A/N: Alright, alright. So I've never been to Versailles. The hotel in this chapter is obviously fictional, as are the street names (Although, if you recognize the reference in the street names, that's bonus points!). Sorry for any lack of realism in my description. I also don't speak French, and used Google translate for Nate's line in this chapter, so yeah, sorry for using Google translate :)
Horns blared as Sully dodged the rental car in between an expensive convertible and a cargo van and then screeched it around the corner at the last possible moment. From the convertible, a lady wearing offensively large earrings gestured rudely at him.
"Yeah, lady, why don't you take that finger and shove it up your-"
"Sully!" Elena scolded from the back seat.
"Sorry, sorry!" Victor apologized without much sincerity. "It's just people in France need to learn how to drive, I guess."
Nate, visibly shaken in the passenger's seat, eyed Sully with disbelief. "Yeah? And learn how to basically miss a turn and weasel your way in at the risk of everyone in the car and around the car?"
"Hey! You all shoulda' told me that was my turn. I'm countin' on ya, here."
Nate shrugged and watched the city of Versailles pass by outside his window. Charming homes and store fronts with carefully arranged flowerpots in the windows were interrupted by magnificent Romanesque buildings with soaring fluted columns. People crowded the sidewalks and flooded the parks, from locals going about their daily business to tourists taking selfies by the city's fountains and sculptures. It was a pretty town, he decided. Shame that they had to come here on business.
"So the guy didn't even tell you where we're meeting him at?" Nate asked, turning back to Sully.
Sully turned another corner, his eyes scanning his surroundings. "He just said it was on the corner of Les Eaux and Royale street. We should be real close."
Elena glanced out the window and gathered that they were currently on Royale street. Pushing herself up off the seat so she could see over Sully's shoulder, she then quickly spotted a sign approaching for Les Eaux boulevard. "There!" she said, pointing out the sign. Sully nodded and coasted over to the side of the road, coming to a stop in a parking space. Climbing out of the vehicle, the three partners gathered on the sidewalk to scope out the area. Nate, dressed in a light gray suit with no tie, tugged on his lapels while scanning the signs on the buildings. Sully, dressed in a brown suit and equally tieless, was busy fishing a cigar out of his pocket and lighting it, while Elena, looking fabulous in an emerald green dress with paisley side panels that was well-fitted to her form, placed her hands on her hips and frowned. "Hey, what did you say this guy's name was?"
Nate absent-mindedly fished for a name while studying a storefront across the street. "Garret. Garnet? Gardner."
"Garnier," Sully supplied, his voice now muffled through the fat cigar he was chomping. "Mathis Garnier."
"That's the one."
"Hmm," Elena hummed, putting a hand on her husband's shoulder and turning him around. "Do you think it might be-this place here?"
Nate's eye's followed her finger to where she was pointing. At the corner of Royale and Les Eaux sat a large, ornate hotel with the words "Hotel Garnier" across the marquee.
"That... seems likely," Nate agreed. "Good job, 'Lena."
Elena rolled her eyes and sighed as the three of them walked through the revolving door into the hotel lobby.
Elena had, truth be told, not been thrilled about Nate going on a job with Sully during their sabbatical to Greece (even if their "sabbatical" included a stop at Delphi to spend the morning treasure hunting). But when Nate told her the amount of money the client was paying for what seemed to be a straightforward lift, even she had raised her eyebrows, knowing that ten grand would certainly go a long way towards buying them a respectable house. So she reluctantly agreed, opting to stay at the hotel in Athens to work on her application for a foreign correspondence position while he was gone. When Nate returned three days later, still alive and with all his limbs, saying that he would need to accompany Sully to France to deliver the goods to his client, she had opted to come, saying it "sounded romantic". Nate had seemed reluctant at first, but quickly warmed up to the idea, agreeing that having a beautiful woman present tended to make all business deals go better. Thus, she found herself, the respectable news reporter, accompanying two thieves into a fancy French hotel to deliver their stolen merchandise to a customer. Glancing around the exquisitely designed lobby, she smiled to herself. Well, it could be worse.
Victor strode confidently across the lobby towards the receptionist, an attractive young woman in a tight navy suit coat with long tresses of brown hair. Giving a winning smile and leaning an elbow on the granite counter that sparkled as if with a million little diamonds, he leaned in close and opened his mouth to speak. Before he could utter a word, however, the woman cut him off in a thickly accented voice, "No smoking in the building, please sir."
Nate and Elena both suppressed a laugh as Sully took the cigar from his mouth, visibly deflated. "Oh, for Christ's sake," he muttered, stubbing the end on the granite and sweeping the embers off onto the tile floor. The woman watched with disapproval, but maintained her composure as she spoke again.
"Merci. Now may I help you, kind sir?"
"Yeah, my name's Victor, Victor Sullivan," he growled, shoving the cigar into an inside pocket of his suit coat, "I'm here to meet Mr. Garnier."
The woman opened a book on the counter in front of her and scanned its pages, almost immediately finding what she was looking for. "Ah, that Mr. Garnier. Yes sirs, madam, follow me."
As the girl stepped out from behind the reception desk, Sully furrowed his brow and looked at Nate. "What does she mean, 'that Mr. Garnier'?" Nate shrugged.
Walking at a brisk pace, she led them into an elevator and pushed the button for the roof level. As they were carried up eight floors to their destination, Elena admired the gilded brasswork and rich wood paneling that covered the inside of the car, while Nate leaned against the wall and stuffed his hands in his pockets awkwardly. Sully kept his arms folded over his chest and stared at the corner of the ceiling, obviously still miffed about the lack of public acceptance for his favorite indulgence. A sharp ding! announced their arrival, and the doors opened onto a rooftop dining area, filled with small round tables of happily conversing people, while a jazz band played softly over in the corner. The young woman led them through the crowd, past tables of businessmen casually discussing sales and the current market, past young couples making doey eyes at each other while they basked in the romantic atmosphere that presumably came part and parcel with being in France, and past the occasional loner, all of whom seemed like they were tolerating the presence of everyone else mostly for the sake of the view from the top of the hotel. The breeze carried with it the scent of flowers and a nearby bakery, as well as a hint of smog.
"Par-don, par-don!" Nate said in an exaggerated French accent as he dodged a waiter in a red vest carrying a tray of drinks from the bar.
"Nate!" Elena whispered.
"What?" he asked innocently. "I think he appreciated it!"
"I think you're embarrassing!" she giggled, looping her arm through his.
Finally they arrived at a table occupied solely by a man who looked to be about Nate's age, wearing a gray suit and dark tie, sitting with one leg crossed over the other, and contentedly watching the jazz band, of whom he had an excellent view from his position. As he saw the group approaching, he stood and spread his arms wide in warm greeting.
"Victor!" he exclaimed, vigorously shaking Sully's hand.
"Mathis. Good to see you." As he withdrew his hand from Garnier's grasp, he flexed his fingers as if checking to make sure he still had full mobility of them.
As the receptionist slipped silently away, the Frenchman turned and looked at Nate. "And this must be your associate, Mr..."
"Drake," Nate offered, shaking his hand firmly. As he did he also gave him a quick once-over, from his impeccably side-parted and gelled down mop of brown hair to his spit-polished black shoes. He did not notice any signs the man was concealing a weapon.
Shifting his attention to Elena, Garnier gave a particularly diplomatic smile. "And the lovely lady?"
"Elena Fisher." She also took his hand to shake it, which he briefly did before giving the back of her hand a quick peck.
"Delighted," the scientist said, releasing his grip.
Roused to jealousy, Nate quickly placed an arm around Elena's shoulders. "My wife," he said, giving their client a tight smile.
Nate's sudden possessiveness did not elude the French scientist, who chuckled and responded, "You're a lucky man, my friend."
"I'll say," Elena agreed.
As she took a seat with the others at the table, Nate stood looking dejected. "What's that supposed to mean?" Elena only giggled at him again and patted the seat beside her. He sat down, still looking a bit put-out, and Elena began to rub his knee as a waiter came over to take their order.
"Drinks for all?" Garnier asked. "Champagne?"
"Whiskey, please," Sully promptly asked.
"SULLY!" Elena whisper-hissed at him. "We're at a nice place, can you not get something else for once?"
"Like what?" Sully sulked.
"No, no, that should be fine," Garnier said calmly. "I believe we have something that should suit you just fine. And for you two?"
"Champagne sounds wonderful," Elena said.
"Uh, yeah- me too..." Nate mumbled, glancing at his wife.
As the waiter walked away to get their order, Sully shrugged. "To business, then?" He reached into his suit pocket for the journal, but was stopped by the Frenchman, who held a hand up.
"Business- with pleasure, my friend. Please, how have you been? Is everything going well for you?" Garnier inquired.
"Oh, fine, fine," Sully mumbled. "Say, now that we're in the open air again, mind if I-" he held up his partially smoked cigar from earlier.
"By all means," Garnier obliged.
"Thanks a million," Sully said, planting the foul stub in his teeth and flicking open his lighter again. Nate coughed discreetly as the acrid smoke wafted across the table.
For the next fifteen or twenty minutes, the conversation continued in a business-casual, cordial kind of way, mostly between Sully and Garnier with Nate adding his two cents here and there, and Elena remaining almost completely silent, seeming to be more interested in watching the band. Presently, the waiter returned with their drinks, setting down three champagne flutes and a glass of something that Nate noticed with amusement was definitely not whiskey. As Sully tasted the beverage, his nose scrunched into a look of distaste that went unnoticed by their French host.
"...and it was so tight it took two other men and the host of the party to get the shoe off the poor woman!" Sully concluded another of his tall tales amidst laughter from the other men at the table. Elena still seemed distracted, casting another glance over at the musicians before nudging Nate with her elbow.
"I think I need to use the restroom. Nate, honey, do you think you could help me find it?" She gave him a meaningful look.
"Oh, um, sure," he said, a little surprised.
"Go through those doors over there and then down the stairs to your right," Mathis directed as the pair stood and walked away.
Elena seemed not to notice the appreciative looks she was earning from many of the men in the crowd as she walked across the roof in her snugly-fitting dress. Nate, however, did notice, and shut down some of the more obvious offenders with a withering glare. She brusquely led the way down the stairs and up to the door of the women's bathroom, where Nate dutifully pulled up short and turned around.
"I'll just wait h-gahh!" Elena seized him by the arm and drug him inside. The bathroom was, fortunately, empty, and she quickly pushed him into one of the stalls and entered behind him, closing and locking the door. "What gives?" Nate asked in a harsh whisper. "Did you not see the stick figure wearing a dress on the door? I mean, I love you too, but I just don't think this is the place to-"
"Something's going on, Nate. Who is this guy?" Elena asked urgently.
A look of bewilderment passed over his face. "What do you mean?"
Shifting her weight onto one hip, Elena began to count on her fingers as she spoke, "A client who refuses to tell us the name of the place we're meeting him at eventually has us meet him at a hotel that shares his name; upon hearing that we're here to meet Mr. Garnier, the receptionist says 'oh, that Garnier,'; instead of just getting the deal done and getting out, he wants to chat it up in a very public place; and on top of all that, I've identified at least three members of that jazz band who are packing! Maybe that kind of thing is normal in France, but where I come from, the entertainment at high class establishments don't carry handguns! What the hell is going on?"
Just then the door burst open and they could here a woman entering the restroom while talking loudly on the phone. They both froze in place while the woman entered the stall next to theirs while carrying on a boisterous conversation in French. Hardly daring to breath, Nate and Elena waited in silence. The toilet flushed and they heard the door of her stall open, then the sound of the sink running, and then finally the woman exited the bathroom, her conversation fading as the door shut behind her.
"The musicians have guns?" Nate hissed. "Ah, crap. I should have known it was going to go this way."
"What?" Elena asked in shock. "Why?"
"I don't know, because it always does?" Nate said, exasperated. "Look, I'll explain it to you later. But surely this guy wouldn't risk attacking us in broad daylight and in public, right?"
Elena looked doubtful. "I don't want to find out," she said soberly.
Nate's mind raced. "We've gotta warn Sully!" he said. "C'mon, let's get back up there."
The couple exited the bathroom just as another woman was getting ready to walk in, and were met with a look of confusion and reproach. After a brief, awkward standoff, Nate said reassuringly, "Nous avons nettoye," and then slipped past as the woman's expression changed to one of horror.