"Bienvenue, monsieurs," the peroxide-blond woman said with a dazzling smile when the door opened. The cellar was unremarkable, clearly still in the process of being set-up, but several tables covered in dark felt and velvet were already set up.
"Madamoiselle LaFière?" the taller of the two men asked in accented French.
"La seule et l'unique," she answered, and motioned at the game table. "Vouz êtes les premieres." She was shuffling playing cards in her hands with elegant flowing motions, equally pretentious and mesmerising. Her hair was piled up in a knot on top of her head.
The men exchanged a glance, then the other one spoke up. "My name is Botega, this is my colleague Agent Lawrence of the Secret Intelligence Service. We received a tip that you, Miss LaFière, plan to set up shop here in London." He glanced over at the roulette table. "We're not entirely okay with that, and also Interpol still wants a word with you."
The woman stopped shuffling, and when the nose of cards flapping on top of each other ceased it got eerily quiet for a few seconds.
"Merde."
In a desperate move she threw the deck into the agents' faces, playing cards sailed through the air, and she bolted for the back-door. Clém did not get very far. Lawrence was already in front of her and blocked her exit, leaving Botega enough time to get the gun out of his holster and get a steady aim. He secured her against the wall in a police grip in a matter of seconds.
"Laissez-moi partir!" the woman screeched at an impressive volume. "Vous êtes les galeux! Les galeux!" She lashed out at him and her elbow made contact with his chin. His teeth smashed into their upper jaw counterparts.
"I'm gonna need you to calm down," Botega said, slammed her into the wall again with minimum care to be gentle and started patting her down.
"Not sure where you would wanna hide anything in there," Lawrence said and didn't bother to hide his grin at the sight of her outfit. A skintight and slightly see-through red blouse over equally tight, vertically striped black and white trousers that flared out below her knees like relics from the seventies.
"We know who you are. We also know that you understand every word we're saying. You're gonna come with us," he said and slapped the handcuffs on behind her back.
"C'est une erreur, c'est inacceptable," she continued in rapid-fire French. "Vous verrez, tout ce que vous penser savoir, tout ce qu'on vous a dit, tout ça n'est qu'on mensonge!"
"Lies, huh?" Lawrence repeated, pushing her forwards up the stairs of the abandoned apartment block. Outside, several men and women in bulletproof vests stood behind open car doors, guns at the ready.
Botega produced a radio out of his jacket pocket. "This is Team One, you can stand down, I say again, you're clear to stand down."
Clém looked up at the surrounding rooftops and saw silhouettes lowering sniper rifles.
"Well, feel free to correct us," Lawrence continued and pushed her onto the backseat of their car. "You'll have a lot of time to talk where we're going. And then again once Interpol picks you up."
"Je ne vous parlarai rien," she spat the last word. "Rien du tout."
"Suit yourself." He slammed her car door shut and climbed onto the driver's seat. Botega put his seatbelt on next to him, all around cars were started to drive ahead, others got ready to secure the rear.
"Ready to go," Botega said when Lawrence took his time to start the engine.
Lawrence's eyes were glued to the rearview mirror, at their captive.
Suddenly Clémentine LaFiére smiled. It was such a stark contrast to her screaming from a minute ago that he involuntarily shivered.
"Rien ne va plus."
/\/\/\/\/\/\
"They called her la couchemare, did you know that?" Chief Sangeet Sudbury mused. "The Nightmaress. For ten years she's been on every wanted list, but nothing ever showed up, except for that failed arrest in Las Vegas in '07. A lot of people thought she was long dead, but to tell you the truth, when I looked at the case I immediately felt LaFière was just too smart for them. I suppose she's met her match." The chief abandoned the impressive view of the Thames out of her office window to turn around and smile at Agent Ilsa Faust, which caused soft wrinkles to appear in the brown skin around her dark eyes.
"I only found the intel, ma'am. I didn't actually find her," the agent replied. No false modesty, just stating a fact. Sudbury liked her.
"You've been doing good work, Agent Faust. The undercover-work under former Chief Atlee – we don't need to talk about that. Your part in the return of Lane. Now you're the first to find intel on LaFière in a decade. I want you to know that I see it as a great honour to count you among my staff."
"Thank you, Chief Sudbury." Ilsa shoved her hands into her coat pockets. A bad habit.
"Ten years she was on the run... it's unbelievable."
Faust felt cold tin with her right hand. The slightest touch of a bad conscience overcame her. She liked and respected the new chief. Sudbury was fair and good at her job. Still, it only lasted a second. "Maybe she felt too safe and that's why she slipped."
"Probably," the half-Indian woman mused. "Anyway. The reason I called you here is that I would like to have you present in a meeting tomorrow."
Her hands finally left her pockets. "A meeting, ma'am?"
"A meeting with the Prime Minister and myself, discussing national security."
Ilsa didn't know what to say for a second. "I'd be honoured, ma'am."
Sudbury smiled again. "I will see you tomorrow evening. In Downing Street."
/\/\/\/\/\/\
Steps drew nearer fast, tasteful high heels reverberating with authority, urgency and determination.
The woman greeted the guard on duty with a nod, then knocked twice in short succession.
"Am I interrupting?" she asked upon opening the door.
Lawrence and Botega turned around half-heartedly to have a look at the newcomer.
"Not really," Botega said. "She was serious when she said she won't tell us anything. Apparently."
"Well, we got word from Lyon. Unfortunately Interpol got delayed. It's gonna take until tomorrow until they can send someone over." She looked at Clémentine. "So if you have anything we should know, out with it until tonight."
Lawrence grinned. "The lady still sticks to French. The few things she's said at least."
"Oh, come on, she understands every word," Ilsa Faust said. "Good luck with it."
Clém reached into her hair, felt for the tiny plastic container.
Tonight.