Previous Chapter: Recon
The next morning, as Isabel is getting ready for the day, she says, “Your nose must be healing. You snored a lot less last night. You’ve been tearing up the house with your racket these last few days, the reason I’ve had to take naps. I’m glad to hear this problem is going away. I liked it a lot better before.” I hadn’t realized I snored. I guess I would be asleep at the time. “The money should be on the way, check your sources.”
As she heads out the door, she adds, “Eric thinks he’s come up with a good place to practice and is working on procuring the necessary materials.”
I guess I slept in. Must be tired from the accumulated activities. I sit up in bed and, as expected, I’m quite sore, everywhere. Nothing a nice hot shower won’t cure, so I start my morning constitutional. As I finish up, a glance in the mirror tells me it should only be a few more days before I can stop putting extra makeup on my eyes. Probably another couple of weeks before I can stop on the nose, though. At least it stopped throbbing; that was the worst part! At first I tried an ice pack, but not only was the pressure painful, the cold made the pain even worse. The only thing that provided any relief in the beginning was a hand towel soaked in cold water and carefully draped over my face.
As I sit on the edge of the bed, working to develop the energy to put my clothes on, I start to think about why it is I haven’t reacted to Isabel’s movements in bed, or the team’s to-ing and fro-ing as I sleep. Normally I’m very paranoid, and actually have trouble sleeping soundly when on a job. This time my exhaustion is from the job, not the lack of sleep because of disturbances. It’s strange. I feel quite relaxed working with these people I barely know. Even Isabel, as much time as we’ve spent together, so much of it intimate, I can’t say that I really know her. I’ve had much longer conversations with Tessa. While I’ve begun thinking of her as a friend (with benefits!) we generally stick with talking about books, movies and TV shows, not the kind of stuff I imagine friends talk about.
Perhaps my willingness to consider this idea is because I’m still sore despite my hot shower and am really not looking forward to getting started. I’ve seen Eric and Jeff work quite a bit now and feel confident in their skills; I trust they’re doing their job properly. But why am I so comfortable with them, so much so I can sleep through their comings and goings? Not getting much in this line of thought, I turn it on its head: why _don’t_ I trust other people? I think back to the teams I’ve worked with in the past, back when I was still in the military. I never really trusted those guys (or women) and I don’t recall ever sleeping soundly when we were out in the field. I’ve always attributed it to “being out in the field” and never to my companions, but perhaps that’s the kernel of the issue. Back in the military, though, we never had a field site that was a suite in a nice hotel.
This is an interesting thing about me. It’s curious it’s been several days now and I’m only just thinking about it. When it’s just Isabel and I after a job, I assumed my relative relaxation was because the job was over and I was getting amazing sex with the perfect woman. I wonder, now, if it has more to do with my trusting her than physical exhaustion and being off the job. While I know a few things about Tessa, I know less about Isabel and almost nothing about Jeff or Eric. Yet I trust them. Such a strange thing for me. I always remember being paranoid about trust, feeling it made me weak. I don’t feel weak. Well, mentally; right now I’m beat physically. I don’t feel like I’ve lost anything working with these people. On the contrary, I feel more effective, better able to get more complex jobs done.
Enough introspection. I lever myself into my clothes and go out to join the team.
In the living area, Eric has a large case open on the dining table. Jeff is out, on duty I presume. Eric and Isabel are leafing through manuals. I’m guessing for the thing in the case.
Isabel looks up and says, “Jeff just got this for us. We’re trying to see if it’ll work for our identification challenge.”
I walk over to the table and look in the case. It looks like a rifle scope on steroids. I recognize it as a long-range thermal scope similar to something I’d used in the military. It’s bulky and cumbersome, requiring highly compressed nitrogen gas to keep the imaging chips cool while it operates.
“I’ve used something almost exactly like this, I believe it’ll get the job done. The one I used was monochrome, it would help if we had color, but either way I think we can make it work.”
“It’s supposed to be the newer version that has color,” Eric says, “Even a way to hook it up to a computer and capture the image for analysis.”
I pick the thing up. It’s bulky and awkward, just like I remembered. The way we intend to use it, though, its bulk shouldn’t be an issue. I look it over. The only difference from the ones I used before are some extra plugs. I fit one of the nitrogen canisters, flip it on, and wait for it to warm up. Or, actually, cool off. Then I turn it to look at Isabel. I don’t know if it’s my imagination or what, but she looks beautiful even in thermal false color. I focus it in on her face until it’s filling the entire screen. Amazingly, I can even see the pulse in her blood vessels. They look like spider webs. I study them, then turn to look at Eric. “Look up please, Eric” I ask. He obliges and I look closely at his spider web of vessels. They look quite distinct, sort of like a spiderweb-y version of fingerprints.
“If we can get a close up shot of the target when we know for sure it’s him, I think this’ll work perfectly. Unless they’re all identical triplets or something.”
Eric is curious and wants to take a look. I show him how to start/stop it. Eric looks back and forth at Isabel and me and after a few minutes agrees. Now Isabel wants to see, so Eric passes it to her and he and I are the models.
I inform them, “Remember to remove the nitrogen canister and turn it off between uses, even for as little as fifteen minutes. The gas leaks continuously, keeping the imaging chips cool enough to be useful. However, it takes several minutes to reach operating temp on startup, so it’s a balancing act. I wish the newer infrared ‘antenna’ chips were higher resolution. They work without all this cumbersome need for compressed nitrogen.”
Because I’ve been working so hard lately, I decide I’ll let Isabel, Eric and Jeff handle the surveillance and will relax for a day or so. I do help scouring the papers and magazines looking for indications the target will be in a meeting where we can try and get some pictures, but given his paranoia, it will be a challenge. Using this thing is exactly like using a sniper scope. His fast, furtive movements are going to make it a challenge. A benefit for us, though, is we can record what it sees and get our “shot” even if no human sniper could fire in the brief instant he’s visible.
One night, as Isabel and I were waiting for the conditions to be right to test our identification mechanism, our chatting takes a more personal turn. In bed, lying next to each other, she starts the conversation.
“In retrospect, I was a little too free mentioning how much I enjoyed our first time together. Of course I never expected to see you again, let alone work together. When we met in Monaco, and part of your compensation was us spending that time together, tongues started to wag.”
I respond, “Well, there was indeed a week’s worth of passionate debauchery. Since I made that part of our agreement for the job, how could they know it wasn’t just business as usual?”
“Had I not been indiscreet earlier, I would have shrugged it off as just part of the ‘biz.’ Because of my earlier carelessness, though, I was accused of getting a vacation of debauchery on company time. Because of that experience, I haven’t called you over the years when I felt I could’ve made use of your services. I’ve just worked through things on my own. This time I knew there wouldn’t be too much friction, as there’s already been a history of failure with this target. However, I’m sure, despite whatever happens, I’ll get snide comments and the occasional rude titter when I get back to the office.”
I think about this. I don’t believe I’ve ever had to deal with these sorts of things. Even when I worked regularly with a team, it was mostly men. I don’t recall sex even being mentioned, beyond the typical crude stuff us men dish out without thought.
I say, “So I’m guessing this is in prelude to the sad news that we won’t be replicating our week long sex marathon afterwards.”
She shakes her head, clearly in disappointment.
I add, “Well, surely we can squeeze in an afternoon before we part ways?”
She nods, spirits lifted somewhat in anticipation.
She asks, “You remember Tessa, right?”
“Of course. She and I have been in touch fairly regularly since Monaco. Even meeting a number of times.”
Isabel continues, “She’s been encouraging me to think about you quite a bit and gave me a message to give to you in the event you and I wound up together again. She said that you should think about ‘The Thomas Crown Affair,’ the remake in particular, and somewhat the opposite of ‘When Harry Met Sally.’ I don’t really know what that means, but she said it should give you something to think about. I’m not sure why she couldn’t tell you directly, though.”
I sit up in the bed, pushing the pillows behind me, then explain, “ ‘The Thomas Crown Affair’ is about two people who start out as adversaries, using sex as a weapon on each other – particularly the remake, the original was vastly more subtle – but find out they’re well suited for one another. In the original they’re unable to trust each other and wind up alone. In the remake they wind up romantically. In ‘When Harry Met Sally’ they are two friends who eventually become lovers, slowly realizing that their friendship can endure the change to a romantic relationship. Hmm, knowing Tessa as I do, this charming bit of subtlety must mean that she thinks we’re destined for one another. We just haven’t realized it yet.”
Staring up at the ceiling, she says, “I’ve found you increasingly on my mind over the years. How much of that is due to Tessa giving me updates every time she interacts with you and how much is the glowing memory of the time we spent together is hard to tell.”
I agree with almost exactly the same sentiment, “Why is that? She seems quite eager to set us up for some reason.”
Isabel frowns a little, her eyes still avoiding me.
“There’s a history between Tessa and me you aren’t yet privy to; no doubt that’s a major part. She’s also been suggesting that you and I somehow form some sort of partnership and go into business together. I can’t imagine how that would work. You’re clearly a loner and I’m quite sure there’s no amount of money that would get you to work full time for my agency. I’ve dedicated my life to it and am planning a long and illustrious career there. Still, Tessa keeps insisting that I think about it, so I do let fantasies run wild from time to time.”
She looks over at me. Now it’s my turn to study the ceiling, “I’ve also given the idea of a partnership some thought, though not so much from a working relationship point of view. Until recently, I’ve never given consideration to any sort of continuing relationship with man, woman or child. Or even cat, for that matter. Even after our first two times together, all I thought about was how amazing the sex was and how it would be awesome if it happened again. I gave no thought to trying to make that happen. Tessa – and her continual suggestions – have shifted my thinking.”
Isabel sits up and pushes her pillows behind her. She’s looking intently at me.
I continue, “I’ve done quite a lot of consideration regarding my personal psychology over the years. I realized early on that I was quite different from other people. For a while I was worried I was some sort of monster. Well, I guess I am a psychopath or sociopath of some sort; all the books agree that going around killing people, even for a business, makes one so. However, while I don’t give much thought to the emotional consequences of my actions to others, I do feel and empathize. I guess I just compartmentalize. I grew up in a loving household and am still good friends with my parents, contacting them several times a year. However, I have very few friends. Really, until you and Tessa, I may not have had conventional friends at all, at least not since childhood.” I take her hand in mine, raise it to my lips for a kiss, “I’ve close working relationships, like that arms dealer from the job at Monaco, but I never set out to spend time with her or anyone else. Whatever happened, happened because of the job.”
Isabel nods, then counters, “I’ve thought about you as well. It may sound strange to put it this way, but you’re the most warm-hearted cold-blooded killer I’ve ever met. I’ve dealt with a number of professional killers over the years, men and women. As a group they tend to be very antisocial. No matter their native intelligence, they acted as if everyone around them were morons, not worthy of their attention. I never turned my back on them and always ended the time with them as quickly as possible. When doing the actual job, I find you share their traits: you’re extremely focused and will let very little interfere with your work. However, you aren’t a sadist, or at least you’re amazingly good at hiding it. Most of the others I worked with seemed to enjoy causing pain and would often go out of their way to do so, even when the job didn’t call for it.”
She takes her turn and kisses my hand, then I say, “In my military experience, the bulk of my peers fell in two groups. The first were patriots that killed because they were ordered to do so. Each kill took a little bit of their soul and I imagine they dealt with PTSD the rest of their lives. The second group took joy in killing and was somewhat indiscriminate and barely under control by management. I regularly saw those guys make silly mistakes because of impatience to kill someone. Not to get the job over because it was distasteful, but because they wanted to do more and more. They lacked patience and were prone to take unnecessary risks.”
Isabel is nodding. I guess she’s seeing some parallels. I’ve never really thought deeply on these subjects.
I continue, “Part of the reason I don’t like working with teams is because those two personality types make me uncomfortable. Guilt is not a feeling I’ve ever had due to my work and I feel I could stop at any time. However, I like my job. I like the challenge of hunting the greatest game of all, and I love the money and the hours. While I have some hobbies, I’m not sure, at least at present, they could satisfy me. I guess in a certain way I need this job. Perhaps I’m not so different from your experience after all.”
She shakes her head, “Given that you think about it must mean you’re different. I can’t imagine any of the people I worked with ever having the self-awareness to consider these thoughts. For me, killing is part of the job, though I personally have only done so in the heat of self-defense. I suppose I need justification. Though, now that I think about it, I’m usually acting under orders and not really worrying about rationale.”
She slouches back down against the pillows, pulling me against her, then continues.
“I guess, now that I give it some consideration, I’m not much different than you. Your orders come from clients, mine from management. In neither case do we give any thought to whether the target ‘deserves’ to die or not; we’re just doing our jobs. Most of my jobs aren’t killing people. I focus on that aspect because that’s how we keep coming together.”
I reach an arm across her, tucking it in from the other side. Then slide a leg over hers and respond, “Actually, only about half of my contracts are for killings. Indeed, the first time we met was a kidnapping. Though I did wind up killing someone at the end, it was practically incidental. More like the self-defense you mentioned earlier. The way you’re describing things, it sounds like we have a lot more in common than I’d thought.”
I snuggle against her neck, pushing through her hair. I miss her lovely scent.
I continue, “I freely admit that for a long time I was blinded by lust. Only rarely have I seen a body that’s your equal. Never have I found your combination of brains, reflexes and danger. Oh, let’s not forget: you’re amazing in bed! What I said back then remains true: you’ve ruined me for other women. When we met in Monaco, I’d just left a beach with topless women that were all, by any rational standard, beautiful. Yet I wasn’t turned on enough by any of them to want to spend energy trying to get her in bed. When I do pick up women, they tend to be curvy brunettes. Except for Tessa, I don’t think I even see skinny blondes any longer. Lust has carried me for years and that’s where it may have remained, if Tessa hadn’t been so insistent. When you called about this job, I practically forgot about my smashed face I was so looking forward to seeing you. Yes, I was thinking about your amazing body and making love to you. But I also looked forward to sitting with you, enjoying time just chatting, like we’re doing now. Based on my research that means I’m evolving beyond lust, what’s your take?”
I untuck my hand and run it through her hair.
Isabel, “In the very beginning, it was all about proving I could successfully get you in bed. Your resistance to my ‘flashing’ confused me. I could tell you were interested, yet I couldn’t get you to take the next step. It was only after I’d switched my focus to trying to hook you psychologically did I finally get you to make a move.”
Thinking back, I did wonder about her “confession.” It seemed a little out of place.
Isabel continues, “When I first saw you in Monaco, my first thoughts were sexual. However, in the week we spent together, relaxing, talking and of course, making love, I think I started to evolve beyond lust. I believe Tessa saw that change in me. Perhaps that’s why she’s been so clever to constantly keep us up to date on one another. Almost universally my relationships with men have been unsatisfactory, to put it in its best light. Until we met, I’ve had better sexual relationships with female targets than I’ve had with any man. Still, I’m committed to my professional career. I’m not sure where this relationship can go even if we have moved beyond lust. I just don’t understand what Tessa is thinking about.”
I think about this for a while. It’s getting late anyway. I turn off the light, but this time spoon against her. I’m able to do so without lust taking over, simply enjoying her warmth.