“Your ‘bumping into’ one another is going to be scripted, based on where you are in the room and where he is at the appropriate time. Two of the folks here will ensure that you do in fact get physically in range. What happens after that will depend on your powers of seduction and his horns, right?”
“Okay.”
“What happens just before the earth moves also has to be scripted, too, because we have to ensure you end up in your room and not his, for instance. Or a third room set up by his people. Remember, we have to assume his security team will think this is a honey trap, no matter what the general’s little head is telling his big head. Thus the scripting.”
Melanie sighed. “Look, I’m having some doubts about all this, okay? I know we’re going to do one more show-the-bait session, but after that we’re moving to the execution phase, without the general and I ever having had more than a few minutes together. Does that read? Seriously? What important, experienced, senior intelligence officer isn’t going to realize that all this is Kabuki? He’ll have to know that I’m bait of some kind. His people will have been shouting that fact at him. Is he really this stupid?”
“Apparently so,” Smith replied. “Or perhaps ‘impetuous’ would be a better word. He’s done dumber things than what we’re setting up. He obviously gets off on the risk. He always has some cleanup crew with him when he goes into the bushes, and that’s ended badly a couple of times—for the woman involved. This will be no different, except we’re going to have some people in the building who can and will deal with any rough stuff.”
“But a script?” she asked. “Boy meets girl, they lock horns, and the only word that comes to mind is—‘urgency.’”
“Precisely, and that’s why we’re scripting this, Melanie. From the moment that you light his fire, urgency is everything. One long, deep, meaningful look into each other’s eyes and then you move—but you move the way we tell you to move. Did I mention I will be directing you through the whole thing?”
She stared at him. Directing? A magic earring, perhaps?
He stood directly in front of her now, while the others seemed to shuffle or otherwise move out of earshot. The expression on his face was no longer that of lust-smitten David Smith, almost panting with barely disguised desire at her very presence. “I am the controller in this op,” he said, in a voice she hadn’t heard before. “You will do exactly what I tell you to do if you want to live through this op. You don’t—and can’t—know everything about what’s going to happen, but it is imperative that you do exactly as you are told. That’s the real reason for the script. We know it won’t play out precisely that way, but we also know that if you—we, the team—have practiced it, whatever departures from the plan we might have to make will be easier.”
He leaned down to stare directly into her eyes, and she realized that she no longer recognized this man. “Got it?” he asked softly. “This is how it’s done, especially when the boss has declared that you are not expendable. It’s when they don’t say those words that you get a vote. So: Please read the fucking script, absorb what you can, so we can all get to work.”
“Okay” was all she could manage. The menace in Smith’s voice had been palpable. One of the other women in the “cast” gave her a welcome-to-our-world smile over Smith’s shoulder. She couldn’t believe that she’d thought this guy was just another late-twenty-something lightweight. Then she realized that her dinner “date” had probably not been the spur-of-the-moment encounter she’d assumed it was.
Allender, the puppet master. She groaned, mentally. She should have known.
They worked for the rest of the day, starting with a general walk-through of each phase, followed by a scene-by-scene practice. Smith was the director, and there was even a cameraman, because Smith wanted to watch each scene later so he could make improvements. At the end of the day, Melanie was tired but a lot more confident in the plan. The following day she found out that her confidence had been misplaced, as Smith began to throw some shit into the game and everyone, including her, fumbled badly. By the end of day two, Smith was speaking in monosyllables and the members of the cast weren’t looking at each other if they could help it.
It went like that for the eight days leading up to the awards dinner, but by then the team had clicked into place and were able to deal with contingencies with a minimum of disruption. The intervening visual opportunity had been a nonevent, except for the way General Chiang had stared at her when she glanced at him over someone’s shoulder, saw him looking, and wet her lips for just a fraction of a second before turning away. She’d been wearing a clingy, white skirt that draped over her curves like lingerie, and she’d followed up the lip-tease with a casual fake wedgie adjustment with her left hand when she had her back turned toward him. Smith had later shown her a picture of the expression on the general’s face, and it was not the face of a man who was disinterested.
Smith was now satisfied with both her performance and the general’s obvious desire. They had three days to go to showtime. He told her to take two days off, go see the sights in Washington, and then return to Langley the day before the Wingate gala for final preps. He, in the meantime, needed to spend some time at the hotel getting his people in place and integrated into the hotel’s operations.
“How do you do that?” she’d asked.
“We have an arrangement” was all he would say.
* * *
She did exactly what Smith had recommended for the next two days. She toured the monuments district of Washington: the Mall, the Lincoln, the Jefferson, three of the Smithsonian museums, and the Hirshhorn modern art gallery. She even took a bus out to Dulles to see the big-boy toys at the Air and Space Museum annex. On the second day, she rested her aching feet until the evening, when she took a Potomac River scenic dinner cruise that launched out of the Maine Avenue wharf. The boat docked at just after nine. Having had a bit too much to drink and eat, she decided to walk straight up Twelfth Street back to the Mall before finding a Metro and calling it a day.
The evening was cool and clear. She wore comfortable walking shoes, jeans, and a light sweater, and carried a nine-millimeter in her handbag in case some night people decided to make a move on her. As it was, there was absolutely zero drama. Typical of many people who actually worked in Washington, she’d never “done” the sights, and she resolved to do this again. There was far too much to see in just two days. The dinner cruise had been relaxing, except for having to fend off a couple of middle-aged Lotharios. They had produced some Bombay gin, which was the reason she now needed to walk. There weren’t many people about, but it was clear that the closer she got to the White House, the more security there was on the streets.
She turned left and walked down the Mall to the World War II Memorial, with its plashing fountains and Stonehenge-like circle of columns whose names revealed the scope of that tragic conflict. She sat down by the main pool to rest her feet and just chill out. Two Park Police on foot patrol were sitting across the pool, having a cigarette. They’d given her the once-over but then ignored her. She thought they’d probably decided that she was too old to be a prostitute. That thought resurrected the op, which she’d been putting out of her mind these past two days. There was still the question of what Allender and Smith had planned and whether or not it involved actually doing it with Chiang. She knew she could if she had to, especially given the bonus. Maybe she was a prossie after all. Then she saw Allender approaching from the direction of the Lincoln.
It has to be him, she thought. Nobody walks like that. All he needed was a deerstalker hat and a cape to complete the picture. She saw the two cops watching him as he came up the gravel path that ran alongside the reflecting pool and stepped up the marble stairs to the memorial fountain area. She saw them both straighten up when he walked under one of the faux gas lamps, which made his amber eyes flash for the briefest second under that antique hat. He walked around the fountain and then joined her on the bench. He didn’t say anything, just sat down and
stretched his legs out in front of him, the stick resting across his lap. She was about to greet him when the two cops materialized beside them. Allender showed them his credentials and they backed off, trying not to stare at his face.
“Cold feet?” he asked once they’d walked away.
“Hot feet,” she said. “I just walked up from the riverfront.”
“I know,” he said.
She turned to look at him. “Eyes on me?”
“So close to your command performance? You bet.”
“Chinese eyes, too?” she asked. She looked out into the semidarkness, but didn’t see any obvious watchers. She remembered he’d told her that he liked to walk the Mall at night to keep fit. A small breeze blew a mist of spray from the fountains over them.
“It’s possible,” he said. “But that wouldn’t hurt the legend. In fact, Chiang might like the idea of poaching my woman.” He spoke the words “my woman” in a faked deep voice.
Melanie snorted. “So I’m your woman now?”
He smiled, and she was surprised to see the light in his eyes become subdued. “I suppose it would be possible. In another life. But back to my question: You still okay with this op? We’re asking a lot.”
“A little hesitation,” she said. “I was just thinking of that old joke about the guy propositioning a woman at a party.”
“The one where he offers a million dollars?”
“Yeah, that one.”
He was silent for a moment. “I feel your pain,” he declared, finally, with a completely straight face.
She turned to stare at him and then saw his shoulders shaking. OMG, she thought. Dragon Eyes is laughing! She elbowed him in the ribs but then smiled herself.
“C’mon,” he said, getting up. “I’ll walk you to Smithsonian Station. It’s the least I can do.”
As they walked up the Mall, she put her arm in his. She could feel the tension in his arm, but after a while she felt him relax a little.
Better. Much better.
NINE
Melanie and her escort joined the throng of people heading into the main ballroom of the hotel. There were thirty round tables set for dinner, and her escort knew right where to take her, even though he was assigned to an adjacent table. He checked to see that the general’s name was on the place card to her immediate right, and then seated her as the table’s other guests found their places. The ballroom was spacious and well appointed, with a stage at one end and a wall of double doors to admit the attendees at the other. Melanie spotted Smith, dressed in a stylish tux, sitting down two tables over. She smiled when she saw him switch two place cards so that he would have a better view of Melanie’s table.
“Ah, we meet again, Miss Sloan,” General Chiang announced as an aide pulled back his chair so that he could sit down. “What a pleasant surprise.”
She turned to smile at him. “An amazing coincidence,” she murmured, and he grinned. The aide bowed and withdrew.
The general turned to his right to greet the rather large lady who’d sat down next to him, and then turned back to Melanie. A rather serious-looking Chinese man was the last to take his place at their table. He sat down directly across from Chiang and stared intently at Melanie. She was worth the look: She was wearing a Dior ensemble with spaghetti straps and a cleverly designed lace bodice. Her skirt was calf-length and fashionably slit on one side, but not so high that anyone would remark on it. She leaned in toward the general. “Your minder?” she asked softly.
He smiled again and pretended to be interested in the menu card at the center of the table. “For as long as I allow it,” he replied. “In our government, everybody watches everybody.”
She sighed. “Kinky,” she said. He snorted quietly.
The dinner service began with wine stewards pouring out reds and whites. Melanie recognized the young man who came to their table as one of the cast members from the practice sessions. As he went around the table, Melanie indicated she wanted both a white and a red. Chiang did the same. The large lady to Chiang’s right asked him a question. Once he was turned away from her, Melanie rotated the hem of the skirt so that the slit was now front and center, and then hiked it up to just the right elevation to make things interesting. She was wearing nude-colored nylon stockings that had a black lace band at the top. Then she spread her linen napkin demurely across her lap. Minette had warned her to not indulge in any casual knee-bumping contact under the table. Keep it all visual. Let him see, but not touch. Touch was for later.
Dinner proceeded uneventfully with the typical casual conversation until the dessert course was served, at which point Melanie picked up her napkin and wiped her lips. She could almost feel the general’s hot stare before she folded the napkin in half and put it back in her lap. But it was half a napkin now, and her thighs and lace-topped stockings were still just visible. She finally looked directly at him.
“Are you staying for the awards presentation?” she asked.
“Of course—our ambassador is receiving an award. Are you not?”
She shook her head, aware now that the minder across the table was trying desperately to hear what they were talking about. “I feel like drinking tonight, so I got a room. I’m going to ‘withdraw’ to the lounge.”
He looked positively crestfallen until he realized that she’d just told him she had a room, right here in the hotel. “Well, then,” he said, much more quietly than he’d been speaking before. “Perhaps I will see you there. Protocol demands, you understand.”
“Of course I understand, General,” she said, teasing him with a mildly flirtatious smile. “I’ll be sorry to miss all the speeches.”
It became clear that dinner was over. People were starting to move around, visiting other tables or heading outside for a quick cigarette. Melanie gathered herself to push back from the table. The general beat her to it, rising and sliding her chair back to one side as she got up. For an instant their faces were inches apart. The sexual tension between them flared, minder or no minder, as the general remained well within her personal space. “Hurry,” she breathed.
She visited the ladies’ room, where there were two attendants dressed in the hotel’s livery. One was tending to a woman whose dress had begun to disintegrate and who was well versed in drama. The other attendant was one of the cast. Melanie tended to business and then stood before one of the mirrors to brush her hair and touch up her makeup. She reached behind her as if to adjust the back of her dress, and the attendant came over, offering to help.
“Hook set?” she asked quietly while pretending to fiddle with the dress.
“Yes, indeed,” Melanie replied. Then she tipped the attendant and left for the lounge.
General Chiang showed up forty-five minutes later, saw her sitting alone in a corner, and joined her. The minder was ninety seconds behind him, and then there were two thirty-something Chinese “businessmen” two minutes behind the minder. The three Chinese spread out in the lounge, one to a table. The lounge hadn’t filled up yet. The noise level was low, disturbed only by a large-screen television flickering above the bar.
“You brought a crowd,” she said.
“I think the ambassador saw me leave right after his award.”
“And he knows you, doesn’t he,” she teased.
He shrugged. “He’s old and married to a niece of the president. She is something of a dragon, I am told.” He saw a waitress approaching. “What are you drinking?”
“Bombay gin and tonic,” she said. The bar had a new assistant bartender tonight. He’d fixed Melanie’s first “drink,” which had been plain tonic water with a wedge of lime. The second one, the one the general was going to order for her, would have mostly tonic water but with a dollop of the gin poured gently on top in case he checked.
He sat back in his chair and gave her an admiring look. “You are quite beautiful tonight,” he said. “But I must tell you, my minders are quite worried.”
“Let me guess,” she said. “I work for the Company and have
ensnared you with my womanly wiles. Soon I’ll ask you up to my room, for some—cognac, perhaps, and then, once we have become um—involved, spring some kind of a trap, and then demand that you tell me everything you know or I’ll go to the press with the embarrassing videos captured by all the secret cameras in my hotel room. Close?”
He laughed out loud. “Very,” he said. Then he leaned in to her as if about to propose some even more complex plot. “So the trick is: Get involved, as you put it, quickly.”
She stared directly into his hot eyes. “Go fast, you mean,” she whispered. “Hard and fast.”
“Yes, go fast. That is what I like.”
She leaned back and scanned the room, as if to see who might be watching besides the now worried-looking Chinese guards. She squared her shoulders and then smiled when the minders stopped looking at Chiang for a moment. “That is what I like, too,” she said. “And besides, here’s what I think. Your wife might be offended if someone produced a video of us in bed, but every man in China would probably be saying: hell, yes, as our cowboys say. In America, too.”
He laughed again. “You are quite direct,” he said.
“And fast,” she said. “Don’t forget fast. Hard and fast. And you must of course promise to respect me in the morning.”
This time he positively shook laughing, but stopped when she turned in her chair, crossed her shiny legs, the slit skirt showing him the rest of what was on offer. A waiter brought the drinks and they paused to enjoy them. The minders all pretended to do the same. More people were coming into the lounge by now, including one couple who were also members of the cast. Pretty soon, she thought, there’ll be as many of my minders in here as his.
“How shall we work this?” she asked finally.
He finished his drink, took a deep breath, and asked for her room number. She told him.
“Go there now,” he said. “I will come after an appropriate interval.”
“Yes, you certainly will,” she said, not smiling this time. She watched him blink and swallow hard. She gathered herself to get up from the table but with enough body language to make even the minders look. She could hear Minette: Reach for your purse. Knock it off the table and into a chair. Bend to retrieve it. Stretch that amazing material across your bottom. Take one second longer than necessary. Hear them all inhale.
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