IV. Femme Assise sur un Banc (Woman Sitting on a Bench)

Amanda craned her head backward, looking at the arched ceiling high above her. It really was a wonderful setting for an art museum. The Musee d'Orsay was located in a former train station, the high barrel ceiling allowing the sunlight to spill in through the arched windows and wash over the rows of paintings and sculptures. From her position on a bench at one end of the long room, she had a good view of almost the entire area that was formerly the train platforms, now the central hall of the museum. She also had a good view of some of the most impressive pieces in the collection, including a couple of Renoirs in front of her that were absolutely glowing in the sunlight falling on them from above.

She kept having to remind herself to check the doors to her left, since she wasn't there for the artwork. Ostensibly, she was waiting to meet the museum director for an interview in her role as a reporter hot on the trail of a missing Gaugin, taken from a small museum in Washington a few months ago and rumored to be in Paris. In reality, she was playing lookout for Lee, who was upstairs snooping in the director's office. He was looking for personnel information on a recently hired night guard they suspected was a Soviet plant. Museums were a favorite place of intelligence agencies, since there were so many tourists in and out every day as well as a fair number of regular visitors, any of whom were good for drops and pickups. Having a staff member who could easily obtain items dropped earlier in the day was also helpful, and the Agency wanted to know if the Russians had been able to sneak someone on staff. Lee had arranged for the secretary to be lured away on a pretext so that he could get in and out with no trouble. She cast another glance towards the doors that led to the director's office, but there was still no sign of either man.

Someone had taken a seat on the other side of her bench, and she looked over to give them a polite nod. A man in his fifties doffed his tweed- patterned hat as he sat next to her, folding his long navy coat around himself. "Bon jour," he nodded.

"Oh, hello." Amanda smiled, torn between her usual desire to strike up a conversation and her need to keep an eye on the entrance. Maybe he wouldn't speak English and they couldn't communicate anyway.

"Ah, an American," he replied with a slight French accent. "You are here on vacation, perhaps?"

"No, for work," she answered, slipping the notepad and pen out of her purse to show him. "I'm a reporter, and I'm waiting to see the museum director. I thought since he had to come by this door to get to his office, I might as well wait for him here, since I can at least look at all of these beautiful artworks while I'm waiting."

"A reporter?" he asked, turning to face her as he removed his hat and placed it on the bench between them. "For a newspaper? You do not look like, how do you say, a newshound?"

"Oh, well, you never know," she laughed. "Looks can be deceiving." She looked towards the doors to the museum offices, but her companion had blocked her view. She leaned back a little, and saw that the doors were still closed. Checking her watch, she figured Lee had been in the office for about ten minutes, probably not long enough to find anything.

"So what kind of story brings you all the way over the Atlantic?" the man continued. "You do not have a local news bureau you can use?"

"Well, we're actually following a lead on a story from Washington, DC. My partner and I, that is. He's doing research somewhere else."

"Ah, I see." He crossed his legs and leaned back. Drat, he was blocking her view again. "I worked for a newspaper myself when I was younger. But I did not have the patience for it. I did not want to be reporting on town council meetings and police reports when there were big stories out there waiting to be discovered." He waved his hands expressively. "Like you are doing, traveling the world for a story."

"Oh, I really just go where my editor tells me to." Amanda leaned forward a bit. "It's not as exciting as everyone thinks it is. You have to leave home at a moment's notice, and you never know how long it's going to take, except when you have a deadline, and then you can never find the information you need to, and people are late," she checked her watch again, "and it's a lot of hard work for a very small result that you don't know if anyone is ever going to see."

He chuckled. "But you must enjoy the work, yes?" Before she could reply, he started talking about his work as a bureaucrat at the Ministry of Commerce, and how if she thought no one ever appreciated her work, she should try writing reports on the agricultural exports of the departements, or regions, of France. She laughed politely and cast another glance at the door, craning her head to see around him. He didn't seem to take the hint, though, and continued rambling on in a way she was more accustomed to hearing from her own mouth, about how at least he could visit the Musee d'Orsay on his lunch break. She nodded at the appropriate points, stifling a groan as he shifted position yet again. "I'm sure it must be nice to work so close to such a fine museum."

"Yes, yes, it is," he answered. Gesturing towards the painting in front of them, he went on, "This is one of my particular favorites. The way the light falls from above us, just like in the painting itself, was a stroke of genius on the part of the museum, don't you agree? Not to mention the genius of Renoir himself." He went on in that vein for several minutes, indicating one and then another of the works of art around them. Amanda nervously looked at the time again. Nearly twenty minutes. Surely Lee would have found something by now.

She turned her attention back to her benchmate, only to find him rising to his feet and putting his hat back on his head. "I am sorry to say, it is nearly the end of my lunch hour. It was such a pleasure talking with you, Mrs.--?"

"Keene," Amanda answered. She reached out to take his proffered hand, and was embarassed when he brought her hand up to kiss the back. "Au revoir," she tried.

"Au revoir!" he responded, apparently delighted at what she was sure was a horrible accent. "Bon chance with your newspaper story."

"Thank you!" She nodded at him, smiling, for as short a time as she could without being impolite. When she turned back towards the office doors, she was horrified to see a flash of light, as if the glass had caught the sunlight as the door closed. She hurried over and reached the door just in time to see the elevator doors close on the man she had been waiting for. "Oh, Lee," she muttered under her breath. "I hope you can think of something fast."

She began to pace back and forth in front of the elevator. Sure enough, in about half a minute, the elevator doors opened again, and a red-faced Lee was escorted out. "Next time, you make an appointment," the museum director snapped. He jerked open the door, and gestured brusquely towards the main hall. "Good day, Mr. Stinson." He stalked back into the elevator and jabbed the button until the doors closed.

"Lee, I'm sorry," Amanda began, but she was cut off by his hand on her elbow, propelling her towards a quiet corner of the foyer.

"All right, what happened?" he started once they were screened by a tall plant from the doors leading to the museum.

"I'm sorry, Lee, this man sat down next to me and just started talking, and he kept shifting in his seat and blocking my view of the door. I didn't know how to get rid of him without being rude, and that would have been suspicious, and by the time he left, the director had already gone upstairs." She sighed, hoping he wasn't too angry. "I'll do better next time, I promise."

"Hey, it's okay." Lee slid his hand up her arm and squeezed her shoulder. "I got what I came for, and I got out without making anyone suspicious." He drew a file folder from under his jacket, and handed it to her. "Meet Michel Andres, a/k/a Mikhail Andreyev, new night guard at the Musee d'Orsay and recent resident of Moscow. He fits the description, and his alias matches the one we were given. It must be him."

Amanda took the folder from him and began to flip through it. "So now what? Do we have to find this guy? It's not like we can arrest him or anything, just for getting a job at a museum."

"No, we take this back to the Paris station and hand it over and let them deal with it. Then we--" he broke off. "Amanda?"

"Oh my gosh," she whispered, staring at the picture in the file.

"What is it? Do you know him?"

"This is the man who was talking to me! He must have been distracting me, and I never even thought of it. No wonder he kept blocking my view; he must have known you were upstairs, and wanted you to get caught. Lee, what if he knows we're looking into him? I mean, he doesn't know anything about me other than I'm a reporter from the U.S., but still . . . " She hung her head. "That was pretty stupid of me, huh?"

"Hey, how were you to know, huh?" Lee reached out and grasped her chin, tilting her head upwards to meet his eyes. "We didn't have a picture of the guy, and what would he be doing at the museum in the middle of the day, anyway? We'll keep our eyes out for him, but it's up to Paris station now."

"But this was supposed to be such a simple assignment, and if I can't even do something like this right . . ." Amanda sighed. "I'll never make it as an agent."

"Hey now, I don't want to hear anything like that." Lee gently chucked her under the chin. "You'll make a fine agent, Amanda King. Heck, you already do, you just need a little more training. And you've got the best in the business as your teacher, after all."

"Really? I didn't realize Beaman was that good." Amanda bit her lip, trying to keep the smile off her face. When she saw Lee's face darkening, she leaned a little closer and whispered, "Gotcha."

Lee's face curved into a smile. "Yes, you do," he replied, giving her a warm kiss. "Now, how about we get this," he held up the file, "to where it needs to go, and then we can come back here and look at the museum a little more properly?"

"Sounds good," she replied, taking his arm. As they strolled through the central hall towards the exit, she couldn't help but think of how much Lee had changed. Even a year ago, he would have yelled at her for being careless, rather than soothing her and telling her everything was going to turn out right. She smiled. Love really could change a person.