Finding the Fit Chapter 8

In 1990, Poland got its first democratically elected president since 1926. He was out of office for more than seven years before Rick arrived for his appearance in Poland. Still, the writer found the country a fascinating mix of optimism for a free society and dark leftovers, first from being an Axis ally and then under Soviet control. His readers desperately wanted to hear stories of the triumph of freedom. Rick tried his best to oblige, reading the most encouraging passages from his books.

After his readings, he stayed to greet as many in the audience as he could, until Turner practically dragged him out. "What is your problem?" Rick demands. "That wasn't a bunch of overeager fangirls. I was actually doing something good for those people."

"I'll give you your white knight's sword later," Turner retorts. "Your shadow was spotted lurking around."

"Where?" Rick queries "I didn't see him in the crowd."

"He was outside the building. But he's still on your tail."

"Which is where I thought you wanted him to be. So why pull me out of there?"

"Because we think we've got a line on his actual target."

"Who?"

"Miller, the electoral candidate from the SLD, The Democratic Left Alliance."

"I'm supposed to be dining with him tonight," Rick realizes. "Why would someone want to take him out?"

"Because he's hooking up with The Labour Union. Some people don't like that. They don't like it at all. We think that Hungary may have been a dry run to observe our security. He was probably as surprised as anyone when the minister died."

"And now you believe that he thinks he knows how to get around you and swoop in for the kill?" Rick questions.

"Something like that," Turner allows.

Rick feels a chill sweep over his skin. "But if I'm the in to get to his target and he's learned all your little tricks, what's to keep him from taking out both Miller and me?"

"He hasn't learned all our little tricks, Rick. Not even the first binder. We can protect Miller and you. But we have to let him get close enough so we can grab him in the attempt. Then our people can work with Polish security to, um, debrief him."

"So what am I supposed to do?" Rick demands.

"Just have dinner with Miller. Enjoy it. I'll take care of the rest."

Rick stares open-mouthed. "While I'm in the crosshairs of a deadly killer I'm supposed to enjoy my dinner?"

Turner's palm strokes his cheek. "We'll have eyes on you and Miller at all times, Rick. You can do this. And we can celebrate later."

"Celebrate?" Rick echoes. "How?"

Turner's lips curl in a feline smile. "We'll think of something."

Despite the nervous twitches in his stomach, Rick is tempted by a variety of pierogies, dumplings stuffed with potatoes, mushrooms, sauerkraut, or ground meat. Miller, like so many officials in Europe, speaks passable English. Rick is beginning to feel ashamed that he can't manage more than a smattering of French and the Spanglish so common in New York City. He wonders if The Company might have some secret method for making agents fluent in useful tongues. He doubts that Turner will tell him, but it can't hurt to ask – assuming he survives dinner.

A clatter sounds from the kitchen. There had been noises throughout the meal, but this is louder, much louder. An object bounces into the room, stopping near Rick's table to explode with an ear-splitting bang and blinding light. Almost deaf and blind, Rick has little idea of what happens next. He can feel the vibration of footsteps, and someone grabs him and pushes him outside. Turner? It smells like her. When his vision begins to clear, he can make out her face displaying an unusual amount of concern. "Are you all right Rick?"

"If you don't count the ringing in my ears and the polka dot parade going by, I guess so. What happened?"

"Your shadow broke into the kitchen with a Sig Sauer. He threw a flash-bang grenade. He was going to shoot Miller and probably you too. Fortunately, we took him down."

"So, who is he?"

"We don't know yet. But we will. The important thing is that we completed our mission."

"Maybe you did. I've still got four more readings to do before I go back to the U.S.," Rick points out. "That's assuming I'll be able to read."

Turner brushes back his hair. "You'll be fine. I'll get you back to the hotel and make sure of it."

Rick is relieved to clearly hear the pop as Turner opens a bottle of Champagne. She fills a glass and hands it to him. I told you we were going to celebrate," she purrs.

"Agent Turner," Rick begins…."

"I'm off duty. You can call me Sophia."

"Um, Sophia, I appreciate the effort and the Champagne, but it's been a really long day. And after the bang and everything, I'm ready to drop. Maybe we can save the celebration for when I'm awake to enjoy it."

Sophia unfastens a button on his shirt and then slides her hand lower. "I know how to wake you up, Rick. After all the time we've spent together, you must have thought about getting … closer."

"Agent Turner, Sophia, you're an incredibly beautiful woman, and I'm a straight human male. So, of course, I've thought about it. But aren't agents supposed to avoid entanglements? It was in the first chapter of the manual, in bold print and boxed."

"I'm off duty," Sophia repeats more emphatically. "And who said anything about an entanglement? We're just going to celebrate."

Rick starts to feel the pressure growing below his belt. It's only for one night and God, she is gorgeous. He starts to move in for a kiss before catching the hard glint in her eyes. He doesn't know why, but it scares him. He takes a step back. "I'm sorry Sophia. My ears are buzzing, and I still can't see straight. I'm just not, um, up for it tonight."

Sophia trails a finger down the side of his face. "Poor Rick. You get some rest. But you don't know what you'll be missing."

He nods. "I'm sure that I don't."

"So, is he on your hook?" the voice on the scrambled cell phone asks.

"He has no idea what my real objective was, but he didn't go for the honey," Sophia replies.

"You must be slipping, little kitten. But no matter. The work, for now, is done. He's been a useful idiot."

"He's no idiot," Sophia protests. "Sooner or later, he may figure out what happened."

"And if he does, you will deal with it. I'm sure it will sadden his fans, but such is life – and death."

Rick pulls a sheet and hotel blanket up to his chin, but tired as he is, sleep eludes him. He would love to have the warmth of someone in his arms, the way he had with Kyra. Still, the expression in Sophia's eyes keeps flashing in his mind. Did he really see, he doesn't even know what it was, there? Was he imagining it? Maybe it was an aftereffect of the blast of light, but it was anything but warmth. The memory of it is sending chills down his back and twisting his gut. As exciting as it's been traveling the world and meeting his fans, right now he wishes he could just go home.