Mind Games

Chapter 9

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer

A/N: Thanks to all for the alerts and reviews. I have a present for you - a bonus chapter to tide you over until Friday.

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The meal was relatively uneventful, although Charlie looked uncomfortable with Charlotte's attention - she flirted with him blatantly during the entire dinner. Although it was served in the formal dining room, it was a relatively casual affair. The group seemed close-knit, laughing and joking. If they hadn't been criminals, if he hadn't needed to stay on his guard, Don would have enjoyed the evening. He was under no delusion, however, that Montreaux had accepted them unconditionally. As he, Charlie and Ian stepped out into the back driveway after dinner, he moved next to Charlie. "The car's bugged – don't talk," he murmured.

Charlie stared at him, but said nothing.

They pulled out through the gates and headed back down St. Charles toward the French Quarter, and as they drew closer, Ian said, "Let's stop for a drink."

Charlie made a face. "Let's not," he said, but Don turned and gave him a look, so he shut his mouth.

"Just a nightcap," said Ian easily. "I like this place."

He found a parking place on the street, and they headed into a small smoky bar simply named 'Fish,' for an unknown reason. They got a table in the corner, away from the acoustic guitarist and the accordion player, who were providing the crowd with a lively Acadian number.

As they settled into their chairs, Ian leaned forward towards Charlie. "My SUV is bugged – they did that to me when I first started working with them. Your room and your car are probably bugged also – if we want to talk, we need to do it somewhere else. That's why we're here."

Charlie frowned. "I thought it seemed like they had accepted us."

Don shook his head. "Not yet, Charlie – the bug is obvious evidence of that. We're still being watched, and they're still going to test us. Did they ever once mention drugs today to you?"

Realization dawned on Charlie's face. "No – they kept referring to it as 'produce.' I knew they meant drugs, and after awhile I didn't give it a second thought."

"They actually do that somewhat out of habit," said Ian. "It's so Montreaux can deny culpability. If any of his people ever are caught; if anyone ever records a conversation, he can maintain that he had no knowledge that drugs were involved. They loosened up with me after a couple of successful deals, but I don't think they'll be really open about the cocaine until we get Don's first deal closed in Columbus. That's part of the test."

He broke off as a waitress appeared, and he and Don ordered beers. Charlie opted for water. "Alcohol is the last thing I want after last night," he muttered. "I thought I was going to choke on that glass of whiskey at dinner."

Ian grinned. "And I thought it was Miss Charlotte who was making you look that way."

Charlie flushed to the roots of his hair. "Is she – real?"

Ian raised an eyebrow. "Real?"

"I mean – she's not a 'he,' right?"

Ian threw back his head and laughed. "Trust me Charlie, Charlotte's all woman. You should see her in a bikini."

Charlie looked relieved. "Well, after those ladies we met last night, I wasn't sure. She is pretty tall."

Don was grinning at him, slyly. "I'd say she took a shine to you."

Charlie's blush deepened, and Don took pity on him, instead looking at Ian. "And when did you get to see her in a bikini?"

The waitress set down their drinks, and Ian took a swig from his bottle, waiting until she departed. "On Montreaux's yacht. Actually, I heard him say he might take it out later this week – we're supposed to get an unseasonably warm spell, starting tomorrow. Don't be surprised if you get an invitation. He's having a small party on Friday – he may ask you to that, too." He looked at Charlie. "If he asks, you can bet that those will be tests, also. He likes to watch people interact, and he uses the social settings to get people to relax, let down their guard. You may think he's just being friendly, but trust me, he'll be evaluating you."

Don looked at Charlie. "How'd it go today?"

"Pretty good, I think. I thought it was going to be hard, acting all day, but it was actually easier than I thought. It was like doing any other consulting job. They really do ship the drugs throughout the South in produce trucks, and they make legitimate stops at grocers and markets to deliver the real produce. The cocaine drops are done in the larger cities- their code produce name for it is 'pomegranate.' Most of the produce is imported from South America – grapes from Chile, for example, and I bet that they're bringing the cocaine into the country with it, but I haven't had a chance to try to dig into their system yet and figure out that part of the smuggling scheme. The guy named Mike was hanging over my shoulder the entire time."

Ian nodded. "No one was expecting you to get that on the first day. If Montreaux offers you the export job, you'll probably get additional access to their systems and not have to worry so much about surveillance from Mike. You're doing a good job, Charlie."

Charlie grinned modestly at the compliment, and shot a glance toward Don. Don could see the look in his eyes, the quest for approval, but he said nothing, just gave a short nod and took a drink of his beer. The fact was, Charlie's relative success today had sealed the deal – they were still in the game, and Don wasn't sure it was somewhere he wanted them to be.

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The week hurtled by. The next day, Charlie had finished the program by eleven in the morning, and Montreaux had decided to celebrate by taking out the boat. They had driven to the marina and set off on a monstrous yacht into a sunny afternoon and temperatures that trended upward of eighty degrees. The breeze generated by the yacht's movement was still somewhat cool, but after they had anchored off a small island in the Gulf and the breeze had diminished, the sun made it actually seem hot. It was a far cry from the previous cool rainy Sunday; New Orleans weather was as unpredictable as the city itself.

The crowd included the group that was at dinner the previous evening, plus a few others. Alcohol flowed freely, and from time to time, a few people would quietly make their way down into the boat's interior. When they returned, it was apparent that they were high on some kind of stimulant, most likely cocaine. Montreaux's friends obviously lived life on the edge, like the man himself, although Don noticed that he didn't participate in the below-deck excursions. He imagined Montreaux got his high from his business dealings – from the adrenaline rush of managing risky ventures right under the noses of the police and the Coast Guard.

Charlie tried to keep a low profile; Don noticed he always had a drink in his hand for appearances sake, but he was nursing it, making sure he kept a level head. Still, he managed to provide the highlight of the afternoon, thanks to Charlotte. She pranced around in platform espadrilles and a string bikini that left little to the imagination, and Ian was right, she was most decidedly all woman. She fawned over Charlie, teasing, flirting, tossing her mane of blonde hair, and at one point stood right behind him and called his name, and when he turned, pulled his head right into her ample bosom. Charlie came out sputtering, much to the delight of the crowd, and Montreaux roared. When he had finished wiping the tears from his eyes, he threw an arm around Charlie in a show of affection, still laughing. Charlie, it appeared, had become the group's unofficial mascot, and Montreaux's new favorite. Don, however, remained skeptical. Part of Montreaux's genial behavior, he was sure, was the man's natural personality, but part of it was show, there to mask the other side of the man – the side that wouldn't hesitate to remove his enemies.

He found that Charlie wasn't the only one who was getting attention, the brunette, Macy, had attached herself to Don. She was much more understated than Charlotte, but a seductress in her own quiet way, with dark smoky eyes that were mesmerizing after a drink or two. Don had no doubt that Montreaux had told the women to befriend them, to get them let to down their guard. No one here was to be trusted, except Ian, and the mysterious Agent 1. Don spent the better part of the day on the yacht looking over the crowd to determine who that might be, and had settled on one of the men who had shown up at dinner the night before, named Mark Jannison. He hung with the blow crowd, but Don noticed that he didn't make the trips downstairs that the others in that bunch were taking, and he had almost no accent – he was obviously not a native of New Orleans.

Montreaux wasted no time in trying out Charlie's shipping plan and setting up a buy with Don's contact in Columbus. The trucks were dispatched that night, which was Tuesday, and the 'produce' delivery was scheduled to arrive in Columbus on Friday. For the remainder of the week, Charlie was left to twiddle his thumbs at the hotel, and to wander the French Quarter; Montreaux wouldn't give him another task until he'd had a chance to assure himself that the Archer men could be trusted. That wouldn't happen until the buy in Columbus had actually gone down.

Don felt hugely relieved that the pressure was off Charlie, at least temporarily, but he was too busy to think about it much; he was involved in the daily dealings of local drug transactions with Ian and the Clemenceau brothers. Montreaux made a lot of money from those alone, and Don suspected his out-of-state dealings were just as lucrative. He noticed that the Clemenceau brothers never stated that they were representing Montreaux, and they never involved themselves in actual drug deals, no matter how large. Instead, they met with men who controlled various territories, trying to make deals at the top levels. The actual deliveries and buys were carried out by underlings, who had no idea for whom they were working. Don was now working the top deals, along with Ian and the Clemenceaus, spending long hours away from Charlie, which bothered him – he liked knowing what Charlie was doing, knowing that he was safe. His only consolation was that Charlie was out of the picture, at least for the time being.

On Friday, that changed.

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Don and Ian had just finished a meeting with a prospective client, a local gang leader named Blinkie. In spite of the ridiculous name, the man was powerful, and Montreaux had been trying to become the source for Blinkie's territory for two years. Don's dealings with L.A. gang members were apparently paying off; he had established a sort of rapport with the man, and Blinkie had agreed to meet and listen to a proposal, if Don presented it. Don had just finished delivering the proposal to him at a riverside warehouse, and as he and Ian stepped out of the warehouse onto the street, Ian's phone rang. "Yeah," he said, then after a short pause, his eyes met Don's. "That's great to hear. Yeah, we'll be there."

He hung up and looked at Don. "I think we're in," he said quietly. "That was Montreaux himself. He said the deal went down in Columbus today as planned, and the contact put in an even larger order. He's extremely pleased, said he wants you and Charlie there in an hour – wants to talk more business." Ian's normally unrevealing dark eyes flashed with excitement. "This could be it – the offer for the export routes."

They parked in the parking garage down the block from the hotel, and Don had Charlie meet them there. He and Ian had found a small office off the first floor stairwell that had once been used by the operator of the garage. The garage had since been sold to another, larger operator who had central office space, and the office had been locked up. Ian had managed to get a key made for the metal door, and they had used the room twice for quick, private communications, especially when they needed to contact their handler, Joe Bishop. Charlie was waiting there when they arrived, and Ian glanced around quickly to be sure no one could see them; then unlocked the door.

"I need to get you guys keys for this place," he muttered, as he closed the door softly behind them and flicked on the light. The room was tiny and dingy, with a linoleum floor, two file cabinets, and a gray metal desk. Charlie stood next to the desk, watching as Don brought up Joe Bishop's number on his cell phone and put his phone on speaker.

"What's going on?" Charlie asked; his eyes dark with excitement and apprehension. After the thrill of his initial two days of work, the last two had been a letdown, and he had spent them chafing, utterly bored.

Joe Bishop's voice came on the line, and Don spoke into the phone, but he directed his eyes at Charlie. "I'd like to book a flight on Tran Air."

Joe's voice came over the speaker. "Archer."

"Yeah. I've got Charlie and Ian with me."

Ian spoke up. "We got a call this afternoon. The deal went down in Columbus as planned – our man is extremely pleased. He's calling Don and Charlie in to discuss further opportunities – we need to be there in less than an hour. We just wanted to give you a quick update – we'll give you more as soon as we know."

"Good," returned Bishop. "I'll pass that on to Washington. Things are moving more quickly than we thought – they'll be glad to hear this."

"We've got to go," said Ian. "Tell your guy in Columbus nice job with the buy – they apparently were completely convinced."

"You got it."

Don flipped the phone shut, and Charlie looked at them. "What opportunities?"

Ian turned for the door. "That's what we're about to find out." He opened it a crack, and finding the hallway clear, motioned for them to follow.

A half hour later, they found themselves in Montreaux's study. The Clemenceau brothers, Jean and Guy, were there; and had parked their squat torsos in chairs at the back of the room. Montreaux seemed in a formal mood; he shook Charlie and Don's hands, and motioned for the two of them to sit. Ian drifted quietly to the side, and leaned against a wall.

"I understand from my men that the deal was made in Columbus today with no problems, and that all drops were made en route. We delivered more shipment in less time, with less risk, on this trip than any before. I must say, I am pleased – pleased with your planning, Charlie, and the opportunities provided by your contact, Don. I want to thank you personally, and if you check your account, you will find that the payment we agreed upon has been made. I would also like to inform you that this brings the chance for further opportunities for both of you. I have a job pending that I would like you to look at Charlie, and Don, I am interested in further deals with your contacts. I have no idea of your length of stay here, but I would like you to consider extending it."

Montreaux paused and smiled, and Don glanced at Charlie. It struck him suddenly that his brother looked thinner, tired. Don had to admit, Charlie had been handling himself well, far better than he would have guessed, but he also could see that a week of stress had been wearing on him – he imagined that Charlie was beginning to understand that undercover work was draining at best, and had the potential to damage one's sense of self, at worst. Montreaux had begun speaking again, and Don turned his attention to him.

"The details of our business, however, will wait for tomorrow morning. Tonight, we celebrate. I am having a party this evening – a rather large gathering in the ballroom, and for my inner circle, a smaller gathering in my private quarters. I would be extremely pleased if you both would attend."

"We wouldn't miss it," said Don. "Thank you – and we appreciate your business. We are most certainly interested in future opportunities."

Montreaux smiled. "Excellent." His eyes flickered to Ian. "Ian, I am indebted to you for your recommendation."

"My pleasure," said Ian. "I gather it will be the usual dress code for this evening? The Archers may need to find evening wear."

"Ah, of course!" exclaimed Montreaux. "I will have my personal assistant see to it." He rose, smiling. "Dinner is at eight, gentlemen, and again, I thank you. This marks the beginning of a very profitable arrangement for all of us."

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Moments later, the door closed, and Montreaux sat in silence for a moment, reflectively. Only Guy and Jean were left in the room, and Jean cleared his throat. "So you are convinced we can trust them?"

Montreaux sighed. "I must admit, I have a feeling of trepidation, of inquiétude. I cannot, however, think that they are anything other than who they say they are – there has been no mistake, they are consistent. Mike tells me they have said nothing out of place when he monitors their conversation through the bugs. Still, there is something…"

"I agree," said Guy. "They're both too freakin' straight."

Montreaux nodded. "The younger one, especially. They are sharp businessmen, they should be responsible – I would not trust a drinker or a cokehead with business of this magnitude, but still, I know what you are saying. For men who are breaking the law, they seem too law-abiding in their personal lives. They seem to have no interest in the girls, no interest in even an occasional hit, and barely touch the liquor. I do not wholly trust a man who does not know how to have fun, at least occasionally. However, we can wait no longer. The meeting is next week, and I must have something to show. The party will be one final test. Perhaps they have been trying to impress, and they will relax tonight. We will see. If I am satisfied, then I will make the offer tomorrow."

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End Chapter 9

Next up - Charlie gets an offer he can't refuse, and gets in over his head.