| Subject: The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove Part One |
Author:
Schnee
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Date Posted: 14:22:32 03/03/01 Sat
In reply to:
Schnee
's message, "The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove" on 14:10:08 03/03/01 Sat
Knowing that all my preparations are in place, I step from the Mercedes, handing the valet the keys and some crumpled Francs. After buttoning my suit jacket, I grasp the handle of my attaché, and enter the hotel through the revolving door. I scan the lobby briefly, noting the normal morning hustle and bustle of travelers checking out.
“Hello, sir. Do you have a reservation?” the young hotel clerk asks in his businesslike tone.
“Lovegrove. My wife has already checked in. She was having a key left for me,” I reply.
“Can I see some identification?”
The clerk eyes my photo ID with mild interest, and then views the monitor in front of him. “Ahh, yes. Here’s the note in our system. You and Mrs. Lovegrove are in room 422. Do you need help with your bags?”
“No, that’s not necessary.” I reply, lifting my single bag up into his view.
Leaving the front desk, I try to block out the sounds convention goers and businessmen funneling in and out of the hotel lobby. Before me stands the statue of King Louis XIV atop his mighty steed. I carefully run my hand across the horse’s knee.
“So you believe in the legend?” A porter asks as he passes me. I briefly nod before I move away.
A distant time resurfaces in my mind. A small child, holding my mother’s hand. Her sweet voice telling me the story of a boy my very age who became king. I remember her gentle touch as she lifted me to reach the statue. “Luck will smile down on those who touch the horse’s knee.”
Though no longer a boy, I still believe. However, I’m not sure that even luck will help me on this day. Brushing past the fronds of a potted palm, I head toward the elevator now focused on one thing. My target.
Nikita.
~~~~~
My heartbeat quickens as I insert the key card, crossing to the point of no return. Once inside, I look on your sleeping form, with the glass of wine almost empty on the nightstand beside you. I long to kiss your milky white form, drunk with desire. Never having had this knife pierce my heart. Never needing to bleed my sorrow at your betrayal. But we cannot go back.
My self-disgust churns within as I watch you sleep, your body tainted with the drug I supplied in your sweet elixir. I sit down beside you and smooth the golden strands of hair from your face.
I remember the wild girl I encountered that first day in the White Room. Her hair silken, her eyes wide, filled with fear and uncertainty. Whose innocence and raw sexuality struck me by surprise. Quite a stark contrast from the dirty street urchin I had watched from afar.
My Nikita...six years has certainly changed you. I never would have guessed how much you would change me.
~~~~~~
My eyes try to focus, as my head feels distorted, caught in a fog. I sense a presence in the room. I try to move quickly, but lethargy holds my body in its grasp. My fingertips brush against something smooth just before hearing a soft clank and the spilling of liquid, spattering on the carpet.
The glass of wine. Yes…I remember it now. I’m in the hotel. Waiting. Is it the wine that is making my head spin? No…I’ve been drugged.
I turn and try to focus on the dark figure. Yes, the figure is indeed a person. Sitting at the foot of the bed. Silently watching me. I can’t make out the features, but I sense a familiarity. A scent.
“Good Morning.”
His voice breaks the silence, bringing me back. To another time, where I found myself strapped to a bed in a startling white room.
Michael.
His face becomes a bit clearer as my memory delineates the hazy image. The drug must be starting to wear off. But I still feel off-balance. And now more uncertain.
“Why are you here?” I ask. “How did you find me?”
He says nothing. I’m certain he’s giving me that blank stare.
“Why did you come find me?”
Without an answer, I turn and bury my head into the pillow, hoping to squelch the nauseated feeling. I peek my head up again to see him unmoved.
“If you came to talk, then talk, otherwise leave. I’d rather not have you silently watch me be sick.”
Damn him! I ‘m not surprised that he lives, but I hadn’t considered that he’d come looking for me. I thought my performance had been convincing. His appearance is the last thing I need. Not to mention that his timing is terrible. My head reels even more with the realization that everything I had carefully set into motion could so easily come crashing down around me. At any moment.
~~~~
Why am I here? It is a good question. One that I do not have a good answer for.
I am alive only because my anger had sustained me until this denial set in. How could the woman I trusted the most, deceive me so completely for so long? Did Nikita have that in her? Could I have misjudged her character so grossly?
Part of me had yearned to send her to a slumber that she’d never awaken from. But the part of me that could not accept this cruel twist of fate prevails at this hour. She is alive because I need answers. The truth. Not some fabrication. This time I have the upper hand.
I recall the day I pleaded with her to tell me the truth. I remember the grip I held her with as I shoved her against the refrigerator. She held strong, denying it all. When in fact, she knew who Adrian was. She not only played me, but Section’s former mistress as well. The double agent. Convincing and cunning.
At the time, I felt pangs of sorrow. The lightness in my dark existence was dimming with each passing day. Nikita was becoming a seasoned Section operative, simply doing whatever was necessary to get the job done. But after the events of the last few weeks, I can only look back with uncertainty.
Had this been her nature all along? The child of the streets, keen on the ways of survival. Playing whatever role necessary to live another day. Feigning weakness in order to fool the strong into letting its guard down. Fooling me specifically. It is now so clear before me, but I still find myself in denial.
Is that a hint of nervousness I see in her expression? .
Without a word, I stand and walk toward the sink to fetch a glass of tap water. Setting it beside Nikita, I respond, “Perhaps a glass of water will help.”
Her dilated pupils glare at me, as her frustration becomes more apparent.
“You asked why I’m here. It’s simple. I want to know why I am alive.”
Her eyes avert from my gaze
“Why does it matter? Perhaps I was feeling generous that day.”
I detect a hint of sarcasm in her answer. Discomfort is present as well. I suspect that the effect of the drug is dulling her senses, making it more difficult for her to maintain her façade.
“You and Mr. Jones evaluated my performance and determined my fate. Then you alone decided I was to be spared, rescuing me from certain death. What does Jones think of your actions?”
“As far as he’s concerned, you’re dead. You’re a free man Michael Samuelle.”
“Free? You consider this freedom? What semblance of a life I had was ripped from me. What purpose do I have? I’m dead to anyone who ever mattered to me. And you….”
I stop. The emotions are still too raw. I move away from her, trying to hang on. Control is the only thing I have left.
“I’m sorry, Michael.” Her words hang in the stagnant air.
~~~~
“I didn’t come for your pity.”
The hatred in his words stabs me. Unable to see his expression, I sense stiffness in his shoulders. I ache deep inside as I yearn to rid him of his pain. But I chose my path. I cannot turn back now.
“There is nothing more I can say. Perhaps it is time for you to leave,” I reply. In truth I do need him to leave. His presence has me in a precarious position.
“I’ll leave you with this thought,” Michael starts as he turns to face me again. “Now that your mission at Section One is finished, what value are you to Jones? Remember, Nikita, the pawn is the most expendable piece in chess.”
His demeanor looks grim and serious. Without another word, he departs, with the door closing abruptly behind him.
Another wave of nausea grips me. I struggle to rise from the bed, as my sense of balance is distorted. Unsteadily, I walk along the perimeter of the bed. Reaching out, I grasp the wall to keep me upright as I make my way toward the bathroom.
“What the hell did he drug me for?” I mutter to myself as I see my hazy reflection in the mirror. I strain to focus on the washed out figure looking back at me. The lighting of the bathroom exaggerates my haggard appearance.
My self-hatred rises, like bile in my throat. I can only cling to the hope that my actions will be for a greater good. But that does not lessen my sorrow for the pain I have caused him.
My body repeatedly heaves, purging the sickness from my stomach. But it cannot purge the pain of my soul, laden with my guilt. If I had known then what I know now, I would have done things differently. Everything seemed so simple then. What I perceived as a noble cause has now lost much of its importance.
All of my convictions, my beliefs are now like a charcoal drawing. The lines have become smudged, turning what was once distinctly black and white, into blended shades of gray. Using light and shadows, the artist shapes the image. But with a single misstroke, the image can become distorted and unclear. Lost.
I cling to the commode for a few moments. My nausea has subsided, but my head still throbs. Gathering my strength, I return to the sink. Looking at my image again, I perceive two choices. I can stand here feeling sorry for myself. Or I can pull myself together and forge ahead. Mr. Jones will be arriving soon with my next assignment.
Doubt begins to creep in as Michael’s words echo in my head. If only he knew how complicated a position I really am in. Complicated doesn’t even begin to describe it.
~~~~~
“Can I help you?”
“You sure can. The name’s Lovegrove. The missus has already checked in. She was having a key left for me.”
Hidden behind my newspaper, I watch as Mick, or rather, Jones flirts with the young woman at the front desk.
“I just need to see your identification, sir.”
Still using the flair of Mick Schtoppel, Jones flashes his ID along with a smile.
“Would you be available for a drink after your shift ends, love?”
“My shift just started. Besides I don’t think my husband would approve, “ the woman emphasizes as she presses the key and his ID into his hand.
“What a pity.” Jones mutters as he lifts his bag and heads toward the elevator.
I tap my glasses once to activate the listening device hidden in Nikita’s room. I’m still very intrigued by the premise that Mr. Jones, the head of Centre, is one and the same as Mick Schtoppel, lowly informant. But then, I never would have guessed that Nikita was acting as a double agent all this time either.
~~~~
Knowing that Jones will be arriving at any time, I hurry to fix my hair and make-up. But even foundation does little to cover my paleness. I add a little more blush before returning to the bedroom. Within seconds, I hear the click of the lock and the door opening. Reaching the sitting room of the suite, I find Jones dressed in stylish suit.
“Does Mrs. Lovegrove approve of the accommodations?” Jones cracks as he plants a small kiss on my cheek.
“They’re fine, Mic…honey.” I reply sensing his humor.
In fact, the accommodations were quite fine. A large hotel suite in the exquisite Hôtel de Paris with a balcony overlooking the Mediterranean. The view on a clear day was quite breathtaking.
“I take it that you’ve familiarized yourself with the profile.” Jones said, removing his jacket and laying it on the bed.
“Of course.”
“The Lovegrove’s will be spending the evening gambling amongst some of the world’s most influential men. Dress appropriately, my dear.”
I nod weakly. In addition to the residual effect of being drugged, my encounter with Michael has affected my mood such that I am not feeling up to this evening’s activities.
“What’s wrong? You look very pale my dear. Very pale indeed.”
“Just a bit of the flu. I’ll manage.” I reply, trying to brush off his concern.
“Does this have anything to do with Michael?” Jones asks.
“Michael?” I reply with confusion. Has he uncovered my deception? Does he know Michael lives?
“I know you had some feelings for him. That was to be expected.” Jones begins. “He seemed to affect all the women he came in contact with. Even a woman as frigid as Madeline.”
“Madeline?” On second thought, I don’t need to know anymore. I don’t want to know more. And luckily Jones says nothing further on the subject, returning instead to running through the itinerary of this evening’s activities.
All the while, I repeat to myself, “I can get through this…I have to get through this.”
~~~~~
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