together. Then something caught the corner of his eye. In the far back it appeared to be a body. Alex readied himself and slowly approached. Anything could happen in this situation, and he was ready.
Upon reaching it, a sickening realization occurred to him. It was Rose. He quickly turned the body over to his side and looked at it. Her cold, listless eyes stared back into his. Once full orbs radiated the void of death, her mouth was slightly open, as if she called out before her death. Her neck looked like it had been broken. Everything was so neat, so orderly in death. Each item catalogued and filed, it was a veneer of peace over the hurtful chaos.
There was nothing he could. He was absolutely powerless to stop the action. He was strong, but at the same time he was weak. The fact was enough to drive him to the brink of insanity. He ran his hands through his hair, and dug his nails in his scalp, hard enough to draw blood. The stinging pain wasn't enough, the self-destructive urge carried much more than small cuts on top of his head. Even this desire was denied from him. He cried out in a scream of anguish and swept his arm along a table, cases of cigarettes and boxes fell to the floor. Why did he kill her? Why did he have to feel this NOW when everything was so perfect?
He didn't have time to think, as a cascade of sirens sounded in the distance. Someone had called the cops. Everything had to be timed perfectly. Lifting himself up from the corpse of Rose, he wiped his wet eyes. The urgency of the sirens came loser and closer together; he forced himself to take one last look at her before he pried himself away.
He slowly walked out of the shop and out onto the crowded street. Life had always dealt him the hard blows. From a war in a country that would never see peace, to manipulation on the big shell, and now lost love in Paris. Raiden the eternal orphan. He wouldn't let this go unpunished. He would destroy them all.
How do they say in France?
C'est la vie.
******
A lonely street, Paris
Friday, 3:30 am
The street was quiet, the slick rain and downpour had seen that any nightlife would be drowned in the downpour. It obscured the lone man on the sidewalk from any notice out of the apartment buildings. His white hair had turned gray with the downpour, and he nervously tried to light a cigarette that hung in his mouth. His damn Zippo wouldn't light, and he cursed under his breath. It just wasn't working out for him. He heard a noise near him and he jumped. The cigarette fell to the ground. The shadowed figure stood in the darkness of a nearby alleyway.
"Oh…its you." The man responded slowly.
The shadow said something; he lit a cigarette and brought it up to his mouth. He let out a small puff of smoke.
"It went off without a hitch except…I'm…I'm sure you've heard…"
The shadow nodded, and puffed some more on his cigarette, the black smoke curling up into the night.
"I…I was only doing what I was told! According to the briefing!"
Again the shadow nodded. He talked some more in hushed tones. He took something out of his pocket.
"Please! You have to understand!" He got on his knees and begged.
The shadow chuckled. It wasn't everyday you get a grown man begging in front of your knees. He decided to watch him grovel a little more.
"It was an accident! I didn't mean for it to happen!"
The shadow nodded, he puffed on his cigarette some more. He muttered something low and sinister.
"What…what do you mean I served my purpose? That wasn't the plan!" He jumped up, staring at the figure. His eyes opened. Now he knew why. He took off in the opposite direction from the shadow.
He didn't make it. The sloshing of puddles followed his burst of speed and inspiration. Though the silenced shots rung out, they pierced both his calves. He fell to the ground in a heap. The clear water began to turn red and he dragged himself along the Paris Street. His pathetic moans and groans couldn't be heard over the downpour.
The shadow cam behind him close. His hollow steps haunted the man's ears to the very depths. He heard him stop. He was behind him. Slowly turning to look up at the shadow, he mumbled something quickly cut off by rapid silenced shots to the head. Taking a few puffs of the cigarette, the shadow turned and left.
The man known as Jefferson lay in the pools of bloody rain, waiting for the morning.
******
Somewhere in the United States
Friday, 11:00 pm
Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata hummed on the small speakers to the empty office. On the desk was a glass of Bourbon, the ice long melted, it remained untouched. The office had all the class and charm of its owner. Everything neat and orderly, perfectly arranged. Except for one thing. A card from the Rolodex on the desk had been carefully removed and positioned in front of the laptop setup. The delicate curves of the calligraphy decorated the card, its simple finesse appealing to even the most deadened Aesthetic senses. The literature on the card read:
Café Deux Magot
(33) 874.62.20.58
The card to the French Café lay innocently on the desk, purpose and intentions aside, a perfect item for conspiracy.