JuliaHandel
Experienced
- Joined
- Apr 6, 2013
- Posts
- 54
Downtown city street of exclusive clothing shops across from the central park
“Would you like to try our stuffed mushroom appetizer?” the thin waiter suggested after taking the drink order. Ellen Drachen Polonius glanced across the small table at Dmitri “Mark” Voltimand and nodded.
“Yes, we’ll have the mushrooms and our salad together,” Mark told the waiter. A toe stroked his right ankle while Ellen pretended to study the menu. Her toes tugged at his trouser leg, then slipped under the cloth and caressed his calf.
“Did you ever try those magic mushrooms we heard so much about?” Ellen asked. “I could never get my hands on any over here. The Company always claimed they needed the good stuff for research.”
“We used to be able to get psilocybin in the department; they told us we should do it when the medic was around, just in case.”
Ellen held her water glass in both hands and rolled it back and forth. “I still remember some of the jobs we pulled back then. I don’t feel like I’m old and serious now.”
The hostess scurried over to check the water glasses. “Please let me refill those for you, ma’am. Your drinks are on the way.”
Mark smiled at the middle-aged hostess while he eased off his left shoe. He slid his foot up Ellen’s calf to her knee. “We’re not older; we’re smarter than we were back then. We got by on luck more than brains.”
“Right about luck, for both of us. Whoever could have thought governments would find such stupid things to fight over.”
“We’re not fighting any more. I think you’re considered a suspicious enemy of the enemy.”
“So, Mark, it is good to see you again.” Ellen fought down the flush that was spreading up her neck. She wasn’t here to seduce him, although it was a tempting possibility. “You may already have heard this, but I have to tell you myself.” She set down the empty water glass and dried her hands on the napkin. “We took a big hit three days ago. Project Songbird is done.”
Mark looked into Ellen’s eyes and waited for her to continue. Her stockinged feet were resting on his right foot. “That’s the one about the contraband, isn’t it?”
“Yes. The target was supposedly the ultimate smuggler: drugs, weapons, electronics, anything. The Department insisted we go after this guy with everything we’d got. He was their Public Enemy Number One.”
“And where is he now?”
Ellen tried to hold Mark’s gaze and failed. She bent her head over the café table and stared at her clenched fingers; then she arranged her hands on the table. Finally, looking up at Mark, she said flatly, “I don’t know.”
“And the rest of the operation?” Mark placed his hand over Ellen’s.
“Gone. All of them. We won’t have the bodies, of course, but there were no survivors.” Ellen kept her voice low and steady, as if she were reviewing the menu. Mark had witnessed years of her fieldwork, from both sides of the game, and would read a lie immediately.
“Hmm. . . . Maybe it’s better that way. It’s one less problem for you. For all of us.” His hand covered hers with its warmth.
The waiter was back. “Here is the ziti for the lady and the tortellini for you, sir. Watch these plates, they are hot.”
Ellen retracted her hand and realized her palm was damp. “Oh, dammit, there goes my phone.” She fished the blue card out of her front pocket. “Polonius. Negative; I’m still in a meeting. Call the full department in for a three o’clock briefing. There will be no official announcement before tonight.”
“You’ve still the queen of the palace, aren’t you?”
“You know what happens to people who make it to the top, don’t you? You’re lucky you were able to get out as a consultant.”
“That’s only a title, you know. I still like to play the game.”
“If you’re in town this evening, call me. I spend weeknights at my place in Society Hill. It has a guest room.”
“You would make me sleep in a separate room?”
“I would make you do much more than that, Dmitri.”
“Would you like to try our stuffed mushroom appetizer?” the thin waiter suggested after taking the drink order. Ellen Drachen Polonius glanced across the small table at Dmitri “Mark” Voltimand and nodded.
“Yes, we’ll have the mushrooms and our salad together,” Mark told the waiter. A toe stroked his right ankle while Ellen pretended to study the menu. Her toes tugged at his trouser leg, then slipped under the cloth and caressed his calf.
“Did you ever try those magic mushrooms we heard so much about?” Ellen asked. “I could never get my hands on any over here. The Company always claimed they needed the good stuff for research.”
“We used to be able to get psilocybin in the department; they told us we should do it when the medic was around, just in case.”
Ellen held her water glass in both hands and rolled it back and forth. “I still remember some of the jobs we pulled back then. I don’t feel like I’m old and serious now.”
The hostess scurried over to check the water glasses. “Please let me refill those for you, ma’am. Your drinks are on the way.”
Mark smiled at the middle-aged hostess while he eased off his left shoe. He slid his foot up Ellen’s calf to her knee. “We’re not older; we’re smarter than we were back then. We got by on luck more than brains.”
“Right about luck, for both of us. Whoever could have thought governments would find such stupid things to fight over.”
“We’re not fighting any more. I think you’re considered a suspicious enemy of the enemy.”
“So, Mark, it is good to see you again.” Ellen fought down the flush that was spreading up her neck. She wasn’t here to seduce him, although it was a tempting possibility. “You may already have heard this, but I have to tell you myself.” She set down the empty water glass and dried her hands on the napkin. “We took a big hit three days ago. Project Songbird is done.”
Mark looked into Ellen’s eyes and waited for her to continue. Her stockinged feet were resting on his right foot. “That’s the one about the contraband, isn’t it?”
“Yes. The target was supposedly the ultimate smuggler: drugs, weapons, electronics, anything. The Department insisted we go after this guy with everything we’d got. He was their Public Enemy Number One.”
“And where is he now?”
Ellen tried to hold Mark’s gaze and failed. She bent her head over the café table and stared at her clenched fingers; then she arranged her hands on the table. Finally, looking up at Mark, she said flatly, “I don’t know.”
“And the rest of the operation?” Mark placed his hand over Ellen’s.
“Gone. All of them. We won’t have the bodies, of course, but there were no survivors.” Ellen kept her voice low and steady, as if she were reviewing the menu. Mark had witnessed years of her fieldwork, from both sides of the game, and would read a lie immediately.
“Hmm. . . . Maybe it’s better that way. It’s one less problem for you. For all of us.” His hand covered hers with its warmth.
The waiter was back. “Here is the ziti for the lady and the tortellini for you, sir. Watch these plates, they are hot.”
Ellen retracted her hand and realized her palm was damp. “Oh, dammit, there goes my phone.” She fished the blue card out of her front pocket. “Polonius. Negative; I’m still in a meeting. Call the full department in for a three o’clock briefing. There will be no official announcement before tonight.”
“You’ve still the queen of the palace, aren’t you?”
“You know what happens to people who make it to the top, don’t you? You’re lucky you were able to get out as a consultant.”
“That’s only a title, you know. I still like to play the game.”
“If you’re in town this evening, call me. I spend weeknights at my place in Society Hill. It has a guest room.”
“You would make me sleep in a separate room?”
“I would make you do much more than that, Dmitri.”
