CHAPTER TWO: THE BAIT
The forest surrounding the Manor slowly awakened. Birds chirped again as the light of dawn filtered through the tall trees, chasing away the nocturnal wildlife once again.
The morning mist, covering meticulously mowed grass patches that outlined beds of delicate multicolored roses and tulips, had now faded. The gardens where the flowers grew had been recently restored, and they now displayed their original eighteenth century beauty. The blossoms, now opening again, filled the air around the Manoir des Hirondelles with a rich, sweet fragrance.
The title Manor, given to the estate, was misleading as the size of the construction was closer to a castle than a large villa, with sixty-seven rooms a humble number in comparison to the vastness of the Louvre, but still impressive. Centuries earlier, French royalty had enjoyed coming here in the summer, too happy to get away from the turmoil of Paris, as the growing resentment towards the aristocracy there would become the event historians called the French Revolution.
But the turbulence of that period had long faded by now. All that remained here were the quiet stone walls and the peace and serenity of an autumn morning, in a beautiful corner of the rural south of France.
All was still inside the mansion. In the great hall, no sound resonated on the white marble staircase of the entrance. Sunlight, coming in through the large windows, bounced up on the polished tiles to be reflected by the magnificently ornate ceiling, covered in a rich fresco of intricate design with hand carved plaster cornices that had been painstakingly painted and adorned here and there with pure gold leaf.
The castle had undergone an intense restoration process that was nearing completion. Dozens of skilled workers had spent two years bringing back the former splendor of the old walls, and as they were done with the first floor, had now spread scaffolds, tools, ladders and drop cloths everywhere on the remaining level, transforming the main upper corridor into a difficult obstacle course.
François quietly walked up the stairs carrying a silver breakfast tray, the day's newspaper neatly folded besides a large pot of coffee, a glass of orange juice and a basket of fresh croissants covered by a napkin. Walking swiftly around the scaffolds, he reached the large door at the end of the long corridor that stretched back to the front of the Manor, opening on the immense staircase.
In a subtle balancing act that had took decades to perfect, the aging man managed to knock gently on the bedroom door while still holding the tray.
"Come in," a sleepy voice answered.
"Good morning, Mademoiselle", the butler said as he entered the room. "Have you slept well?"
Mirage yawned as she stretched, sitting up in the enormous four-post bed that faced the window of the huge bedroom.
"No, not really… It would be more a question of if I've had any sleep at all," she said, smiling as she rubbed her eyes through her dishevelled hair.
The butler set the tray in front of her on the bed. He smiled at her briefly.
"Judging from the headlines of this morning's paper, I believe Mademoiselle Mirage has been moonlighting again."
Mirage smiled at him. "Hum… something like that, yes."
"Mademoiselle has performed very well, as usual," the butler said, as he handed her the paper.
"Thank you", she said. "I had been trailing him for six months now." She frowned. "He almost got me."
"I am glad to see you safe and sound, Mademoiselle," the butler added. "Your operation was a success: The police also captured his accomplices. It seems the criminal was very eager to talk. The police reported him to be totally terrified, but they couldn't explain why… They said his testimony made no sense; He kept referring to a woman who had split in two, and had vanished right before his eyes."
"Have you read how much material was actually involved?" she asked him.
"It appears the man had the intention of selling more than a kilogram of highly radioactive weapons-grade plutonium... Although not enough for a nuclear warhead though, it would surely had been used to make a dirty bomb of considerable magnitude, probably big enough to poison an area the size of the city of London... The transaction would have been worth to him about twenty million euros."
The butler nodded: "It was most brilliant coup, Mademoiselle, if I may be so bold..."
Mirage took a croissant, dipping it in her bowl of coffee. "Thank you, François."
The butler's face became grave. "Mademoiselle Mirage, I do not want to sound too fatherly, for I know I'm not you father, but..." He hesitated. "I am as close as what you could consider a family member, so please, let me give you this bit of advice:" The old butler stood straight. "The kind of work you are into is much too dangerous for you to tackle by yourself."
Mirage looked up, wanting to say something.
"Please, Miss, let me. I am just expressing my point of view. In as much as you are a very gifted Super, I'm still very worried something bad will happen to you." The butler smiled at her again. "So, Mademoiselle, I would feel greatly reassured if you told me you had the intention of reconsidering your work methods."
The butler poured her more coffee, and as he did, he leaned over to her. "I think it's time for Mademoiselle Mirage to find herself a partner," he said, quietly. He paused. "A serious partner... It would be most beneficial for Mademoiselle."
Mirage didn't seem to agree. "I work alone François... I always work alone, you know that."
Mirage laughed, suddenly feeling embarrassed. "A sidekick... You want me to find a sidekick?"
"Not quite Miss," François said, rather enigmatically. "That is not what I meant..."
They stared at each other for a second. He broke the silence: "On a more mundane level, may I remind you that Mademoiselle Amélie is requesting your presence today at twelve at the Tivoli Café? It is if I am right, to celebrate Mademoiselle Mirage's twenty-third birthday."
Mirage rolled her eyes. Oh, God. Amélie Duchesne...
Amélie Duchesne was as close as a friend Mirage could have. An overly talkative, French Canadian, mergers and acquisitions lawyer comfortably established in the nearby Principality of Monaco, she was one of the very few, for reasons even Mirage didn't understand, that had managed to get inside Mirage's very small and private social bubble.
The feisty Québécoise was also an unrepentant socialite, even portrayed in some circles as what one could call a man-eater, with the appetite of a Great White shark. She took obvious pride boasting about her conquests, but enjoyed even more playing match-maker between whom she considered deserved her attentions...
Mirage's previous boyfriend, proudly presented by Amélie, had been a record of longevity... The two weeks they had been together had been blissful to a point, but Mirage had seemed too secretive about herself and the Prospect had finally walked out, infuriated and confused like the others, as he could not get a clear explanation on why Mirage suddenly had to rush away to urgent appointments that could not be rescheduled, dropping him like a sack of potatoes.
Mirage sighed. She would definitely have to go and meet her, even if the temptation of staying at the Manor to supervise the restoration work was overwhelming.
She jumped out of bed. The old butler didn't flinch as she walked past him, wearing only a large T-shirt and cotton underwear.
"It's a two hour drive to Monaco, might as well leave now and do some errands," she said as she looked for the day's clothes: a comfortable pair of jeans, sneakers and a loose, fine wool sweater.
"I'll be gone for the day. So, François, I leave you the Manor. The workers should be arriving in about an hour. We will have to look at the leakage in the south wing's roof some other time."
The butler lifted a finger. "May I remind Mademoiselle that it is time for my annual vacation? I shall be leaving today for Toulouse, to visit my brother."
Mirage turned around. "Oh yes, I forgot. I'm so sorry... Thank you so much for everything then. I'll be home at the end of the afternoon. Just please lock up after the workers are gone and have a great vacation."
"I will, Mademoiselle. Drive safely."
"Thank you François", she said, taking a towel as she headed for the bathroom.
As Mirage drove her Z4, the grey sport car gracefully negotiating the tight curves of the small country road that would lead her to Monaco, she couldn't help thinking of what the butler had said before leaving.
A partner? Mirage let the words resonate in her mind. I don't have time for a partner. No, I don't…
Mirage suddenly frowned. "A boyfriend?" She was talking to herself loudly now. "No way, forget it. I'll take a rain check on that."
She thought about Amélie. How does she do it? Hum, maybe she's a Super... That made her smile.
Monaco is one of the most beautiful cities to be perched on the edge of the Mediterranean Sea. The tiny independent principality, ruled by a centuries old monarchic government, relies on its international prestige to attract the richest personalities in the world to fill its coffers, by offering in exchange to be a tax-free haven. It is truly a paradise for the very wealthy.
The main boulevard by the docks, where luxury ships of all nationalities and sizes were moored, -a most valued location as it welcomed once a year the international formula one grand prix- was bustling with activity on this beautiful autumn day, affluent tourists and citizens filling the exclusives boutiques and posh sidewalk cafes. Mirage was comfortable there, and used to its upper-crust crowd, not by choice but more out of necessity, as she had learned a long time ago a lot of them were powerful decisions makers regarding important issues, and because of that, she had learned how to blend in, as it seemed the only way to get certain things done.
Mirage, in truth, had always been indifferent to all this superficial glamour and luxury. She tolerated the snobbery, but it would always be the simpler things in life that really mattered to her. The castle she resided in had more the status of a large project than being a symbol of wealth and power. No, Mirage never would have needed to prove herself with wealth. When the renovations would be completed, she would move on to find another house in dire need of renovation, something much smaller this time, surrounded by a forest, with just a few rooms and a tiny garden of roses, as they were her favourite flowers. And that house, she would call home.
Mirage sat on the front terrace of the café, sipping a non-fat latte as she waited for her friend to arrive. She had been waiting for a few minutes now, and killed time by discreetly looking at the passers-by through her Ray-ban sunglasses. The terrace was filled. People sat everywhere enjoying their drinks while bathing in the sunshine. A young couple, a few tables away from Mirage, had their eyes locked on each other as the spoke, smiling tenderly, obviously bewitched by one another. Mirage absentmindedly looked at them. When they started kissing passionately, she turned her head away. She then heard a familiar voice in the distance behind her.
"Mirage! Oh Mirage! Yoo-hoo! Mirage, oh, Muh-raaage!"
"Oh, God." Mirage said, as she waved, shyly.
Amélie Duchesne zigzagged expertly through the small tables, her hands full with a plethora of bags as she had been power–shopping that morning.
They faked-kissed and she quickly sat down, lifting her finger for the waiter who was already rushing her way.
"Oh, Sweetie, happy birthday, I'm so glad to see you… You're twenty-three, am I right?" Amélie asked her, slightly out of breath.
Mirage nodded, "Yes, but, my actual birthday is September twenty-seven…"
"Close enough," Amélie said. "Here," Amélie handed Mirage a large shopping bag from a very exclusive boutique. "Happy birthday, Cutie!"
"So," Amélie asked, leaning her elbows on the table, staring into Mirage's eyes. "How was Robert?"
Mirage felt embarrassed. "Do you really want to know?"
Amélie cut her off. "Câlisse... You are a difficult client, you know that?"
The lawyer straightened up and eyed Mirage up and down. "Oh, Angel," she said. "You look terrible. What have you been doing? Well, let me help you a bit." She pointed to the bag. "I bought you something colourful to wear, you know, to make a change from your usual choices of green, black, grey and blue... All these cold colors, no wonder they sometimes refer to you as the Ice Queen."
Before Mirage could answer, Amélie had already cut her off again.
"Precious, trust me on this one, the diagnostic is clear…" Amélie leaned forward with worried eyes.
"You need a good man, Sugar, big time... And I mean, big, big time. Someone to rotate your tires, you know what I mean?"
Mirage tried to reply, but words failed her as she stared, bewildered, at Amélie.
The lawyer was obviously on a roll. "Ok, before I try to find you another match again, let's review our fact sheet, shall we? Name?"
Mirage rolled her eyes, but played along: "Mirage Moresso."
"Status?" Amélie kept drilling her.
"Single, if it's what you mean."
"You were born in September, so that makes you a Libra." Amélie disapproved. "Difficult sign... Education?"
"I have a Master's degree in Computer Science, and I am now studying Art History, with a specialization in Restoration of Eighteenth Century Architecture."
"Hum…" Amélie said, as she seemed to be getting close to something. "How many languages do you speak, Mirage?"
"Five... And you know that, by the way!"
"And, aren't you a full fledged member of Greenpeace International?"
Mirage sighed. "Yes…"
Amélie smiled as she crossed her hands on the table. The lawyer had rest her case. "That's what I thought: You have way too much time on your hands, Darling."
Mirage looked at her, unable to speak.
"Mirage, Puppy, you are very difficult: how could you have said no to Michel Ligier? You must be insane; he's built like a god. He's just so hot! It doesn't make any sense. Unless…"
Amélie Paused: "Unless, of course! Oh, Cookie! Why didn't you tell me men weren't your thing?"
Mirage was slowly turning red. "What are you talking about?"
"Oh, Queenie, it's my fault. I should have known, since you showed no interest in Michel... Well, I'm so proud of you! Coming out is not easy!"
Amélie was unstoppable, as she waved her hand. "Say no more, say no more. I know exactly what to do: Next Friday, you and I are going out, and I'm bringing Lilianne St-Clair... You know she came out a long time ago... I shouldn't be telling you this, but I will: She once told me that she wouldn't mind talking you for a ride, if you were ever interested…"
Amélie beamed with joy: "You'd be a great couple!"
Mirage finally found the energy to cut her off. "Damn it, Amélie, I'm… I'm not, no. It's just that... Oh Mon Dieu, Amélie. Ce que tu peux être conne des fois..."
Mirage had difficulty articulating: "I just don't want to be in a relationship right now, that's all... I don't need to be in a relationship."
Mirage seemed to have found the right words, as Amélie had stopped ranting.
"Well anyhow, Sister," Amélie said as she simmered down, reaching out to Mirage's hand, "I couldn't care less on what side of the fence you are on... You are my friend and that is that."
"Thank you," Mirage said, obviously relieved that the conversation would take another direction.
Mirage had finally steered Amélie's attention away from her love life by asking for the latest Monaco gossip, which the lawyer was most pleased to share.
The Québécoise was just about to describe the lack of prowess of her previous conquest, when she was suddenly interrupted. An old woman had come to their table. She was dressed in ragged clothes, obviously the only ones she owned. She was small and fragile, trembling slightly on her two feet as her body was bent forward, worn down by the years.
"Your palm read for a euro, Young ones?" she asked them in a weak voice.
Amélie jumped on the occasion. "Please," she said, as she gave the woman a bill. "I'll give you ten euros to read her palm. It's her birthday you know…"
The woman smiled as Mirage held out her hand reluctantly.
The old woman took it gently, slowly running her index finger against the lines in Mirage's palm. She stared up, to meet Mirage's curious look.
"You are very different, Young One." The woman spoke softly and slowly, as she touched Mirage's hand, looking at the lines which mysteriously seemed to speak to her. "You have a gift. A lot of people are desperate to possess it, but you, do not. It seems a curse to you, not the blessing it truly is."
Mirage now worried that the old woman could reveal to Amélie that she was a Super.
The old lady went on. "You suffer as you can't escape who you are."
The woman kept looking at Mirage's hand. "Fear not, Young One, you will find a way to achieve the peace you want, but there will be a price. You will travel, very soon, to exotic, distant lands. But you will have to be very careful, for the path of your journey will cross many dangers."
The woman, sensing Mirage's growing concern, reassured her: "I say again, fear not, Young One. You will not be alone… I see someone. I see a man." Amélie's eyes were wide open now. "He comes from a distant land. You both are very similar. He suffers, very much like you… He will be a most valuable ally, in times of darkness."
The old woman paused, eyeing Mirage. "Perhaps more even," she added softly, as she ran her index finger up and down a particular line in Mirage's hand, "perhaps, much more than an ally."
Amélie squealed joyfully as she heard the fortune teller. "Ooh! This is good, Mirage, oh yeah! Bring it on, Woohoo!" She waved her hands in Mirage's face while making eerie sounds.
The old woman glanced at Amélie and frowned as she went on. "Beware, for you have dangerous enemies. They are hidden and they are waiting to strike. Some will be obvious, but some will be harder to fight as they will present themselves as friends, as they will try to fool you. Trust your instincts. They will serve you well."
Mirage had heard enough, so she gently took her hand away, obviously a little bit annoyed with the whole thing and not knowing on how seriously to take that information.
"Thank you very much," she said to the woman, who politely bowed and walked away to another table. It took a while for Mirage and Amélie to resume their conversation as they were still quite astonished by what they had just heard.
They had not noticed a few tables away, a man with dark sunglasses alone at a table. He sat completely immobile; his shoulders were rigid, his back straight and tense. If Mirage had seen him, she might have paid more attention to his presence.
He discreetly looked in their direction from time to time, slowly turning his head, his gaze concealed. No one at the terrace had seemed to notice that he looked a little odd, being bald and rather tall, dressed in a fitted cream coloured suit and matching hat. The fact he didn't seem to enjoy himself, as the stern look on his face suggested, would have made him suspicious to a trained eye but he had seemed successful in not attracting any glances.
It also escaped everyone's attention that on the opposite side of the terrace, sat another identically dressed man. If the two men had been closer together, it would have been obvious they were twins: Both bald and thin, with the same fitted cream coloured suits, sunglasses and hats.
The men looked at each other from time to time, across the terrace, through the crowd.
Target acquired, Brother Zed, one of the men had appeared to say, as the other nodded.
Shouldn't we act now, Brother Ned? The other man inquired.
No, I think tonight will a much better opportunity. No need to make a scene and Intelligence has told us she will be alone.
Agreed, but she is a Super. She would hesitate to use her powers in the open as she wouldn't want to be revealed. That would be an advantage for us. You know she will not come along easy.
We can deal with Supers, Brother Zed; we are trained for that. No, tonight is the better option.
So, tonight it is then, Brother Ned.
No one on the terrace ever noticed that the two men had just had a complete conversation, as they were too far apart. They just sat, immobile, casually looking in each other's direction.
Never once had they moved their lips.
Time passed as the women chat of mundane, impersonal things. Mirage, considering she had been there long enough and the return trip to the castle being a two hour drive, decided to part with Amélie. The lawyer, ever busy, had already booked another meeting. They said goodbye to each other and went their separate ways.
Mirage did not notice, as she walked away from the café, that the two men had gotten up and from a distance, now followed her.
The Manor was silent that evening. No wind stirred the gardens as they were shrouded in the darkness of a moonless night. All lights were out as Mirage, tired from her day, had gone to bed early.
In one of the alleys set between the rows of roses, something suddenly stirred: A gust of wind, coming from nowhere, picked up loose gravel to spin it up in a tight spiral, like a small tornado of dust. It made a barely audible hiss, which grew louder.
In the middle of the atmospheric confusion, a faint light appeared.
As the hissing sound got louder, the light also intensified, engulfing the spinning cloud in a silvery sphere that grew in size. Suddenly, the whirlwind dissolved, broken apart by what appeared to be a solid object as the sphere of light had transformed into an opaque but still luminous crystal ball. The globe, about two meters tall, stood on the gravel alley.
The turbulence ceased and silence fell again on the garden.
An opening appeared on one side of the sphere. Two men, wearing black skin-tight suits, stepped out. Only their faces were visible as their eyes where shielded behind what appeared to be small night vision goggles, green and faintly glowing.
They held weapons.
The two men that had trailed Mirage that afternoon now silently stepped forward to scrutinize the dark gardens around them. They looked back and forth, scanning the area. Without a word, they agreed that one of them would go to the front, while the other would enter through the back.
As they separated, the man remaining at the back had only a few steps to make before reaching the locked French doors. He waited to see his partner disappear behind the corner.
He held up a small object near the lock. The device made an audible beep, and the door unlocked, the latch movement making an echo that reverberated down the hall. Not expecting this, the man froze, looking nervously around him.
The sound had awakened Mirage, who now stood alert in her bed. The bedroom was in complete darkness, but that did not bother her. Mirage appreciated having the ability to see clearly in the dark in times like this. And the fact that this power had been a well kept secret was sure to give her an advantage on whoever had entered the castle, as she instinctively knew that the night time visitor was more than just unwelcome, and that its intentions were probably be not very honourable.
She would have to confront whoever was out there.
Mirage was angry at herself for not having been more prepared for such an emergency. She had obviously been over-confident.
Weapons, I have none, she thought, cursing her lack of judgement.
Mirage got out of bed. In a flash of light, she transmutated, to reappear near the door. The crack under it would be wide enough to let her rematerialize on the other side, as she needed an opening for she was not able to pass through a solid object. But she hesitated in doing so; not knowing what was on the other side. She instead took the handle, pulled it down slowly and opened the door as silently as she could.
She leaned forward, to look inside the corridor
Mirage saw the man at the same time he saw her. She instinctively knew that coming face to face with an armed, dark figure with glowing green eyes in the middle of the night, meant nothing good.
He had drawn his weapon, but was hesitant for a fraction of a second, as he did not expect to come face to face with a girl with an angry and determined look on her face, wearing only a large T-shirt and underwear, and obviously about to attack.
He snapped back to his senses again, aimed the weapon at her and fired.
Mirage vanished just as a luminous shock wave fired from the gun would have hit her dead on. In a flash, she reappeared back inside the bedroom, quickly jumping over the bed, sliding on the covers to hide on the opposite side. The aggressor walked in, his weapon humming as it recharged. He pointed it towards the bed. Mirage had crawled under the bed frame, as it offered a temporary shield. She could see the man's legs from her vantage point. He had reached at the edge of the bed now, and was about to press the trigger.
In a flash of light, she reappeared behind him, to kick him on the back of the knee. The man lost balance as the blow forced him to kneel. Mirage then approached his side to hit him hard on the face with her fist.
The force of the blow made the man drop the weapon. Mirage kicked it, and it went sliding under the bed. Enraged by her resistance, he pushed her aside violently, making her roll on the carpet.The intruder rushed to the bed, reached under it to grab the weapon and then turned around to aim at Mirage who had already transmutated out of the bedroom, as she fled towards the stairs of the front entrance.
Mirage couldn't transmutate on long distances: It would take her a few jumps to reach the staircase. As she rematerialized, her attacker kept firing in her direction, to miss her every time, as Mirage fooled him by creating an avatar of her, confusing him. The attacker became even more frustrated as every time he shot one of the twins in front of him, he realized he had chosen, instead of his intended target, the intangible image as the shockwave went through it, as he couldn't guess that the real Mirage could switch positions back and forth with the avatar she had created.
Mirage reached the edge of the staircase at last, to run down as fast as she could, rushing towards the outside doors.
She dashed outside, slipping on the humid stone steps. Nearly tumbling down, she headed for the nearby woods. But she hadn't seen the other man waiting for her, leaning against the edge of the wall.
When she did, it was too late.
The weapon fired an electrical discharge through the air that hit Mirage straight in the sternum. The brutal blow sent her flying backwards through the air, and she came crashing down on the gravel.
Mirage now lay unconscious on the garden ground.
The man slowly walked over to her. He poked her immobile body with his weapon. Target captured and neutralized, brother Zed, he said telepathically as he saw his partner come out of the castle with a hand on his jaw. We must leave now.
Quietly, one of the men picked up Mirage to sling her over his shoulder. They headed back for the sphere. After they all had gotten inside, the opening silently closed. The globe then pulsated as a tornado of dust engulfed it, and it suddenly collapsed on itself in a cracking, thunderous sound, leaving nothing but leaves that rustled in the dying wind.
The castle grounds were quiet again.