[++++++]



_____________________________
(2) Innocence



Mireille and Kirika walked along the afternoon streets of the festival. The locals were all scurrying around the endless antique stops and bazaars, their doors wide open. In front of each shop, were endless craft tables, lined with more stuff. Buyers milked around, often picking up dullish pieces of tableware and porcelain, examining them to their hearts content.

"Sure is crowed around here." exclaimed Mireille.

"Wow, what is all this?"

"I don't know. Its as busy as Bastille day."

The two ladies turned around the corner to another crowd filled street. In the far distance, was the unmistakable big top of a circus tent. Lining the wide and closed thoroughfare were endless carnival games and shops. They saw the miniature Ferris wheel first, its lighted trestles shined like glitter in a sunset. To the left, were more endless games and rides. And then, the crowd ---

"They're all in costume..." Kirika could only stare as a group of wild safari animal costumes went by them on the right. "Its like six months to Marti Gras."

"I know. His van is over there." Mireille pointed to the non-descript black van on the left corner, almost tucked away on a side street. A big picture of the brick suspension bridge was etched on the side door, the image a bit scraped up by the traffic. "I swear, Carlos loves to stick out like a sore thumb."

"Huh?" Kirika was about to say something else when the van door slid open a crack to darkness. A hand motioned for them to come in from out of the black. Mireille stepped up and dived in without hesitation, Kirika followed her partner into the dark interior. The sliding door quickly shut right behind them

Not a light was on inside the van -- but then lights weren't really needed. The interior was lined with a bank of more than a dozen TV screens, each displaying an color or black and white image. The screens gave off enough bright light to read by.

Kirika and Mireille looked down upon a pair of little stools, provided if they sat down. They waited scrunch up for answers. A swerving leather-backed chair to the front turned around, greeting them.

It was Carlos, with ear jack equipment attached to his head. He was seated on a rolling, swiveling seat, which gave him instant access to any location within the van by the flick of his feet. It also provided him hours of seating comfort. "Hey ladies. Thanks for coming -- and please do take a seat and get comfortable, I've got some background to give you two."

"This is quite an operation you have here." It was more than endless TV banks, for Mireille could see at least two computer terminals, in addition to the laptop setup on the table with wireless Internet. "You just loved to be plugged in everywhere, don't you?"

"Yea, I've got this problem with reality, especially when I can be here for hours. Love my online world, I would even take the artificial one with me wherever I go. Its nice, isn't it?"

"Remind me never to be stranded on desert island with you," said Mireille.

"Well, yea…" floundered Carlos.

"Is that the new Sony notebook with twistable screen? I thought you could only get those in Japan." asked Kirika.

"You're right, my friend." Carlos brought the thin laptop over from his desk. "Actually, let me show you this feature here which is just so cool..."

Mireille coughed, interrupting the learning lesson. "Care to tell me who you are working for? You know I can't stand to be in the dark on all this business."

"Ah, I wish I could. But business is business, after all. You've already been paid the agreed deposit via your Swiss bank account. I do expect your secrecy in all these affairs. I would hate for you two to get hurt by my employers."

The blond blinked. "Of course. I wouldn't expect anything less from us."

"Good. Because I'll tell you anyway, I own you that." Carlos flashed a smile as he swiveled out of sight, pulling some papers from the back area.

Kirika looked over in surprise at Mireille, but the blond was as stoic as a brick.

The phreaker turned back with a manila file in hand. He opened it up to the ladies, as each of them grabbed an opposite corner of the folder, sorting through its contents. Carlos pulled his hand down from over the top, uncovering a few of the key pages.

"Now, this is strictly a drop. Mireille, you're going to be the point of pickup. I need a nice looking lass to actually take the delivery of the materials."

"Lass? You really could do a bit better than me..."

"The attention will be on YOU and not the actions that you'll be doing. While every guy has his eyes on your body, you'll be handed the delivery.

"Hmmm, something about an unsheaved sword?" said Kirika, enjoying every moment.

"Exactly. It's a perfect way, actually."

Mireille heaved a sigh. "I think I can play the sex appeal."

"Great!" Carlos' eyes lit up like spotlights. "I can't wait!"

The blond shot the phreaker a dirty look. "What are the materials, anyway?"

"Sneaky, sneaky, there. I don't exactly know what it is. But its on some sort of electronic media. I would expect it to be small in nature."

"Carlos. Don't try to fool me, I'm one that you've never had the pleasure to be with." Mireille smirked up at her former associate. "But if you're trading credit card numbers again, I'm going to quite upset at you."

"Honest! Its not bank information, at least I'm pretty sure about that." Carlos rubbed back is his hair in frustration. "And no, I don't know exactly what the media is, I'm just the exchanger here because I was local."

"I should have known..."

"Hey! They're paying big bucks!" he exclaimed. "Anyway, I get this job from a old board I visited. The phreaker group is a oldie but a goodie, going by today's name of Falcon Skizm. They're a hack group out of Russia, at least that's where I think they're out of -- damned eastern European phreakers have all the time in the world."

"So this little purchase isn't for you?"

"No, actually I'm working for the buyer in this matter. I'm known as a phreaker, so they asked me to acquire the stuff for them and deliver it. And then they'll double it to see where and who its coming from."

"So, that's the reason for all this equipment," said Kirika.

"Naturally, as soon as I send them the surveillance tape, I get paid double."

Mireille nodded. "Ok, what are the specifics?"

"Well, the drop is suppose to happen over here." Carlos pointed to the upper corner color TV, the screen closest to the girls. It was a crowd of ten or so guys, all huddled around a small table. Behind it, was a black man in simple streets clothes, demonstrating to some tourists the delightful game of three card monty.

The blond put two and two together. "I'm suppose get fooled by this guy's tricks, and he'll pass me the intel?" asked Mireille. "You can't be thinking that the idiot there is the delivery man."

"Yea, that's the idea."

The blond bit her lip. "I don't like it. I can't stand around in public without getting caught in a crossfire, especially with all of these costumed people around."

"There's some protection, by the way. I have a couple of shooters on the roof, but I'll need someone to follow you from behind. Inconspicuous to a fault. That's why I need BOTH of you out there, both as distractions to the obvious." Carlos took a second to swivel his chair to the brunette. "Meaning you, Kirika. And that lovely look of yours."

"Me?" Kirika pointed her herself, flabbergasted. "I never steal anyone's attention!"

Mireille laughed. "She is right, Carlos. Most of the people that have seen Kirika as a treat are dead. Its going to be very difficult to convince anyone that she is a fake draw. I know she's a little girl and everything, but she blends in very well."

"But...!" answered Kirika. "I can stand out!"

Carlos giggled, patting the brunette on the head. "And yes you do look like a little kawaii girl. I can imagine you being a very popular one in Japan." The phreaker swiveled around again, putting a backpack from below his desk. "That's why I have this for you," he said, tossing the bag into Kirika's lap.

The brunette unzipped it in seconds, poking her fingers in, then her eyes. "No way! You have got to be kidding!"

"Let me see..." Mireille's chuckle quickly threatened to break out into a full laugh. "Oh, you are SO wearing this!"

"But Mireille..."

The blond crossed her arm. "You want more time off? Perhaps to paint some oils? Or maybe you want to go visit your new friend at Chartres? Well, here's the way…"

"Well, I guess you're right. But..."


[++++++]


Carlos was busy running the show from the most convenient seat in the house. His van. "Ok, everyone," speaking through his head microphone, "give me a status report from the roof gardens, please!"

"Spotter one is reporting clear."

"Spotter two is a go."

"Mireille? Kirika? Are you ready to proceed?"

"Yes. Keep the chatter to a minimum, I'm not protected too much from other people, I don't need anyone noting that we're wired." The phreaker could see Mirielle adjusting her inner earpiece for better sound results. Her wireless sound mike was neatly tucked under the neck fold of her red sweater. "You know, I'm surprised that the wires to the transmitter can't be seen on that fine body of yours. Have you been losing weight?"

"Shut up, Carlos. We've got work to do."

"Yes, ma'am. Is Kirika there?"

"Ummm...Hai!" Mireille turned to her partner in costume, wearing the most adorable bunny suit ever seen. Her pinkish face stuck out of the pull-over hood, the rest of her bodysuit was the color of plush white clouds. Even her hands were totally covered, with the full length mittens of the bunny suit. The charming shoulder-length ears swung like pendulums, dangling each time the brunette turned her head. Kirika's non-descript facial expression put the look absolutely over the top.

"Kawaii!" purred Mireille.

Kirika responded with a sulk. "Tell me Carlos is not recording this."

"Oh, I'm getting some nice footage. After all, I could get good money for these tapes -- legendary Noir assassin, now appearing in harmless bunny outfit!"

"Sell them and you're a dead hacker." said Kirika.

"Oh well, it was a nice try."

Mireille looked up at the bank clock across the street. "Time to go, Carlos?"

"Sure is. Go ahead and strut your stuff, my lady."

The blond made a beeline down the center of the road, with Kirika a good ten feet behind. The monty game was just around the corner, on the opposite side of the fair.

"Mommy! Look at the bunny!" A small five year old boy pointed up to Kirika, his left hand firmly held by an adult. He was well-dressed chap in a tan button-down shirt, with a little blue beret on his head. "Can I hug you, bunny?"

Kirika stared a the boy like a deer in headlights. The little guy looked up, smiling, waiting for a response.

Static came over the earpiece. "Come on, open your arms out wide!" Kirika complied, opening up her limbs in a rather robotic fashion, holding them quite wide. "There you go! And smile for the crowd now, we've got to make it look good!"

"Bunny!!"

*GLOMP*

"Mireille," said Carlos, over the wireless line, "wait up for your tail. She's being huggled and maimed in the square by a few kids. I think she's enjoying the attention as well."

The blond had already turned around, smiling. "I can see that. That's ok, I've been antiquing through some of these side booths. Needed a couple of new flower vases." She picked up a rather nice one tinted in blue glass. "Pretty, I think I'll be back to pick this one up later."

"OK ladies, enough distractions. Time to move on now."

"Hai. I'm in position." Kirika was now on the opposite corner to the card game, finally shedding the last of her underage fans.

"Going in." Mireille walked right up to the card table, her hips excessively swaying from side to side. Kirika could swear that the blond had a tighter red sweater on -- or was it that Mireille had gained a little bit of weight?


[++++++]


"Gentleman, and I do use my terms loosely. You know the game, and name of the game is finding the bitch." The dark-tanned man was busy tossing three well-worn playing cards on the green card table. Back and forth, shuffling to speeds that were close to impossible for human eyes to match. "Ah, I see we have a lady among the audience. Are you playing, mademoiselle?"

"Oui!" Mireille pulled out a large stack of Francs from her hip pocket.

"Ok, then! Its time to play." He upturned the middle card, showing off the queen of spades. "The bitch is your friend, your job is to avoid those nasty, backstabbing kings. Everyone got it?" The crowd nodded enthusiastically as he hid the queen away.

"Notice how the queen card has a creased corner. Its so slight. You see it there...right?" whispered on of the players in a stained white tennis cap.

"Yea, I saw that as well..." whispered his neighbor.

"Great! Its playing time!" The shyster shuffled around the cards again, with the whole crowd watching the proceedings. He was quick with the cards, bending them on the table, piling them on top of each other back and forth.

Mireille followed the queen with the best of her ability, seeing it finally move to the far left position. "We are done shuffling now, place your bets up to 2000 francs."

"200 on the left card!" said the man in the dirty white hat, throwing the Francs down onto the table.

"Hey, I want 1500 on the left card as well!" shouted his neighbor. He turned to his rather helpful companion. "Yea! I see it, I see the crease!" The other guy was surely enthusiastic about his bet.

Mireille was hesitant on the draw, first pointing to the stack on the right. The tanned man leaned in, watching Mireille's movements carefully.

"I don't know which card to play?" said the blond, "perhaps if I place 300 down on the center one?"

He winked as Mireille pointed to the center stack, confirming the blond's motions. "Tell you what. I'll let you place 700 on the center stack, if you think its there. Then, I'll pay you 1500 extra if you win." The shyster winked again, sliding his hands among the cards.

"Deal." answered Mireille.

The dealer stood back for everyone to hear. "You guys are so easy. Its amazing how fooled you guys were. Hah!" The black man turned the left card over, revealing the king of diamonds. It surely was a backstabbing picture of a king, with his ax pointing ready to pouce to the back of his own skull. A grim dissatisfaction spread among the card-playing patrons, of whispers of bad omens.

"Ahhh, I've lost two days of money." The heavy better was not happy at getting snookered, turning to find his speakeasy companion missing. "Hey! Where the hell did he go!" he said, also bolting from the card game.

The shyster grinned at the blond. "One sucker down, one to go. How about doubling the bet now? After all, your odds just jumped from 1/3 to 2/3."

"I would prefer to stand by my bet."

"Find with me. You could have won some more money." His hand was on the center card, turning it over to Mireille. "Or, I could always be wrong." The other king revealed itself, this time the king of hearts, his own dagger stuck halfway buried into his own skull.

"Jerk." muttered the blond under her breath. She thought about going another round or pulling her gun and causing a scene. Sure, that was probably the right thing to do.

The tanned dealer tossed her a Franc of change, folded over a couple of times. "There you go." Mireille picked up the bill, surprising finding it unbendable in her hand. So, she thought, he just wanted to win some fast cash.

Interrupting her thoughts was the sharp point of heavy cold steel on the back of Mireille's waist. "You two, huh. It figures the blond would be a distraction." Without second thought, the former customer reached around Mireille's body, taking the cash out of her outstretch hand. "I'll be taking my gift prize now. How about it, dealer? Where's your wad?"

"That other guy was working for you, huh." snapped Mireille.

The card shyster shrugged, offering no defense. "Yea, you all got it all figured out. Its so hard to earn a simple buck on the side." He reached into his back pocket with one hand, the other limb still high up into the air. Cursing, he dropped a heavy bundle of folded francs onto the table, the thousands showing.

"Good boy. And that's nice watch you're wearing, dealer."

The tanned man cursed again, dropping his timepiece next to the money. "You're just a two-bit thief, aren't you?"

"What the hell are you talking about? I just want your money!"

Mireille stiffened, unable to turn around to either side and attack her opponent. Even if she did get a clear shot, there were too many people around to dive for cover. It was useless to do anything. It was as she was expecting it...soon.

A silencer gunshot went off, from behind.

Mireille expected the gunshot to pass right through her body. She didn't expect to hear her attacker's body to fall to the ground.

The blond turned around on a dime, to see a costume rabbit with her fur limb pointed out. A small black hole poked directly out from the tip of her thick rabbit glove, for Mireille could swear the exit shot was still smoking.

"Kirika..."

A heavy sound of semi-machine gunfire rained down onto street. The crowd, hearing the shots and seeing one body down, ran for their lives.

"What the hell!" yelled Carlos, over the static-filled wireless channel. "I didn't order fire! Position one and two report!"

Another round of gunfire, this time from the cross direction. Mireille and Kirika dived for the closest cover under the skeletal card table. The card shyster was unprepared at best, a few marks fell true as his lifeless body fell backwards, sliding off the back chain-linked fence.

"Carlos!" yelled Mireille, "where the hell is that fire coming from?"

"One second, I'm moving my cameras around now. The support spotters are gone, my guess is they were already taken out."

Another round of semi-automatic gunfire rang like hail on glass. The flimsy metallic table couldn't take much more punishment, another few rounds of pounding would poke right though the table like swiss cheese. "Anytime, my friend."

"There! One is in the third right window from edge, top floor. White building right across from you, its fricken' far up there. The luxury apartments." Carlos wasn't kidding, the old brownstone was at least a six story walk up. "Second attacker on roof of bank, crouching right behind the time and temperature sign."

Kirika stood up, firing down the street onto the bank's roof. The suit was crouching, his dying momentum made him tumble forward over the digital clock, his hand still on his semi-automatic's trigger. The electronic sign exploded into a glitter of white sparks and fire.

Mireille was shooting up across the street, hitting window panes and building alike -- alas, missing flesh. She looked down at the gambling attacker that Kirika had blown away just a minute before. His bloodied left hand was still open, grasping a wad of stick cash. A metallic gold shine reflected from the open palm, of electronic media.

"Cover me," ordered the blond, shooting a couple of more rounds close to the first attack point.

Kirika jumped up onto the card table, shooting the window frame of the attacker. She realized the attacker fled deeper into the apartment, and her shots were only keeping the attacker away from the window. At least with Kirika firing, the attacker could not fire down upon them.

Mireille crawled up to the dead thief. Using her gun, she peeled his hand open like a week-old orange. Along with the crumpled bills, was an unusual sliver of black, no bigger than the end part of a pinkie finger. It was a electronic memory chip, delicately laced with lines of metallic gold. She grabbed it as another shot rang out, almost hitting her hand.

"Mireille!" She saw her partner was reloading her gun. Her bunny costume was half ripped off, for her extra clips were on 'her' and not on the outside of her faux fur.

Kirika saw the attacker was wiser now, shooting at them and ducking for cover under the window sill. The brunette looked up, staring down a hanging glass fixture, a crystal chandelier swinging wildly from a ricocheted shot. She took careful aim and fired.

It hit the moving chain perfectly on, breaking it. The fixture came down, crashing into the ground. The attacker squealed liked a trapped pig.

Mireille got up from the ground, dusting her black skirt off. "Maybe I'm getting too old for this, I need to practice some more."

Kirika turned around, peeling the rest of her fur suit off. "Hai."


[++++++]


"You two make it through ok?" Carlos had the van door open, waving the ladies in. "For a second there, I thought you were goners."

"We're all right." Mireille brushed her hair aside as they entered the van. "What the hell happened here?"

The interior of the van's electronics was shredded. Carlos' display of monitors were mostly shattered, the ones that were on rang with pictures of static. The inside was no longer dark, but penetrated by the roof with an assortment of bullet holes. The place was a mess.

"As soon as Kirika blew away that thief, it rained hell. I guess they thought the thief was the contact. They sure didn't want anyone getting away..."

Mireille was still dusting herself off. "You're telling me."

"And those jerks ruined my favorite set of portable equipment. Oh well, I can make it a tax write-off." He pushed his brand-new Sony laptop aside, the screen was sheered off. "Did you get the intel from that crazy melee?"

Mireille held up the tiny media disk, between her index and thumb fingers. "Got it."

"A MMC card. Not unexpected." Carlos turned back to his desk, dragging a reader out from the rubbish and placing it in his backpack. "Well, the reader I've got here seems intact. That's all I've got. How about a computer?"

"The closest one is at our café." said Kirika.

"Sounds good, let's take a cab."


[++++++]


It was well past noon when then the three of them tumbled into the back of the kitchen.

"Oh hello, everyone," waved Gretchen to the owners. "Its been a really quiet day so far."

Carlos wordlessly made a beeline to the small desk and computer in the corner of the kitchen, immediately booting the machine up. He was already underneath, attaching necessary extra power cords and cables.

"Umm...I'm not sure that Mireille would want her computer touched like that..."

"Gretchen?" Kirika nestled her own arm around Gretchen's shoulders on Mireille's nod, leading her into the front of the house.

Mireille opened the kitchen door to the counter area. "How about going out front for a second? I think you wanted to point to Kirika on that redecorating session for the curtains. Didn't you want to show her what you wanted on those outer windows?"

"Uhh, Yea! I...guess I can do that now..." She smiled politely as the two twin ladies escorted themselves out of the kitchen.

The blond turned back toward the hacker. "Finished taking over my computer for world domination?" She smirked a bit, leaning over Carlos' back. "I would think that my little baby here at work would be a piece of cake for you."

"Yea, simple cake that is it." The phreaker was busy typing away system commands. "Reconfiguring your I/O ports, it seems that your little simpleton is not used to such lavish accessories."

"Well, this will have to do."

"Bah, the intel require custom read specs, and a simple decoding algorithm for displaying the information."

"I thought you said we were specifically not to look at the intel?" scolded Mireille.

He chuckled. "Ahh, but you can never keep a good phreaker down." Carlos imputed a couple of more command entries, finally running the decoding program. "There we go!" He leaned back in chair with a smug expression on his face. "It was a piece of cake."

The screen poured with out with a waterfall of numbers and letters. It certainly wasn't writing. "Is this...decoded?" asked Mireille, trying to decipher the apparent gibberish information on the screen.

"What the hell?" Carlos cut the retrieval program, starting it from the beginning once again. To his dismay, it threw back at him the same garbage result. "This is decoded. Its even confirmed itself that this is the decoded message. Someone would say that this garbage that is still coded with another layer, but...that's not the case here. There are exactly zero pattern matches in the data."

"No matches? What does that mean?"

Carlos sunk his head into his lap. "Even coded information has repetitive information -- the word 'the', for example is repeated in a word translation. That's a simple explanation, and some codes are meant to hide that type of simpleton solution from coming up. But this code has no anomalies at all, like its been stripped down of any type of repetitiveness, purposely to tool with our heads."

Mireille frowned. "You're kidding. I can't believe all this far for..." as she stared agape into the display, "What in the world?" as Mireille pointed to the screen.

"Well, there's an anomaly to be sure." said Carlos.

The character output was filled with a single letter, 'i.' Then, it stopped and cleared the screen.

Carlos typed a couple of commands. "Well, that's all there is. The rest of the disk is damaged beyond repair. Though I doubt it would have mattered anyway." He disconnected the gismo from Mireille's terminal and packed up his bags. "You've already been paid via electronic transfer, so that's about it."

"Carlos..." Mireille hung her head low. "You know a lot more on what's going on right now. Why can't you tell me? I'm good for it."

The phreaker leaned against the back door, shaking his head. "You know I can't do that, Mireille." He open his hand up, placing it onto the side of Mireille's face, gently brushing away her delicate curls of hair. "I can't say anymore. Yea, I'm in trouble, but let me remind you the last time you did anything about it."

The blond nodded her head, deciding to remain silent.

Mireille's friend slipped out the back door. "Goodbye, Carlos."

The blond sighed against the wall, sighing. After all these years, he still doesn't trust me, thought Mireille. Even though we done countless jobs together, history is history to us. To Carlos, that is.

She didn't feel like doing to much else. Perhaps a nice long shower, and a chance to curl up with a magazine in bed. Maybe a spot of tea, she was sure Kirika would be home early as well. Yes, those sounded like some wonderful ideas.

She was about to turn off her computer when it pinged of new e-mail. Interested, she opened it up.


[++++++]


Mireille marched around the crowded tourists and their annoying children. The waiing visitors had been on line for nearly an hour, the line queue to them seemed endlessly long. She avoided the tourists, approaching the information booth instead. "I here for my pass to the special archives. My name is Marie Michel."

The guest attendant quickly responded. "Mademoiselle Michel, if you would please follow the guard to the archives, he'll lead you past the security checkpoints." The efficient security personnel quickly ushered the blond past the moveable ropes.

"Hey, how come she gets in while we have to wait!" shouted an angry tourist. The guy's face was flushed red with sweat and pain from impatience. Behind him, the crowd of strangers rudely pushed forward towards the entrance.

"Please, be patient," said the guest attendant. "Ms. Michel is special guest and contributor to the museum. We will admit all of you shortly."

The tourist scowled, turning his head away from the front, nodding his head. A suit from inside of the group nodded, slipped out and disappeared.


[++++++]


"Wait here." The guard left Mireille in one of the many cavernous gallery rooms, a rectangular one lined with a series of life-sized oil paintings. The longer side of the room was covered with a single masterpiece, of mythic characters in life-size poses. The oil work was at least 15 feet high, and almost twice as wide by that much.

"Remarkable, actually. He spent the period of almost four years painting this work." said Morgan.

"Who?" asked Mireille.

"Charles Le Brun." said Morgan. "You see the golden figure there, don't you?"

"You can't miss him…" Mireille looked at the center of the painting of a young man, wrapped in a golden tunic. He was perched high on his exquisite ivory chariot, overlooking the chaos of his plundering troops. "Roman?" she asked.

"No, a Greek scene, actually. Why do you suppose Le Brun painted this work, hmmm?" Morgan crossed around to the other side of Mireille. "Maybe, it was to compare to his current Baroque existence, perhaps to the reign of Louis the XIV?"

The blond looked up from the index information card next to the oil. "Yes, he did it to compare his current ruler to the legend of Alexander the Great.

"Yes, he did. But why?"

Mireille thought for a second, then answered. "To emulate is greatest flattery of all."

"Exactly." Morgan pulled out a cigarette and lit it all in one motion. "Makes me wonder about yourself, Mireille. You have the opportunity of most mortal men only desire. Instead, you reject it. Its only my reason to ask why."

Mireille turned her head, half expecting to bust out with some more answers. "You can ask away, Morgan. But that doesn't mean you'll ever know."

Morgan paused for a second, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth onto the more than 400 year old painting.

"Didn't they ever tell you that smoking in a museum is prohibited?" commented the blond. "Really, now. You have no manners."

"I? That I have no manners? I'm not the deadly assassin in this case." He threw the rest of cigarette onto the floor and mashed the light with the heel of his foot. "Never mind, then. I'm assuming that you have recovered a copy of the information from Carlos."

"No, I haven't." Mireille stonewalled, placing her hands on her hips. "The intel was useless. Carlos and I checked it out. It's almost all garbage."

"I'm sure Carlos checked it out to his high usual standards. After all, he is one of the most informed experts on electronic code breaking." Morgan let out puff of smoke from the corner of his mouth, depositing it onto the ancient painting. "You said most of it was garbage, what else was there?"

"Yea, there was a point in the data that was consistent. What does the letter 'i' mean. And what significance to you?" asked Mireille.

He took another drag, a long one. "None that I know of, in fact," countered Morgan, turning his eyes away from the blond.

Liar. And a piece of scum, thought Mireille. She very much wished to take his piece of flotsam hide and throw the bastard into the Seine.

"Well. I'm certainly glad you got me the information."

The blond was doing her best to falsely smile at Morgan. "It's a shame that the intel is useless. However, I expect you to keep up your end of the bargain."

"Very well. Within forty-eight hours, your records will be purged from European and American databases." Morgan walked toward the exit, turned around for a second before leaving. "Oh, and you ran this on Carlos' machine from his van?"

"No, we ran the memory chip from my computer at the café," responded Mireille. "Why do you ask?"

"Ah, no reason." Mireille was going to press him further, but he was already gone.


[++++++]


Mireille needed a walk to figure out what the hell was going on, she thought. First, Morgan is disappointed with the information. Then, he can't even look at me when I tell him about the 'i'. There's some significance in that, and then the bastard runs off.

'i.' What the hell does 'i' have to do with this? Its just me, isn't it? And why did he ask where I ran the intel? It shouldn't matter...

"Oh crap." And she switch directions, running to the nearest bridge over the river Seine.


[++++++

The weather had just turned, menacing clouds were rolling in from the west, starting to cover the sky with danger. A few drops of moisture were already falling, hitting the dry ground, leaving their little bodies to wet the surface. The rain was harder, heavier, as the drops started plunking away with little abandon.

Mireille turned the corner.

Almost there. Only a few more blocks up the street until she would reach the café. Kirika must be surrounded already, in the kitchen defending herself against the suits. They were unknowns, going after Kirika -- they might have tangled with the brunette once already.

A gunshot rang against the red-bricked building behind her. With total instinct, Mireille had her gun out, facing in the direction of the gunfire. Firing. A few nameless fell down in the distance, as she ran up the street.

A stir across the way, on a second floor balcony. A ringing of shots made the blond dive for cover behind a small car, taking shelter behind its rear wheel. Automatic gunfire continue to rain down, stronger than the heaviest raindrops could ever be. Her protective car's windows were shattered in seconds, pilfering its glass onto the ground. The stucco apartments behind here weren't doing that much better, chipping debris from the damper of bullet fire.

She could wait no longer. Diving backwards onto her side, she stuck her pointed gun from almost underneath the back of the car, firing as soon she saw shadows on the second floor. Mireille found her targets quickly, with suits dropping off and around the edge of the overhang.

She picked herself off the wet ground, the side of her red top all stained with gutter mud. She ignored it until she noticed the splinters in her right leg, from flying glass. Mireille cursed, her legs were rarely covered and beauty-wise she had paid the price.

She ran again, this time with her gun out, firing down the road. A few Parisian locals were still on the streets, covering themselves up with the latest fashion of patterned umbrellas. So shocked at seeing a beautiful stranger, waving her piece around on the crowded street that they just stood there, their mouths agape in utter amazement.

She turned another corner.

There. There was the café. The lights were totally out, a bit strange for the time was well before closing even if it was close to dark. A couple of customers were milling around the front door, peeking in for a few seconds, possibly to taste one of Kirika's amazing pastries.

Mireille looks again at the outside tables and chairs, strange that they had not even been stacked up and locked away for the night. It wasn't like this was totally safe neighborhood, after all, who waives around with a gun in their hand, shooting at strangers?

Mireille tried not to think that much of it, pocketing her gun.

She ran right up to the door, reaching out and tugging at the lock. The door was glassed, she could she into the café the presence of unfinished drinks, unwashed dishes and half-eaten pastries still scattered around the tables and chairs. The floor was still rather crumby, not brushed and cleaned for the night, still with evidence of earlier customer sessions.

"I think its closed ma'am." An older couple was walking away from the café. The gentleman, a regular that Mireille could identify, was smiling a bit as the couple walked away, holding each other's hands.

"We're going to try the stop a couple of blocks down. I do hope this place opens up again." They smiled as Mireille turned her attention to the door.

Damn! She didn't have her keys -- breaking the glass would probably be a good idea right now. Taking out her firearm, she turned the barrel towards her, throwing the butt of the gun into the glass. Little resistance was met as the glass door pane shattered.

A sense of urgency rushed around her, as she wanted very much to step right into the café. But the break had not been clean, she needed a couple of seconds to break more broken shards of glass from the framed door. As she did, Mireille could smell the fresh pastries, the coffee grinds, and most of all was the heavy odor of gasoline.

Time stopped.

She saw it all go to yellow, then red. First, the swinging doors to the kitchen, the twin entrances opened wide, letting out fire and flame alike. Their doors could not stay on forever, they were quickly thrown off their own hinges.

"KIRIKA!"

Mireille stumbled back, diving toward the ground, unable to physically do much else. In her head, it all came together. The e-mail from Morgan had been nothing more than a trap to her, getting the two of them separated from each other. Divide and conquer. She cursed at herself for being so fooled by the agent.

Her mind said for her to go in and find the precious friend, Kirika…for she was still in there. The blond was determined to go in, find her partner and rescue her from such unrevealing fools of terrorism. But that was only her mind -- her body could not obey…

"Kirika!'

Her body rolled away for safety, just past the falling timbers of the front door. A few second later, and the explosion rang instant flames throughout the building, the back of the café was already gone. The front, without the support of the rest of the bakery, folding onto itself into a heap of fire.

Mireille stiffened out, trying to decide what to do next. Her entire left side had taken most of the damage, burned from the explosion, blackened and charred on the shoulder. The left side of her face, was flushed red, a bit of her golden hair darkened by the soot and dust.

Still on the ground, Mireille was surprised to find herself clear of the café, well over to the other side of the street. She leaned back, looking at her former home of business. Grimacing in pain, she looked down at herself, the skin on her arm was already splintering and bleeding. She tried to reach around with her right arm, but was unable to pull her left arm back across her body.

"No..." Mireille could only look into the fire, the flames licking away at the wood and casing. A steady stream of tears fell from her eyes. They slowly dripped off the side of her face, she could feel the moisture of the them roll across her cheek.

Sirens rang out aloud, as strangers ran for cover. Mireille could sense the emergency crews coming, police asking questions. The trail of dead suits just around the corner would undoubtedly lead to more questions -- still, she had to be sure.

She looked up. Where there café had once been, it was little more than a pile of rubble. The ceiling was draped over the rest of the building, hiding the evidence of a once vibrant scene. Smoke and embers swirled around the former building, circulating around and swarming yet never deciding to leave. They were forever guardians of the scenes, guards that had witnessed death and destruction. They were there, now, waiting for their assignment time to be up. It wasn't time yet…No, it wasn't time.

Mireille managed to finally scrape herself off the pavement. She watched new embers dance among the edges of the collapse. They circled around, as they slowly devoured new parts of the building. Laughing, flocking, sharing partners among themselves, these embers walked among the smoke as stepchildren for the dead.

She couldn't stand it anymore, as she collapsed back down to her knees. She felt a sudden luckiness to have barely survived the blast. Reaching up onto her hair, feeling moisture, thinking it was raining again, that an umbrella might have been a good idea at the moment.

Mireille looked at her hand. Blood. Her head had been traumatized by debris. She couldn't react at all, the moisture, the pain. It all fell in as her upper body fell to the ground. She welcomed the unconsciousness.


[++++++]


Kirika, Mireille thought. Did you escape? You got away without the pain...For only I should been so lucky.

Mireille remembered that sunny day on the beach. Ah, that was such nice weather. She looked over at Kirika, in her sun hat, and full length dress. "Are you all right, Kirika?" she asked.

"Hai."

"Well, then, please enjoy the weather. They say it can't be perfect all the time."

Kirika nodded, then smiled. "I am enjoying myself, Mireille. Its different then from the first time, hmmm?"

Those were the dreams that Mireille had. It was the reason for the café. It was why Noir was Noir no longer. It was why she lived. Discovered that about it, haven't you...she thought.

Please...take me, instead of her! I don't deserve this...

She cried in anger. In fear. She held her gun nose, outward, facing, pointing. Firing. Into the smoke, the fire, the embers.


[++++++]


What does one think about when one is about to die?

It was on Kirika's mind at the moment. Seeing fire in front of here eyes. It was angry, upset that it earlier defeats. Missing Kirika so many times before, it was determined to get even, it was here to win.

The movements slowed down to mere seconds right before her very eyes. What had once taken instants was now a journey of minutes and hours. Father Time had judged this to be a moment of patience -- it was longer than many passing events that Kirika had ever seen. Longer than the time it takes for a leaf to flow down a bubbling stream. Or the occasion it takes for the strand of seaweed, to be captured by water and brought back into the sea. It was much, much longer than that.

"Why?" asked Kirika.

The fire rumbled along, eating away at the kitchen ceiling with its heart content. Because, its my purpose, it answered.

"Did you have to take my life like that? Have I lived all that I could be?"

No, of course not, the fire said. We do not control the fates of the world.

"I never asked for this." She stretch her arm in an outstretched moment of weakness. "All I've asked for in my life is for the truth. And even you, fire, can't give me the answers I need."

The fire rumbled -- first answering in silence, then giving the response it could only give. It said it never had answers, never the purpose to decide what is right from wrong. It had no decision powers of its very own.

"Very well. Then I have already been judged by someone else that had dealt me a card of fate."

And the fire came closer, Kirika could feel the heat against her cheek. She did not resist the danger as it came closer. It reached out, delicately touching tender skin.

"I am not afraid. I am not afraid of...the truth. I know the truth."

If you would be the real seeker after truth, the fire said.

"Then," answered Kirika, "you must at least once in your life doubt, as far as possible, all things."

Then you do remember me, don't you, answered the fire.

"Yes, I do. And I obey."


[++++++]


"Kirika..."

Mireille's eyes fluttered open to light. It was a bright room, a white ceiling. Something else was white as well, the top spikes of someone's' hair.

"Carlos..." Mireille tried to speak, but the words were not coming out. Her mouth was parched. It fact, it was dry in the room as well. "Water..."

Carlos passed her a small blue cup filled halfway. She reached out with her right hand, noticing the hospital ID bracelet securely attached around the wrist. The blond took no hesitation, grabbing the paper cup, chugging down the lukewarm liquid. No use in sipping slowly, she thought.

She pulled her arm down and looked into his eyes. "Kirika...where is she?"

Carlos was absolutely still. "Mireille...I'm sorry."

Mireille turned around in the bed onto her side, facing away from her associate. "When did you..."

"They couldn't even recognize her for three days. There was nothing left except black and bones. It's a miracle that the police identified her, he had to pull her doctor's records."

Mireille turned in her bed the other way. "Three days? How long have I...been here!"

"Almost two weeks. You've got a nasty knock to the head. I'm surprised you haven't noticed the large wrap around your head. A dislocated right shoulder and a couple of broken ribs will keep you from doing summersaults for some time."

The blond straightened out in her bed. A well of tears was already forming in her eyes, threatening to reach a downpour stage. "Leave me. Now."

"But...Mireille..."

"GET OUT!"

Carlos got up from his chair. "I can see I'm not wanted here. I'll see you tomorrow." And he quickly let himself out.

Mireille shifted away from the closing door, toward the window. It was a very small hospital room, with only room for one. She did not need company.

She sighed, hugging her sheets close to her chin.

"Kirika..."


[++++++]


Mireille drifted around the apartment, endlessly. The late sun had been too strong, even the outside shutters were closed. She wasn't in the mood for much. Nothing to do at all.

Carlos had dropped over a few bundles of fresh foods and snacks. Mireille was disappointed with the selections, for Americans really had no sense of European food. The simple cheeses and breads that he had picked up surmised to the blond that Carlos did indeed have very bland taste. No brie, no eggs. Heh, the unrefrigerated eggs mush have scared the phreaker. She was even more upset over the six pack of cheap American beer. Even though Mireille had not been much of a drinker, she was sure Carlos would have been smart enough to buy a bottle of wine as per her asking for alcohol. Guess not.

After a few more days or so, she took her frustration out on poor Carlos. He didn't put up much of a fight, feeling guilty about the trace back from the intel to Mireille and Kirika's café. But after re-examining the information, he discovered the ruse. He had taken a security risk, and it had failed.

Still, she accused Carlos of foul play. The phreaker didn't argue the point, instead he silently packed his overnight bag and left. No a peep, not a word. Nothing he left was good, but then, Carlos could never utter a bad word about Mireille and her choices. It was another time Carlos had felt guilty to Mireille's plight, this time he made sure a third time would never happen at all costs.

For Mireille, she didn't dare go out. No point in leaving if there was no place to go, no job to do. Most of the paperwork had been filled out by her landlord of the café, for Mireille had in the hospital for over three weeks. Even the bureaucrats of Paris moved quickly under certain circumstances. By the time she was home, the insurance company was already reimbursing her for the loss of the business

Instead, she had time. Mireille had gone on with re-organizing of her apartment. It was spring cleaning all over again, as the blond cleaned through several closets that had been nagging her the last few months. She never really had the time, especially with the café once open all the time.

Those closets were fully stocked of winter stuff -- endless blankets, flannel sheets, and winter over garments. All the beddings of home. She tugged them down, thinking that relining the shelves was a good starting project. She tugged down a comforter from the top shelf, causing it to tumble out of its precarious position. Following the bedding, was a squarish box, that landed right into Mireille's lap.

It was a hat box.

Mireille scanned the designer box, from one of the more expensive fashion houses of Paris. She ripped at the ribbon, tugging the top away at the same time.

Folding the white tissue paper aside revealed a rather fashionable hat. Not just any hat, but the hat that she had pointed to in the fashion magazine from a month before. The one she showed Kirika as a must buy, the one if they were ever in the business again. It was only few days between that memory and her passing, and Kirika had snuck out and bought the hat on her own.

She held the hat in her hand, trying it on. Dropping the hat box onto the ground, it fell rather clumsily, listing over to one size. Something else was in the box.

Mireille reached to the ground, searching through the tissue paper, looking for the weight. It was wrapped in the corner of the box, and as she tugged at it, the tissue paper unfolded like a dress, dropping the weighted object into her palm.

One repaired pocket watch. The cover flicked open, playing its song.

Mireille could no longer stand as the pocket watch played its familiar tune. Kirika could certainly not had time to have it changed. When did it get repaired, Mireille thought. It must have been from before...but how? How did this happen?

Kirika had never left...no, that was impossible. There was no way, the government had confirmed it, even the police called the mystery closed...but still....

Yes, the memory of that song brought a reality back to Mireille. One of aguish, of where search for the truth - can only lead you to more hurt and pain. It wasn't fair that Kirika had escaped so easily, and Mireille had to bear with the pain for the rest of her life.



[++++++]


......Almost five years later...


[++++++]


Mireille leaned back into her seat on the Air France concord. Couldn't sleep, she thought. These Trans-Atlantic flights were an absolute nightmare. She thought how this was an effort to bury something…she didn't know if it was a promise, or a hope to complete a story.

To bury what? Maybe it wasn't to forget to past, but the relive it. Remember it. Whatever the reason, someone wanted her here, that much was sure.

She pulled the postcard from out of her tweed jacket pocket. It was a lovely spring picture of a park, a fountain spraying water. The blond turned it over to her written address. Besides her personal address in Paris, there were two other reasons why she was here. It not that she didn't want to be here, but the clues made it a must for Mireille to come.

'i'

That was who it was from, 'i.' A neatly typed character from a typewriter. But that wasn't only clue, for there was a message to its location. It was on top of the airmail stamp, was the postmark. A very special postmark, for those Americans made it incredibility easy to trace. Because that postmark could have only come from one singular place.

The plane bumped. "May I have your attention, please. We will be landing at Kennedy Airport in New York in twenty minutes. If you have not done so, please raise your tray tables to their..."

Mireille remembered why she was here. It was for truth.

She leaned back and waited for her journey to begin once again...


[++++++]


Author's notes:

Hey, how am I doing? Anyway, expect a chapter every month or two...having a great anguishing time writing this story. ^_-

- Incantrix
incantrix@dreamclouds.com


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