ATTENTION: Stories marked with an * may contain material which would be better appreciated by those over 18. Parental Discretion is advised. This is your responsibility, not ours. "The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove" The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove I thought that you knew it all Well you've seen it ten times before. I thought that you had it down With both your feet on the ground. I love slow...slow but deep. Feigned affections wash over me. Dream on my dear And renounce temporal obligations. Dream on my dear It's a sleep from which you may not awaken. You build me up then you knock me down. You play the fool while I play the clown. We keep time to the beat of an old slave drum. You raise my hopes then you raise the odds You tell me that I dream too much Now I'm serving time in disillusionment. I don't believe you anymore...I don't believe you. I thought that I knew it all I'd seen all the signs before. I thought that you were the one In darkness my heart was won. You build me up then you knock me down. You play the fool while I play the clown. We keep time to the beat of an old slave drum. You raise my hopes then you raise the odds You tell me that I dream too much Now I'm serving time in a domestic graveyard. I don't believe you anymore...I don't believe you. Never let it be said I was untrue I never found a home inside of you. Never let it be said I was untrue I gave you all my time. --Dead Can Dance, Into the Labyrinth ~~~~~~~ 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 in a matter-of-fact tone. “Can I see some identification?” The clerk eyes my photo ID with mild interest, 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 of 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 smooth, cool surface of the horse’s knee. “Ahh, so you believe in the legend?” A porter playfully asks as he passes me. I briefly nod before I move away. A distant time resurfaces in my mind. That of a small child, holding his mother’s hand as she guided him through the hotel lobby. Her sweet voice telling the story of a boy my very age that took the throne as the King of France. I recall 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 took 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 strain to focus; distortion fills my head, as if I were caught in a fog. Sensing a presence in the room, I lift my head from the pillow, attempting to move upright swiftly and with precision, 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 sitting at the foot of the bed. Yes, the figure is indeed a person, 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 being released from the restraints of a gurney in a startling white room. Michael. His face becomes a bit clearer as my memory delineates the hazy image. Perhaps the drug is starting to wear off. But I still feel off-balance. And now more uncertain. “Why the hell are you here?” I demand. “How did you find me?” He says nothing. I’m certain he’s giving me that classic blank stare. “Why did you come find me?” Without an answer, I begin to rub my eyelids, as my mind remains a blur and my stomach, a knot. Hoping to squelch the nauseated feeling, I turn and bury my head back into the pillow. Fervently, I wish for him to be an illusion. An effect of the drug. Yet when I peek my head up again, I find 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 from which she’d never wake. 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. The firmness of my grip as I held her wrists and shoved her against the refrigerator. The regret in her eyes. The quivering of her lower lip, as she held strong, denying it all. When all along, 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.” My answer may be simple, but the emotions involved are not. Yet I manage to keep them in check and my voice steady, as I examine her expression, particularly her eyes. Sensing my attention, her eyes quickly avert from my gaze. Instead they take focus on the rim of the glass as she nervously traces her finger around it. “Why does it matter? Perhaps I was feeling generous that day.” Nikita answers saucily, with a shrug of her shoulders. The sarcasm in her answer is evident. Yet, I note discomfort 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.” Her eyes take on an icy stare as they meet mine; her words convey a sense of coolness. “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 complete 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 any more. 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.” ~~~~~ Ascending the grand staircase, I hold my breath in awe, as I behold the beauty of the gaming hall of the casino. The immense glittering room lit by large crystal chandeliers, and decorated by renaissance sculptures transports me back in time. Looking upwards I gaze at the immense colored glass domed ceiling surrounded with ornate sculpturing. The immense beauty of this establishment stuns the street urchin in me. I try to catch my breath and keep my composure as we venture into the grand gaming hall. I have a role to play—the child in me must remain hidden. Tables abound with gamblers gathered to play baccarat, roulette, and blackjack. A playground for the rich and famous. I feel myself guided towards the far end of the room, as Jones prattles on about some nonsense. I nod out of politeness, but my attention stays drawn to my elegant surroundings. While I feel attracted to the beauty of the casino itself, I can’t help thinking of all the kids on the street this squandered wealth could feed. I remember all the odd jobs I’d perform just to scrape together enough cash for a measly meal and a pack of cigarettes. In fact it was one such odd job that brought me down that back alley that night. The night that changed everything. Granted Section afforded me the luxury of not wanting for anything. Anything except my freedom. After six years inside Section, I find the air thick with cigarette and cigar smoke stifling and unpleasant. Yet deep within I feel the small, but ever-present urge to take a few drags on a cigarette. Brushing that thought away, I continue to walk alongside Jones, as he leads us to a roulette table in the corner of the room. After a few spins of the wheel, I excuse myself, and head to the ladies room. With the mirror before me, I examine my appearance. The elegant low cut sapphire blue evening gown hugs my curves, baring just a hint of cleavage. I adjust the dress a bit, and then reach for my purse. From it I remove a tube and reapply my lipstick. A dark haired woman in her early thirties walks up alongside scanning herself in the mirror before exiting the ladies room. Adjusting my scarf around my shoulders I prepare to return to the grand hall. I watch as the woman walks with an air of confidence, her head held high, heading directly toward a nearby baccarat table. Putting her arm around the handsome gentleman seated, she places a small kiss on his cheek, before taking a seat beside him. Having spotted our targets, I work my way back toward Jones. I see the excitement on his face since he’s racked up a small pile of chips at the roulette table. Leaning in over his shoulder I whisper, “I have visual confirmation. Knowles and his wife are at 11 o’clock. He’s in a tuxedo. The wife is beside him in the emerald green gown.” The profile on Richard Knowles runs through my head. An antiquities collector who has a side business in the buying and selling of guns, particularly of the automatic and semi-automatic variety. It’s this side business that has afforded him the lifestyle he and his wife live. His wife, Desiree, not only shares his love of beautiful things, but also has the role of business partner. Knowles transformed her from the mousy college student he met studying abroad in Paris to the glamorous sophisticated socialite she is today. Having cashed out, Jones takes my hand and brings it to his lips. I fight my gut reaction to pull my hand away. Instead I smile and trace my hand across his cheek. Then, placing my hand in his, I try to prepare myself mentally for our introduction to the Knowles. ~~~~~ Somehow we manage to get through the awkwardness of introductions. ‘Mr. Lovegrove’ and Knowles begin chatting about a mutual acquaintance. The whole time, I keep wondering if our cover is believable. With Michael, that was rarely a concern. Mildly animated, Desiree engages me in conversation about everything from my childhood to my marriage. I half expect my nose to look like Pinochio’s by the end of the evening. I finally turn the conversation to her, looking to get some insight into her psychological workings. But I learn little more than I already know from her profile. She and Knowles met in Paris. After finishing her dual degree in Art History and Business, they married in a small ceremony in St. Lucia. Five years later, they remain childless, living a jet-set lifestyle. When not traveling, they call Paris and Chicago home. I look over to the card playing and see that Jones has now lost the money that he had won at the roulette table. But he remains amiable, chattering away. As Desiree’s attention turns to her husband and Jones, I allow my eyes to wander. Fine mahogany tables filled with anonymous guests dressed in their finest. I can’t help but feel naked, my insecurities in plain view for all to see. The fear that these rich socialites can see through my façade is ever present. Can the pauper truly transform into the princess with a pair of glass slippers? Especially without her prince? A chill runs through me, while at the same time my heartbeat quickens. I hope my eyes have just deceived me. Please. He can’t be here. Why would he risk it? I graciously excuse myself, and head to the adjoining room. Scanning the room, I don’t catch sight of him. Perhaps I had been mistaken. I hope. Entering the last arched doorway, I slowly walk through the salon. Patrons at the bar fill the room with talk and laughter. I begin to doubt my own eyes and chide myself for being silly enough to think Michael had been watching me. But I feel a light touch on my arm. Without turning, I know it is him. I expel a breath before facing him. “You’re risking a lot. If Jones were to see you….” I stop sensing that I appear to care more about that then he does. But if Jones were to come to know that Michael was alive, and that I was the one responsible for that…I shudder to think what that would mean. “Jones is of little concern to me.” Michael replies. I feel his green eyes carefully studying me. “Just stay away, Michael. I don’t need you following me like some heart broken puppy,” I whisper icily. Without even blinking, Michael responds after a pause, “Midday tomorrow, the change of the guard. I’ll find you.” Before I could even muster a reply, he walks away without another word. What was that all about? I need something to calm me. I ask the bartender for a glass of wine. After a few swallows, memories rush in. The nights when Michael would bring a bottle of wine. Each time something different. But the end result always was the same. Our bodies meshed, passions aflow. I’d give myself to him completely. I shake my head trying to rid myself of my conflicted feelings. As I take another mouthful of wine, I sense a body sitting down beside me. I look to find a pair of familiar blue eyes looking back at me with congeniality. So much so, I find it a bit unsettling. “So this is where you wandered off to.” Knowles starts. “I hope you don’t mind if I join you.” “No, not at all,” I reply forcing a smile onto my face. ~~~~ “I was just telling your husband that we should try to schedule dinner together. The four of us. Perhaps tomorrow evening,” Knowles suggests. Turning to the bartender, Richard orders a glass of Scotch. Looking to me he asks if I need another drink. I shake my head in response indicating I’m fine with the glass I currently have. Perhaps I could have used another glass of wine, but remembering my experience of the previous evening and morning, I think better of it. “Dinner sounds lovely.” I finally reply hiding my surprise at the quickness of this development. Jones must have done more groundwork on this than I’m aware of. “The Café de Paris is always a good choice. Or perhaps we should try Le Grill since this is your first trip here. It’s a splendid rooftop restaurant atop the Hôtel de Paris. An excellent choice provided the weather is nice, which undoubtedly it should be. A unique atmosphere where you can see deep blue of the Mediterranean dotted with sails in one direction and the snow-topped mountains in the other. There’s no other place in the world like it.” His gray-blue eyes sparkle as he leans in toward me. I study Richard more closely. He’s an attractive man in his late thirties, with an athletic physique and a hint of gray in his dark hair. However, sensing something in his body language, I feel a little uncomfortable. Especially knowing his wife could wander into the salon at any time. “Do you and your wife come to Monte Carlo often?” The operative in me interjects as I toy with the napkin before me. I don’t want to completely rebuff him, since his attraction could prove useful later. But I don’t want to appear too easy either. “Yes, for both business and pleasure. But we try to focus on the pleasure aspect as much as possible.” His eyes remain focused on me, until the bartender interrupts, setting a glass of Scotch before him. “For a first time visitor, what sites do you recommend?” Richard tastes the liquor, thinks a moment, then replies, “Desiree adores the Japanese Garden as well as the Exotic Garden outside the city. And the Oceanographic museum is a popular tourist attraction. Then, of course, as a first time tourist in Monaco, you must visit the Prince’s Palace. You should plan to go before midday so that you can see the Changing of the Guard.” A wave of realization overtakes me. It must be what Michael was referring to. With my wheels still turning, Richard catches me off guard with his next statement. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way. I like to know a bit about my clients before we get down to the nitty-gritty.” Richard pauses. “Your marriage to Charles…I gather it is one of convenience. “ Tipping his glass to his lips, he awaits my response. I raise my brow. My mind is flooded with possible scenarios, as I wait to see where Richard is taking this conversation. “I must confess, I saw your lover leaving the salon.” “Really. What makes you think he’s my lover?” I ask with some defiance, trying to find a way out of this turn of events. “Body language. The way he looked at you. And you at him. Granted, you seemed unhappy with his presence here tonight. Perhaps, Mr. Lovegrove would be displeased to see his wife meeting her lover under his nose,” Knowles prods with a cat-like smile. “Maybe. Maybe not.” I look him directly in the eye. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of spilling the beans.” Richard concedes, taking a larger swig from his glass. But his last statement doesn’t make me feel any more secure. He has something over me and we both know it. I hold up my empty wine glass and announce that it’s time I return to the gaming room. As I reach for my purse, Richard swallows down the last of his Scotch, and quickly insists on paying my tab. With some hesitance, I accept. He then puts his arm out to escort me back to the Baccarat table. I don’t trust his intentions, but I graciously accept it with a smile. ~~~~~ I pass my fingers across the soft fabric of the scarf Nikita left behind in the bar. A hint of her perfume teases my senses, producing a flood of memories that I had tried so desperately to push aside. Conflicted by a mixture of feelings, I set the scarf down on the dresser, moving away in a concerted effort to focus on the facts rather than my emotions. Jones and Nikita, on a mission posing as husband and wife? I wonder who concocted this scenario. Why would Centre be interested in the Knowles? This question nags at me. Generally, Section would be involved, not Centre. And how does this all connect with Nikita’s role in Centre? When exactly was she recruited? For what purpose was she chosen? How did I miss the signs? I assumed that the sadness I sometimes saw in her eyes was due to secrecy that our relationship required. Or the constant reminder of our mortality within Section. I never imagined it to be from the tangled lies she lived with. Why am I alive? Is it because Centre wants me alive? Guilt on Nikita’s part? I want to believe it’s actually because Nikita loves me, but I can still feel the chill from her icy expression that day. I find it hard to reconcile her inconsistent actions and words that day with the woman I came to know in such detail over 6 years. The woman who embraced life despite its pitfalls. Who fought each injustice that she encountered. And who picked away at the hard shell I protected myself within. The woman I still love. My gut tells me there is more than I know. It also tells me that she’s in over her head. I laugh to myself. It was Nikita that forced me to acknowledge the value of intuition. But sometimes she’d rely too much on intuition and not enough on the facts before her. Fact: Nikita is working for Centre and Mr. Jones. Fact: This charade was going on for some time—enough time for her to collect a file of intel on each key member of Section. Fact: She recommended me for cancellation, but only after I insisted that I had betrayed Section for her. Had I forced her hand? Fact: She went out of her way to ensure I didn’t die as part of the abeyance mission. But I certainly had not made it easy for her to assuage any guilt she may have had. Granted it had been wise not to trust her, but my refusal to take the field router had more to do with my anger at her than any real logic. Hatred and love. Two emotions so closely bound, as I have come to know. So where do these facts leave me? In a hotel room spying on my lover. Does that make me a lovesick fool? One of those men I had in the past looked at with disdain, dismissing their need for emotional connection. I honestly don’t know. ~~~~~ Awakened by the sound of running water in the bathroom, I tense up. Sitting, I squint as my eyes begin to adjust to the light of the room. Recalling where I am and why I am here, I warily rub my eyes. Unfortunately, I’m at The Hôtel de Paris with Mr. Jones. Seeing the early morning sunlight peeking in behind the drapes, I sense my escape. I slip on my satiny robe and creep to the balcony. Opening the French doors, I behold the crystal blue sky above dotted by a few thin clouds. The distant sound of waves crashing on the shore lulls me. Gripping the sculpted rail, I feel like I could just stand here forever, allowing the light breeze to dance through my hair. Breathing in the salty air, I observe a few white sails in the distance. Boaters sneaking in that early morning sail. Perhaps a pair of lovers watching the dawning of a new day together. Thoughts of Michael invade my consciousness, mixed with vague memories of an interrupted dream. I had my chance. I could have just sailed off with Michael that day. I could have forgotten Section. Forgotten Centre and Mr. Jones. Why didn’t I? I breathe a deep sigh. Reminders of him assault me no matter where I go. And today I must decide. Do I meet him on his terms? Or do I let this opportunity pass? I hear footsteps approaching from behind. I close my eyes as the disappointment wells within me. Reality has found me again. “It promises to be a delightful day. Yes, simply delightful!” Jones’ voice invades my space. Clad in a pair of khaki slacks and a white T-shirt, Jones appears cheerful and ready for the new day. His lips reach my cheek, planting a small kiss. I quickly move past him, returning to the ornate hotel room. “Perhaps I was mistaken. The forecast suddenly appears a bit icy.” Jones mutters. I simply ignore his comment. “Granted I felt a bit put out having to sleep on the sofa, but now this? I think as your husband I deserve to be treated better than that.” I roll my eyes. After plopping down on the bed, I glare up at him. My robe slips a bit revealing my bare shoulder. “Knowles believes it to be a marriage of convenience. I’m more than happy to let him keep that impression.” Perhaps I am getting too bold in my handling of the head of Centre, but for some reason I don’t care. The fact that I still see him as that parasite neighbor of mine could have something to do with it. “Are you saying we’re not convincing enough as lovers?” I think he’s saying this in jest. At least I’m hoping so. “Not to someone whose livelihood relies so much on reading people. No. But with a lot of money involved, he knows that even strange pairings are possible.” Actually I learned that lesson early on with my mother. Money made even the creepiest guy Prince Charming for the evening. At least to her. I still found them creepy. At Jones’ unusual silence, I quickly grab up my necessities from the dresser and rush past him to the bathroom. If I intend to meet Michael at midday, I need to get moving. I just hope Jones doesn’t question my absence. Returning with a few shopping bags in tow should do the trick. ~~~~ What I take to be reasonable walking distance turns out to be much more than I bargained for. Navigating the inclining cobblestone street neighborhood takes much of my energy. ‘Uphill’ doesn’t quite do it justice. I quickly regret my choice of shoes and the route I’ve chosen. Next time, I think I’ll ask the Concierge his opinion. Despite the steep ascent of my route, I find myself at the Palace by 11:45 am. A crowd of tourists has already started to assemble on the Palace Square, awaiting the Changing of the Guard ceremony. I wander a bit, scanning the area for Michael. I see couples with children in strollers and camera-clad tourists, but no Michael. The minutes pass by, and I still see no sign of him. I look to my watch and see it’s nearly 11:55 am. The crowd stirs a bit with the ceremony about to begin. I look to the Palace surrounded by small canons, to see the guards coming outdoors. Dressed in their summer white regalia, the guards walk forward in line. The hats they wear remind me of constable derbies. It’s not at all what I expected. I guess I had the image of men in red coats and big black furry caps from the palace in London in mind. The kind you’d make out of clothespins at school as a Christmas gift. The men lift and lower their rifles in unison as they make formation changes. Within two minutes the pomp and circumstance is finished. The crowd applauds and then begins to disperse. I’m beginning to feel like the child whose mother forgot to pick her up after practice. I start walking the grounds in an effort to look like a tourist rather than a woman whose been left waiting. I rack my brain trying to remember his exact words in case I misunderstood him. But I doubt that is the case. Maybe he changed his mind. I feel foolish and begin to doubt myself. Perhaps he just wanted to see what control he still had over me. Am I simply being manipulated again? I follow a group touring around the Palace structures. The different styles reflect the portions added over time. But I find the unique combination of rougher stone structures of the original fortress, the later addition of fine white stone towers, and the more modern crème-colored estate ironically appealing. Reaching the outer wall, I peer downward. I feel a knot in my stomach as I gaze down the steep rocky descent to the sea. It mirrors my precarious life. Just one misstep could prove to be lethal. Walking away from the edge, I admit disappointment. Though Michael requested this meeting, I secretly looked forward to seeing him. My life seems barren without his presence in some form whether it’s as mentor, colleague, friend or lover. But perhaps it is something that I need to get used to and accept. ~~~~~ I continue walking, following the herd of eager tourists. The Cathedral towers up before me with its white stone arches. Entering the structure, I gaze at the beauty of its interior. The rows of pews sit affront an ornately decorated alter. A lone tourist snaps a picture at the floor beside me. I look down to see a few white lilies lying atop a marble plate. It is engraved "Gratia Patricia, Princips Rainieri, 1982," The final resting place of Princess Grace Kelly. I know very little about her since I was a small child at the time of her death. But seeing this has me feeling reflective and somber. I slowly walk forward and take a seat in one of the pews. Closing my eyes, I pray for all the people in my life that I’ve lost. Just like Sister Theresa taught me as a girl. My prayers gradually turn from departed souls to a lost soul—my own. I long for direction in my chaotic life. I long to trust myself again. Section took as much from me, if not more, than it gave me in return. Without warning, I feel a hand lightly grip my shoulder. A familiar touch. My body stiffens and I don’t dare turn. I don’t need to. Part of me fears that if I do, the pew behind me will be empty. “Where were you?” I ask, hoping I don’t sound so desperate as I feel. I get no answer, but I can hear him taking in a breath. Instead, his thumb lightly caresses the back of my neck, soothing and gentle. Desperately trying not to fall under his spell, I speak again. “You could have compromised my cover. Knowles saw you with me last night in the bar.” His continued silence begins to irritate me, though I should be used to his brooding silences by now. “He assumed that you are my lover.” “He’s very perceptive.” Michael finally speaks. I turn to behold his green eyes as they study me. For the first time since that day, I take a close look at him. A small faint mark below his eye remains as a reminder of the blood tear he shed. I’m thankful that it’s not very noticeable on his beautiful face. But I wish that I had never driven him to shed such a tear. Michael rises and slowly reaches his hand out to me. I look at him, uncertain of what to expect next. Sensing my hesitation he speaks again, “I have a more suitable place in mind. For us to talk.” “Just to talk.” I eye him suspiciously. “And to eat. I hope you’re hungry.” Michael whispers as he gently takes my hand in his, lifting me from my seat. For some reason my mind infers more than hunger for food in his tone. ~~~~~ Entering the brasserie, I recall memories from my childhood. We’d come here for brunch or dinner. Mama, Papa, and I. It was a favorite of theirs. I sensed there was some sentimental value, perhaps from a time when they were first married. We came to Monte Carlo several times in my youth. Papa lived for the thrill of the win while Mama enjoyed the boutique shopping. My earliest memories of Monte Carlo were good ones. It was as I grew older that I really began to understand. The man I thought to be a rock was riddled with flaws and weaknesses. “Michael?” Nikita interrupts my thoughts of the past. I sense a hint of concern in her face. The waitress leads us to a table, leaving us with a pair of menus. I detect that Nikita’s curious nature is intact. Her eyes scan the room, taking in all the details. “The folks at the next table. They are not speaking French. It’s not Italian either.” “They are locals. The language is Monganesque.” “This place is off the beaten path. How did you find it?” Nikita enquires intuitively. I pause for a moment, deciding whether to explain. Finally, I answer, “My parents. They brought me here as a child.” A smile crosses her lips. Her beauty quickens my heartbeat. It’s the most at ease that I’ve seen her in a very long time. “I’m just picturing you as a boy. Handsome. With auburn curls and innocent green eyes. You were called Michel, right?” I simply nod. Then, I reach my hand across the table to lightly touch her hand. I sense uncertainty in her eyes, but she does not shun me. Instead, she allows my hand to remain atop of hers. I still see a bit of sadness in her eyes, but the evasiveness is gone for now. Little steps. One at a time. “What do you recommend?” Nikita asks, as she turns her focus to the menu. “Let me.” I take the menu from her hand, closing it. Speaking to the waitress in my mother tongue, I order our meals. Sole meunière and a glass of bordeaux blanc for Nikita. For me, lapin à la bière and une blonde pression. “What’s that?” “Trust me. You’ll like it.” I answer while still evading her question. “And what did you say about me?” I give her a puzzled look. “Something about a blonde. I just assumed you were talking about me.” My face betrays the humor of her assumption. “What’s so funny?” Nikita asks indignantly, but almost laughing herself. “I didn’t say anything about you. I just ordered a blonde beer on tap.” “Oh.” Nikita’s cheeks become a little flushed, making her even more attractive to me. The waitress brings my beer and a glass of white wine for Nikita. As Nikita takes a sip, I consider my next words carefully. The purpose of this meeting was to talk, but I prefer this Nikita. Comfortably at ease. “Where does Jones think you are?” I decide to ask. “Shopping.” Nikita answers dryly. “You risked a lot to free me. And now you take the risk again to see me.” Before I can finish, Nikita interrupts me. “It’s not as though you ever give me much of a choice.” “Perhaps. But you were disappointed when you did not find me by the Palace, were you not?” I can see the frustration in her eyes. I know I’m right. As she considers her response, the waitress arrives with our meals. ~~~~~ For once, I’m flabbergasted. I understand now. He had been watching me. Probably to be certain I had come alone. It shows that he doesn’t trust me. And why should he? I betrayed him once already. I used his feelings for me and all times he protected me, against him. I turned the tables. This time I had evaluated his performance. I recommended abeyance. His cancellation. I saved him from that fate only to rip out his heart and hand it to him. Not only did I refuse to go with him, I also took away the only thing he had left to believe in. Our love. With my calculated words, I turned it into a fraud. It was hard enough to act the part of cold heartless bitch that day. But I’m finding it impossible to maintain it believably. My emotions keep betraying me. With the arrival of our meals, I choose to instead focus on the food. Michael had ordered fish for me. And his meal looks very delicious. He sees me eyeing it and simply says, “Rabbit.” I’m now feeling grateful that it’s his meal. I’ve never eaten rabbit before. I can’t help thinking of the cute furry creatures, wiggling their whiskered noses. Too cute to eat. I cut the fish on my platter and take a bite. The tangy taste of lemon accompanying the sweet tasting fish delights my palate. “I take it I chose appropriately.” Michael adds before taking a drink of his beer. I smile in response. I’m actually quite pleased with Michael’s choice for me. He does know me almost too well. We actually talk very little during our meal. It’s not an uncomfortable quiet, but definitely an uncertain one. Having finished my fish, I twist my napkin in my hand. I’m caught off guard when Michael lifts a forkful of rabbit and extends it towards me. “Try some.” I’m hesitant about it, but he insists. I awkwardly lean forward, allowing him to feed me. My eyes meet his as my lips surround the fork. There’s something almost erotic about it. My cheeks feel flush as I look away. I dab my face with my cloth napkin, as I sense his eyes keenly watching me. Then, I just about melt when he whispers, “Ready for some dessert?” ~~~~~ Knowing of Nikita’s sweet tooth, I order crème brûlée for her. For myself, I ask for “un plateau de fromages.” After clearing the table, the waitress refills my glass. “You seem to know quite a bit about Monaco. Did your family come to Monaco often? Or was it just one family vacation?” Nikita asks after some silence. “We came to Monaco several times on holiday.” I answer sensing Nikita was looking for what she considered a ‘safe’ topic. “My parents were rather fond of the glamorous lifestyle Monaco afforded.” “I know so little about your life before Section. I had no idea you were a spoiled little rich boy.” Nikita teases. “We were rather well off. But I wouldn’t consider myself spoiled. My father required that I earn everything I was given.” I answer carefully, knowing Nikita would eagerly dissect my relationship with my father in a heartbeat, if given the opportunity. Switching the focus a bit I continue, “I always loved the more simple things of Monaco. Watching the sailboats on the Mediterranean, playing in the sand of the beach, swimming. All the things little boys enjoy.” Nikita grins and replies, “I’m trying to picture you as a boy building sand castles. I’m guessing you were the boy who spent hours building the perfect fortress.” I smile knowing she’s not too far from the truth. I did take my castle building fairly seriously. The conversation ends as the waitress brings Nikita’s crème brûlée and a selection of cheese for me. A big smile adorns Nikita’s face, as she tastes the sweet desert. “Cheese? Not what I’d consider a dessert.” She says before licking her spoon clean. “It suits me. I don’t have your sweet tooth.” I defend my choice. With childlike delight, Nikita eagerly devours each spoonful of the dessert, save the last one. She decides I must take a taste of this ‘piece of heaven’, as she calls it, and extends the spoon toward me with her other hand beneath it. I steady her wrist, before placing my lips around the spoon. I can see her lips quiver as I lick the spoon’s smooth surface clean. Still holding her wrist, I pull it closer to graze my sticky lips across her delicate skin. My tongue delights in the salty taste of her skin as I flick it against the inside of her wrist. The spoon releases from her fingers, hitting the table with a noticeable clank. ~~~~~ My heart jumps at the clattering of the spoon hitting the solid table. Shivers still run through my body, as I slowly pull my wrist from his grasp and press it against me. I look up to see his green eyes sparkling with strong desire. My own desire for him rattles me. I crave our intimacy. But I fear it at the same time. The operative in me knows that meeting Michael today was a mistake. However, the woman in me found it impossible to stay away. Knowing what will inevitably happen if I stay, I turn my head to assess my escape route. I see instead a devilish smile accompanied by a pair of startling blue eyes focused on me. Their owner begins to approach our table, filling me with surprise and uncertainty. “Hello again, Nikita. I apologize for interrupting your meal.” “We’re actually just finished.” I manage to reply congenially, despite my heightened nerves. “I hope you’ll have a good appetite in time for dinner this evening.” I observe Knowles and Michael sizing each other up as my stomach twists with dread. Despite my misgivings, I begin the introductions. “Michael, this is Richard Knowles, an acquaintance of my husband.” I barely breathe the word husband out. “I see. Pleased to meet you.” Michael says shaking Richard’s hand. “I fear I’ve interrupted something, so I’m going to leave you two and head over to the bar area. Nikita, I’ll see you later this evening.” Richard says with a sparkle in his eye. I sense Richard’s attention toward me is not lost on Michael who’s stance is quietly possessive. “Yes, I look forward to it.” I manage to blurt out. Instead I’m hoping the ground would just swallow me up. As Michael places some Francs on the table with our check, I anxiously start moving toward the door. I fill my lungs with the cool, fresh air as I feel the freedom of the outdoors. Barely fighting the urge to run, I turn to find Michael right behind me. “Anxious to leave?” “Yes, I really must get back. Thank you for the meal and the company.” I stammer as I turn from him, walking away from the brasserie. But his hands grasp me, turning me back toward him. Carefully brushing the stray hair from my face, he leans in toward me. I close my eyes as his lips gently press against mine. I begin to kiss him back more urgently, my control having slipped away. As the kiss ends, he backs off and whispers, “It wasn’t all a lie, was it?” It sounds more like a statement than a question. Before I can say anything, he turns and walks away, leaving me to stand there alone with my emotions in disarray. ~~~~~ 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.