Day 4 – Spies

Carver glanced nervously across the gambling table, wondering which of the ladies would turn out to be his contact.

"You'll recognize me easily enough," she'd purred into the phone. "I'll be the one in the stunning evening dress."

He almost snorted aloud. This was St Tropez, and every single lady in the room wore a robe fit for a red carpet event. Heavy brocade, slinky silk, smooth velvet, in all hues of the rainbow. And his head was beginning to ache from looking at all the dazzling jewels gracing long, slender necks and dainty fingers.

"Sir?" The croupier shot him a questioning look and he hurriedly placed his bet.

I just hope they have given me enough chips to last the evening. Carver rolled his shoulders, uncomfortable in the high-necked shirt. He knew he looked the part of the young playboy billionaire, but this kind of undercover mission always made him nervous. At least he had his trusted Walther with him, the holster cleverly hidden by the cut of the suit.

There was a commotion at the other side of the table and two gentlemen stepped aside, making room for a young woman. She looked barely out of her twenties but, the moment he set eyes on her, Carver knew without a doubt that it was her. M. His contact, his way into the casino owner's good graces. She went by the name of Marguerite this time, he recalled. And her powerful lover had no idea she was secretly working for the secret service.

She had been right about being easy to recognize, though. Carver's throat went dry and he caught himself staring at her. Her copper-coloured hair was swept up in a complicated chignon, letting just a few artful strands escape; her face was carefully made-up and her eyes, green like a cat's, shone brightly in the candlelight. And yes, her gown was stunning. The same colour as her eyes, it hugged her body in all the right places and was cut low to leave her slim back completely bare.

When she looked up and smiled at him, he pulled himself together. Time to play his part.

"Marguerite? How nice to see you! I expected to see you at St Moritz in January, but there was no trace of you. Where have you been hiding?"

"Charles! Is that really you, darling? So lovely to run into you here!" She extended her arms toward him with a smile that widened even further when he lifted one of them to his lips to breathe a kiss on it. "Always the charmer!" She gave him a conspiratorial wink yet, when she spoke, she made sure everyone in the vicinity would overhear them. "Matters of the heart kept me here, sweetheart. You must meet dear Nathaniel, as soon as he shows up for the evening."

"Nathaniel?" He raised a questioning eyebrow. "You don't mean-"

"Shhhhh!" She raised a finger to her lips. "I'll tell you all about him over a glass of champagne. Will you join me at the bar?"

"With pleasure." He mentally shook his head at her demeanour, when he compared it to the profile in her secret file. No one would have guessed that behind that flighty, brainless exterior, she was hiding a brilliant mind and several less than typical accomplishments: a doctorate in nuclear physics; a black belt in karate; a fighter pilot's license; and a locksmithing diploma, to name but a few. She was regarded as one of the service's most valuable assets, yet known as a wild card, with an eye on her own agenda. As he followed her over to the bar, he reminded himself not to get too relaxed in her presence.

The champagne was delicious, even if he'd have preferred a tumbler of whisky. He did his best to keep up his side of the conversation as they exchanged gossip about fictitious mutual acquaintances and their exploits in various haunts of the international jet set. It wasn't hard. She did most of the talking, dropping names with assurance and whipping up anecdotes that were actually funny. He was chuckling at a particularly juicy story involving a famous Hollywood actress when she spotted someone behind his right shoulder.

"Nate! Look who I ran into!" Her eyes were so full of affection that Carver almost fell for it. No one who saw that look could fail to believe she was genuinely in love.

Turning around, he came face to face with its recipient. Nathaniel Howe, owner of this very casino and at least three others, fabulously rich, and known for his impeccable taste in art and women. He was also suspected to be the mastermind behind several shady operations here on the coast, but they hadn't been able to prove anything so far. Two well-trained bodyguards hovered discreetly behind him.

"My lovely Marguerite." Howe had a hoarse, husky voice, and his hooded grey eyes fixed Carver with a penetrating look that made it clear nothing much escaped his notice. "Won't you introduce me to your charming acquaintance?"

Carver felt a shudder run down his spine. Instinctively, he knew he was in danger, despite the friendly words and the polite smile on Howe's face. This man wasn't easily fooled.

Marguerite laughed, a high, tinkling sound that seemed strangely at odds with the atmosphere. Carver shook himself, chasing away the paranoid feeling.

"This is Charles Falcon, love. A very old friend. I'm sure you'll enjoy his company." She leaned into Howe's embrace with a wink at Carver. "The two of you can talk sports all night."

Howe smiled at her words, though the smile didn't reach his eyes. "An enticing prospect, indeed. Why don't you come over to my place for dinner tomorrow night, Mr Falcon? My chef is quite amazing, I am told."

"With pleasure, sir." Charles bowed crisply. "Marguerite." He took his leave quickly, eager to relay this development to V at home and then to celebrate his success with a long hot bath and a stiff drink.

As he passed through the high, gilded doors, he caught a last glance of the two of them, standing at the bar, their heads close together. Howe's hand was placed possessively on her lower back and there was a curious expression on his face as she whispered something in his ear. Once more, Carver felt his spine tingle.

Tomorrow night definitely promised to be interesting.