| Subject: The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove Part Four |
Author:
Schnee
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Date Posted: 14:32:00 03/03/01 Sat
In reply to:
Schnee
's message, "The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove" on 14:10:08 03/03/01 Sat
I rush into the suite with my packages in hand. My quick shopping spree kept my mind occupied on something beside Michael. But memories of our lunch start to resurface as I hurry to prepare myself for dinner.
However, those thoughts are quickly pushed aside as I find I’m not alone in the room. I had not noticed Jones sleeping on the sofa in the sitting room. He plods into the bedroom rubbing his eyes and yawning.
“About time! How much shopping did you really need to do? I was beginning to think I was going to be attending dinner without my lovely wife.” Jones says after looking at his watch.
“I’m here now.” I mutter as I search through the drawer for the appropriate undergarments.
“Don’t sound so happy about it.”
I look up to glare at Jones.
“It’s a mission. Nothing more. Nothing less.” I reply with little emotion. I must admit I’d be more amused by a root canal, then by my current situation.
“This is of more importance than your typical Section One mission. Perhaps I’ve misjudged you. I could always send you back to One.” Jones threatens. “I’m sure Paul would welcome you back with open arms.”
“Whatever.” I reply with apathy. “I didn’t choose this life. You chose me. You must have chosen me for a reason. But I’m not privy to that kind of information. Heck, half the time I’m not sure who I’m actually working for. Whether it be Section, Oversight, or Centre? Or someone I don’t even know.” My frustration begins to show. “I just try to live each day. One at a time. Hoping that in the end, I really am on the side wearing the white hats.”
“Ah, yes. The American fascination with Wild West and John Wayne. Everything is either black or white. And the good guys always win in the end. I would have thought Section One had cured you of your idealism by now.”
“Why are we really here? I know that the Knowles sell guns. Lots of people sell guns. What’s so special about these two?” I ask pointedly.
“They don’t just sell a few guns. They supply several paramilitary organizations that we have interest in. If we bring Knowles down, it will cause a ripple-down effect.”
After a pause, Jones ends the conversation, “We have an important dinner to attend. I’ll leave you to prepare.”
I breathe a sigh, relieved that Jones has left the room. Somehow, I don’t buy Jones’ story. Why would the head of Centre put himself at risk to be involved in a mission? He wouldn’t. If I make the assumption that this is not the Head of Centre, but someone who works for him, then where does that put me?
~~~~~
Arriving at Le Grill, we find that the Knowles are already seated. I look around the rooftop restaurant as the hostess leads us to their table. The tables are covered in fine white tablecloths, with inverted water glasses and a candle centerpiece. Looking to the west, I see the warm ball of light beginning to dip toward the horizon. I also can see the elaborate dome atop the Casino beside the hotel.
Our table faces the south, looking onto the coastal waters. Jones plays the gentleman by pulling my chair out for me. I sit with care worried that I’ll crush the delicate fabric of the dress I’m wearing. I now wish I hadn’t looked at the price tag. Knowing how much of a klutz I can be, especially with food involved, I fear for the safety of the dress. Granted, it’s not my money. But it still concerns me.
The evening starts with small talk as we scan the menus. The talk is in English, but the menus are not. I muddle through with my limited French. You’d think I’d know more having been involved with a Frenchman and living in Paris. But with Michael, words are used at a minimum, whether they be French or English. As for living in Paris, after my experiences with Carla and Gray, I found it best not to interact much with people on the outside. Plus Section liked to keep their operatives busy. Either that or Michael preferred to have me around. I guess it depends on how you view it.
Once our meals are ordered, Desiree takes great interest in my dress, asking what designer made it and where I had purchased it. She then continues the conversation about her hairstylist and how he suggested some red highlights during her visit today.
“Nikita, you’re so lucky to have such lovely hair. I’m so jealous that it’s natural. I’ve been tempted to go blonde just to see if it’s true that blondes have more fun.”
I nod politely and smile, but I know that this blonde certainly has not had much fun in her lifetime, having spent my youth living in poverty and neglect, and my adulthood inside Section.
“But with my dark hair, it would require far too much maintenance.” Desiree muses. “So I’m trying red instead.”
As I turn my head to perceive the men’s conversation, I find Richard’s eyes focused on me with a sly grin. I fail to deduce whether this doesn’t bother Desiree or if she’s simply oblivious to his attraction to me. However, Desiree presents herself as intelligent and charismatic, so I am having difficulty seeing her as indifferent or naïve.
She begins to playfully tease Richard about his latest purchase—a boat. At first I’m envisioning a sailboat, but I soon find that this boat is a bit more substantial. Knowles spent a good chunk of money to purchase his new yacht, docked right here in Monaco.
Jones, acting like any typical guy, eagerly quizzes him on the boats specs. From what Richard describes, I’m fairly impressed. The couple could comfortably reside for months in such a boat if they chose to.
This discussion of numbers has my mind wandering to another boat. The Integrity. Mixed feelings prevail. Those six weeks with Michael were the best and worst time of my life, with the combination of Michael’s loving presence and the secret plot I withheld from him. If only I could go back in time.
The waiter arriving with our food brings me back to my current circumstances. Instead of being safe in Michael’s arms, I’m playacting the part of Mrs. Lovegrove courting a pair of arms dealers, with the duplicitous Jones as my partner. So far this charade is succeeding, but deep within, fear resides.
~~~~~
The sand feels cool between my toes as I walk along the beach. The setting sun has lit the sky in a splendor of colors. Waterfowl fly overhead, filling the air with their squawking. I see a carefully constructed sandcastle standing before me. A warm feeling fills me, as I remember those carefree days as a child.
After hours of moving sand, Mama would lovingly drag me away from my creation to rinse me clean in the sea. I’d proudly show her how well I could swim—just like the older boys. Of course, there was a time or two I’d venture out too far, and she had to swim out to get me. After getting me back on land, she’d scold me for it. I didn’t understand at the time her scolding was out of fear. Fear of losing me. Since having a child of my own, I understand all too well.
However, I’ll never have that chance to watch my son build sandcastles. Never have the chance to know his hopes and dreams. Not only am I dead to him, but I also don’t know where he and Elena are located. I somehow had found comfort with my suspicions that Nikita was privy to that information.
But my relationship with Nikita has become more of a mystery to me. Her emotional nature has afforded me a glimpse of what lies in her heart. However, I still do not know what motivated her to betray my trust. Her actions go against everything I have come to know about her.
I close my eyes and inhale the salty air. With both my tenacious nature and my deep love for her, I know I won’t let go of this until I’m satisfied I have uncovered the truth. With Section behind me, it’s time to reclaim my life. The question remains whether Nikita will be a part of that life.
I pick up a shiny stone and rub its cool smooth surface between my fingers. I fling it at the water, causing it to skip several times. It appears I haven’t lost my touch. But where do I go from here?
I look up to see the sun slipping beneath the skyline, behind the tall buildings of Monte Carlo. Another day is ending. Soon a new one will begin.
~~~~~
The rocking of the boat lulls me. I feel Michael’s breath on my neck as he sleeps beside me. I still feel warm from our lovemaking. Heaven can’t be more wonderful than where I am now.
I jump with sound of a cell phone ringing. I find I’m not tucked away with Michael, but instead I’m back at the Hôtel de Paris. I cringe as I find a sleeping body beside me.
“What are you doing in my bed?” I growl.
Jones snorts having been awakened from a deep sleep.
“Huh?…Oh. Well, Goldilocks, that sofa is terrible for my back. So I figured the bed was big enough for us to share.”
“You figured, eh?”
“Yeah. What’s the big deal?”
I just shake my head in disgust. I did not agree to this.
However, the cell phone begins to ring again.
“Are you gonna get that?”
“Patience, my dear.” Jones says as he slowly rises from the bed in his T-shirt and boxers. He toddles over to the sitting room where his cell phone lies ringing.
“Yes.” Jones simply answers. After a series of nods and some thought, Jones clicks the phone shut. Walking back toward me, he addresses me. “It appears I’m needed back at Centre.”
“For how long?” I ask incredulously.
“Perhaps a day, maybe more. There are some pressing matters I must attend to.”
“And what about the Knowles? How do we proceed? I guess our outing with them will have to be rescheduled.” I say, recalling the invitation to join them on their yacht touring the Riviera.
“Maybe not. You could always go in my absence.” Jones suggests. “We don’t want to give them the impression that we’re not interested in making a deal. You’re resourceful…I’m sure you can handle this without me.”
Somehow, I’m not thrilled with this vote of confidence. As Jones enters the bathroom, I’m left with my suspicions.
What is so important that Jones needs to return to Centre immediately? The thought of spending time with the Knowles alone leaves me a bit nervous at best. Granted with Desiree present, I doubt Richard would be so bold. But nonetheless, his attention toward me leaves me leery.
~~~~~
The beach around me is deserted, as it is still early in the morning. I pull out my cell phone and equip it with a scrambler. After two rings, I hear a familiar voice on the other end. “Yes?”
“We have a problem. Jones is returning to Centre.” I state dryly.
“Do you know why?”
“No. He simply indicated he was needed and it would take a day or more.”
“And you’re not returning to Centre with him?”
“No. He wants me to stay behind and continue contact with the Knowles.”
“I see. It’s not what we would have hoped for.”
“I feared that any insistence on returning with him would have drawn question.” I explain, knowing that it is of little consolation.
After a pause, I add, “There is another potential problem.”
“Yes?”
“Michael has been tailing me. Knowles spotted him and thinks he’s Mrs. Lovegrove’s lover.”
“I see.”
“Oh, it gets better. Now that Mr. Lovegrove is going to be away on business, my invitation to the Knowles yacht has been extended to include my lover in his place.” I add, still reeling over this development myself.
“Because you chose to allow him to remain alive, he’s your problem, not ours. Keep it that way.”
“He could be useful if we pull him into the loop. Especially with dealing with the Knowles situation.” I argue.
“He’s not to be trusted with this highly sensitive material. Is that understood?”
“Yes,” I affirm reluctantly. With that the line disconnects. I close the phone and slip it back into my pocket.
I stare out at the blue sea as I consider my choices. I can either, go it alone and take my chances with the Knowles. Or bring Michael along, keeping him unaware of what I’m really getting him involved in. Neither choice thrills me.
But I make my decision.
~~~~~
As I begin walking back to the hotel, I start to ponder how I’m going to invite someone whom I have no idea how to find. He’s always found me, just appearing out of nowhere. What if he doesn’t just appear again? What if he’s gotten what he came for and has left? I don’t think I’ve given him much reason to stay. While all he’s wanted is some answers, I’ve stayed as tight-lipped as a clam. Well, except for that kiss.
“It would be so easy if I could just shine the Bat-light in the sky like on TV.” I joke to myself, with a chuckle.
Without knowing the name he registered under, I have no chance of finding him at one of the local hotels. Though my gut tells me he can’t be far, since he’s done a good job of tailing me up ‘til now. I pay close attention to my surroundings, hoping to catch view of him. But I reach the hotel, with no luck.
On a hunch, I stop at the front desk. I ask the clerk if there were any messages left. He acknowledges that there is indeed one message.
“Mr. Lovegrove left a message saying he was sorry he missed you, but that he’d catch up with you when he could.”
I thank the clerk and walk away puzzled by the message. Jones only left that morning. Why would he have returned already?
I still find it difficult to believe that this silly little man could be running Centre. I recall the day he revealed himself to me. I found the whole story so incredulous, that I laughed. It was only after seeing that he was not amused by fit of laughter that the reality of the situation sank in. By the time his ‘interior decorator’ had arrived, I was up to my eyeballs in this mess. I shake my head, not wanting to think about all the events that followed. Living through it once was enough.
Reaching my hotel room, I slip the card key into the lock. Entering the room, I see the maid has already come and gone. With the drapes closed the room appears dark. Following my gut instinct, I reach into my purse. Catching sight of the slight movement, I take aim.
“You won’t be needing that,” the darkness answers.
“Mr. Lovegrove?”
~~~~~
Through the darkness, I detect her lowering the gun.
“Must you always wait for me in the dark? One of these days, it’ll get you killed, Michael.” Nikita says in her raspy voice, returning the gun to her purse and dropping it onto the table.
She then walks past me, opening the drapes to let the light in. Nikita continues to look out the glass doors with a pleased look on her face.
“I assume with your surveillance, you know Jones has left for Centre. I’m sure you wouldn’t be so bold otherwise.” She turns to see my response.
But I know a verbal response is unnecessary. Instead I just look up at her intently. Eventually, Nikita becomes uncomfortable by my silence and turns from me. Twisting her hair up in a knot, she begins to examine her image in the mirror. However, from her body language I deduce she’s fretting over something other than her appearance.
I rise and move toward her stealthfully. She jumps slightly as I rest my hands on her shoulders. I begin to knead my fingers into her shoulders and neck, trying to massage the tension out. At first she stiffens in response, but then begins to relax, allowing me closer. I brush my lips past her ear and whisper, “Just ask.”
She turns to look at me incredulously. “Ask what?”
“The question you’re trying to find a way to ask.” I reply, showing my pleasure at her quandary.
“If you already know, then I don’t need to, do I?” Nikita questions. Her eyes carefully examine my demeanor. “So you do have audio surveillance on me as well. Should I bother checking the room for your bug?”
I smile silently, as I’m enjoying her defensive stance, especially how she accentuated the word ‘bug’.
“As you like.” I casually reply. “But if I’m going to get involved in this, I’d like to know more about the profile. I think you owe me that, since I will be doing you a favor.”
Nikita nods. Then, she opens the bureau drawer, pulls out a panel, and tosses it toward me.
“There’s everything you need to know about Knowles, his wife, and their business. We’re to meet them at the Marina around noon tomorrow. I wasn’t given a defined itinerary—just that we’ll be sailing up the French Riviera for pleasure. I don’t think the business aspect will come up since ‘my husband’ is away.”
I hold the panel up by the corner and ask, “This has everything you know? You’re not leaving anything out that I should be aware of?”
“No, that’s everything I have.” Nikita reassures.
“Isn’t Jones concerned how his departure may appear?” I ask, as it does strike me as curious at the very least.
“He didn’t seem to be. But it does concern me, since it appears we’re reaching the stage where a deal could commence. I don’t think I would have taken such a chance.” Nikita answers.
“His departure also could have been orchestrated to set me up.” I suggest, watching her carefully for a reaction.
“I guess that could be another possible explanation.“ Nikita answers looking directly at me. “You still don’t trust me. Which I understand and respect. Michael, I’m not trying to coerce you into anything you feel uncomfortable doing. I give you my word that I’m not trying to set you up, if it’s worth anything.”
I’m not sure how wise it is, but I do trust her. I sense that Nikita’s concern over this mission lies particularly on Richard Knowles. His admiration of her has not escaped me.
But the timing of Jones’ departure does concern me, as well as the Knowles’ extension of his invitation to include me. I need to study the intel and consider these questions carefully.
“I’ll meet you here tomorrow morning, then?”
Nikita appears a bit taken aback as I announce my departure.
“Yes…tomorrow.”
~~~~
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