They looked around the terrace. There was no sign of Pilar or Pasquale.
“Ah… try the conservatory,” Fiorella said, still looking somewhat flustered. “It is on the ground floor past the great hall, a room with a large piano. Pasquale plays very well, and it is his favorite pretext for getting young women alone.”
“Thank you.”
They entered the villa and looked for the conservatory.
“Exactly what did you do to our client back there?” Sabine inquired.
“I’m not sure, but I think I just weirded out her wedding night.” Loup cocked her head. “I hear a piano. This way.”
“Very well. Let me handle this.”
They arrived in time to see Pasquale finish with a flourish, then lunge for Pilar and pull her onto his lap, hands wandering busily.
“Hey!” she protested.
Sabine strode into the room. “Little trollop!” she scolded. “This has gone on long enough. I promised your mother I would ensure your good behavior on this trip. I’m so sorry, signore, I know she has been bothering you all evening.”
He stood, dislodging Pilar. “No, no! Not at all.”
“You are too kind.” She switched to Italian, uttering profuse apologies and ignoring his passionate disclaimers. Behind his back, Pilar made a face and adjusted her dress. “Come,” Sabine said sternly. “You will stay at my side for the rest of the evening. No more bothering Mr. Picco.”
“But—” he said desperately.
“No, no.” Sabine shook her head. “I insist.”
Back on the terrace, they watched the elegant wedding guests dance. Pasquale Picco reemerged. After casting a few yearning glances Pilar’s way, he began trolling the other young female guests for a second choice.
“You so enjoyed bitching me out,” Pilar said to Sabine.
She gave a little smile. “Yes, well, it allowed me to extricate you without arousing his suspicion. Gustavo went peacefully once he saw the humor in the situation, but Pasquale may be rather irked to find he’s been played for a fool.”
The remainder of the night passed without incident. Guests began to leave. Pasquale Picco, failing in his quest, drank himself into a stupor and passed out on a chaise longue. Preparing to retire, the newlyweds made the rounds and thanked their guests.
“Excellent work,” Domenico Vittori murmured, pressing a tip discreetly into Sabine’s hand. “We are very pleased. Are we not, caro?” he added to Fiorella.
She blinked. “Oh, yes. Very pleased.”
The valet went to fetch the rental car. They waited on the edge of the big circular driveway.
“Why was Fiorella acting so weird?” Pilar asked. “We did do a good job.”
“She hugged me,” Loup said. “I think she liked it.”
“No!” She whirled around, staring back at the villa. “One of Christophe’s one in a hundred?”
“Maybe.”
Pilar stifled a giggle. “Shit! I mean, oh dear. That’s so going to mess with her wedding night.”
Sabine gave them both a look. “You presume a great deal.”
“Nope.” Pilar shook her head. “Trust me, if she liked the way Loup felt, she’s going to be thinking about it for days. Days and days,” she said dreamily. “And wondering what the hell is wrong with her.” She gave herself another shake. “Remember that waiter in Huatulco who couldn’t stop staring at Loup? Christophe says only one in maybe a hundred people feel that way, but when they do, look out.”
Sabine gazed at the sky, her lips moving silently.
Pilar sighed. “What?”
“Nothing. I am thanking God that I am one of the other ninety-nine.”
TWENTY-TWO
Incidence of one in a hundredism notwithstanding, Magnus deemed the job a success.
“We did the job we were hired to do,” he said philosophically at the breakfast table. “I take it Loup did nothing to provoke this response?”
“No,” Sabine admitted grudgingly.
He shrugged. “So? As an attractive woman, surely you’ve dealt with similar situations. Only without the, ah, genetically engineered aspect.”
Loup looked up from her omelet. “Why do you keep saying that? I mean, I don’t care, but it’s not true. I wasn’t engineered.”
“It sounds better than GMO or genetically modified, which is technically correct. Whether or not you were conceived naturally, your genes are modified by science. And it certainly sounds better than half-breed genetic mutant.”
“True.”
“So what happens now?” Pilar asked. “I mean, now that the job’s done. Do we go back to Aberdeen?”
Magnus smiled at her. “You’re quite at liberty, my dear. Until I arrange another job for you, you’re free to go where you will. Travel the world or pick a place to live. All I ask is that you make yourselves available for work within twenty-four hours’ notice at all times.”
“Anywhere?” Loup said. “We can go anywhere?”
“Certainly.”
“You trust us?” Pilar asked, skeptical. “I mean, what if we decide to take our bonuses and disappear?”
“Ah.” He folded his hands. “I wouldn’t recommend it. Not traveling on illegitimate passports.”
“Oh, great. Christophe was right, you are gonna blackmail us.”
“Not at all.” Magnus looked complacent. “We have an instance of perfectly balanced trust here. If you fulfill the terms of your contract, which I will remind you are extremely generous, you stand to become young women of certain means within a year’s time. But if you violate our trust, we will violate yours.”
“I guess that’s fair,” Loup admitted.
“Indeed.” He checked his watch. “Sabine and I will be returning to Palermo today and taking a late flight to Geneva. You’re welcome to ride to the city with us. If you would prefer to stay in Taormina, Global will cover today’s expenses and another night’s stay at the hotel. After that, you’re on your own.”
“Let’s stay, baby,” Pilar said without hesitation. “We’ve got to figure out where we want to go. Anyway, it’s nice here.”
“Okay.”
They said their goodbyes in the hotel lobby. Magnus shook both their hands.
“You did good work,” he said, formal and serious. “I’m very pleased. And I suspect I’ll have more work for you in short order. The Picco family is very well connected.”
“Whatever our next job is, can it please not involve me getting felt up by some skeevy Mafia guy?” Pilar said hopefully.
“I promise. That was an… unusual… situation.”
Back in the hotel room, Loup fanned the pages of her travel book. “Got any ideas?” she asked Pilar.
“Paris,” she said promptly. “I want to go to Paris.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” Loup blinked. “We could have ridden with… oh, yeah. I get your point.”
“Mm-hmm.” Pilar wrapped her arms around Loup from behind, nuzzling her neck. “I get that she finds me een-sufferable. But I get tired of being reminded. Holy shit, you feel good, baby.”
Loup squirmed.
“Paris,” Pilar whispered in her ear. “City of lovers.”
“Do we have to wait until Paris?”
“God, no!”
Later in the day, Pilar made their travel arrangements on her Dataphone. “Okay. We’re booked. Flights, hotels, and everything. We’ll take the bus to Palermo tomorrow and fly out the next morning.” She frowned. “The bus part’s cheap. The rest is pretty expensive. Money goes fast, huh?”
“We’ll make more,” Loup assured her. Somewhere in the room, her cell phone rang. “Oh, crap! Where did I put that thing? I’ve gotta figure out how to forward calls to my Dataphone.” She scrambled and found it. “Hello? Yeah, good afternoon, Senator. Oh, right. Morning to you.” Her face brightened. “Now? Sure. Now’s a great time.” She lowered the phone. “He’s putting Miguel on.”
“Whoopee,” Pilar said, but without malice.
“Hey, Mig!”
Loup said, delighted. “Yeah, we’re fine. Both of us. Huh? No, Sicily. We’re going to Paris tomorrow.” She made a face and held the phone away from her ear for a moment, letting him bellow. “Okay, okay! I get it. It sucks. But just think about how much it means to everyone at home!”
“He’s pissed?”
Loup nodded. “Mig, c’mon. Would you really feel that much better about it if I was stuck in a jail cell getting starved, hosed down, and interrogated?” She paused. “Yeah, they did.” Another pause. Her voice softened. “Okay, I will. You too. Don’t do anything stupid. This is a really awesome thing you’re doing. Okay, bye.”
“Sounds like your grouchy surrogate brother wasn’t so glad to hear from you,” Pilar commented.
“Yeah.” Loup smiled ruefully. “I think in his own way, he was. But he’s bored out of his skull and utterly disgusted that we’re running around Europe while he’s stuck in protective custody. He never wanted to be a hero, you know?”
“You are a strange and wonderful influence, my little wolf-girl.” Pilar gave her a light kiss. “Time to get you something to eat?”
“Yes, please.”
Two days later, they were in Paris.
Their hotel was located in the Latin Quarter. It wasn’t as luxurious as the places they’d been staying when Global Security was paying, but it was charming and comfortable, and the staff was remarkably friendly.
“Is this your first visit?” the young man at the reception desk asked, having determined they didn’t speak French.
“Yes.” Pilar smiled at him. “Pretty much everything’s a first time for us.”
He returned her smile, plucked a rose from the arrangement on the counter, and handed it to her. “Welcome to Paris.” He lowered his voice. “Do not buy pastries at the hotel café. There is an excellent bakery across the street. Try the pain au chocolat, you will like it.”
They did.
“Ohmigod.” Pilar’s eyes almost rolled back in her head. “This is one of the best things I’ve ever eaten.”
Loup eyed her, grinning.
“What?”
“It’s fun to see you crazy over food for a change.”
“Try it.”
She took a bite. Layers of flaky pastry melted in her mouth, giving way to a firm center of dark, rich chocolate. “Holy shit!”
“Told you.”
They explored the city, going first across the bridge to Notre Dame Cathedral on its little river island, located only blocks from their hotel.
“Wow.” Loup stood for a long time just gazing at the facade. “Sorry.”
“I don’t care.” Pilar squeezed her arm. “Gawk all you like, baby. It doesn’t bother me one bit.”
Inside, they wandered. Loup regarded the figure of the Our Lady of Paris, thinking about Our Lady of the Sorrows in the church at home, her cheeks stained with rusty, faded tears. She paid to light a votive candle in honor of Father Ramon, Sister Martha, Anna, and all the Santitos. In honor of her mother and brother, and even Miguel Garza.
“God has turned his face away,” Pilar murmured. “That’s what the old priest said before we were born, isn’t it? The one before Father Ramon. God has turned his face away.”
“Yeah. Just before he hung himself from the bell tower.”
“Do you think it’s true? About God, I mean?”
“I don’t know. Seems like we fucked up pretty bad when everyone got sick. But most of the world seems to have recovered okay. Just not us.”
“Loup…” Pilar searched her face. “I don’t believe it. I mean, I don’t know if I believe in God or whatever. But I believe there are good people in the world. Really good, like Father Ramon and Sister Martha. And I believe that you are a goddamned fucking miracle. If there is a God, no fucking way he’d turn his face away from you. And if there isn’t…” She shrugged. “You’re enough of a miracle for me, Santa Olivia.”
Her heart felt too big for her chest. “Pilar…”
“Oh, hush! We’re in one of the world’s most famous churches. I’m being contemplative. C’mon, we haven’t even seen the gargoyles yet.”
They climbed the winding towers and went to see the gargoyles.
“Whoa!” Pilar gasped at the view of the city.
Loup leaned over the parapet. “Awesome.”
Pilar hooked her fingers in the waistband of Loup’s jeans, dragging her backward. “You make me nervous, baby.”
“Sorry.”
She studied the nearest gargoyle. “They look sort of… nice, don’t they? I thought they’d be all ferocious, but they look kind of calm.” She nudged Loup. “They’re like you, only inside out. And they’re kind of like bodyguards, too, right? You think maybe people knew somehow way back when?”
“I dunno.” Loup smiled. “I like you being all mystical and thoughtful, but before you get too carried away, I’ve got two words for you.”
“Hmm?”
“Nacio and Raimundo.”
Pilar laughed. “Yeah, okay. But you are different. And those guys, maybe they will be too when they grow up a little more. I mean different in a different way, not the way they already are. You know?”
“I’m not sure.”
“That’s okay.” Pilar smiled at her. “I do.”
On their third day in Paris, Magnus called.
“Hi, Mr. Lindberg,” Loup said. “Uh-huh. Paris.” She listened. “Okay, the Beau Rivage. We’ll call you when we get in.”
“What’s up?” Pilar asked.
Loup gave a crisp military salute perfected by virtue of growing up in an occupied town. “We’re to report to headquarters immediately.”
“Geneva?”
“Yep. Magnus says he’s got another request for our services. Well, mine, this time. There’s a room reserved for us at the Beau Rivage hotel.”
“Okay.” Pilar flipped on her Dataphone. “There’s an eight forty a.m. train that will get us there by noon. Sound good?”
“Sure.”
“This is a business expense, right?” She pulled out her Global credit card. “We’re so going first class.”
The following morning, they traveled through the spectacular French Alps and arrived in Geneva. At the hotel, Loup called and reported to Magnus.
“Okay,” she said. “Three o’clock. See you then.” She ended the call. “He’s sending a car for us. They’ll pick us up outside the hotel. Magnus will brief us, then we’ll meet with the client afterward.”
“At least it gives us time for lunch.” Pilar inspected her hair in the mirror, smoothing a few errant strands. “Did he say anything about the job?”
Loup shook her head. “No.”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
They ate at one of the hotel’s restaurants before being picked up by an unsmiling driver who took them to Global Security’s headquarters. Unlike much of the surrounding architecture, it was a newer building, sleek and modern. Inside, an unsmiling receptionist scanned their passports before issuing security passes.
“Clip them to your clothing,” she said crisply with barely a trace of an accent. “Be sure they are visible at all times.” She pressed an intercom and said something in a different language.
A moment later, Sabine came to fetch them. “Good. Come with me.”
“Nice to see you again so soon, too,” Pilar remarked.
Sabine raised one finger, looking serious. “No joking or bickering today. This is not the time for bad blood.”
She escorted them to a conference room where Magnus was waiting, along with Henry Kensington, who’d led the security team at Fashion Week.
“Here is the situation,” Magnus said without preamble. “We are providing security for an event hosted by Mr. Hugh Danielson. A birthday party for his daughter’s thirteenth birthday.”
Loup blinked. “This is all about some kid’s birthday party?”
“Please do not be frivolous. Mr. Danielson is the chairman of the British-Swiss Chamber of Commerce. It is an organization that has achi
eved certain prominence in financial circles in the last decade. Recently, it has been targeted by a group of radical economic populists. They call themselves One World. I call them terrorists.” His jaw tightened. “Their goal is to call attention to financial inequity in the world by highlighting the decadence of the very wealthy. They use violence to achieve their means. Two days ago, they issued a death threat against Mr. Danielson’s daughter.”
“Damn,” Pilar murmured.
“Yes.” Magnus nodded. “The party as scheduled is very lavish. They warn that if it is not canceled, it will end in tragedy.”
“He won’t cancel?” Loup asked.
“No.” He shook his head. “Mr. Danielson refuses to succumb to blackmail. He is a widower, a proud and stubborn man who dotes on his daughter. He will not cancel.”
“Is the threat credible?” she asked.
“Good question.” Magnus gave Loup a look of harried approval. “Yes. Yes, it is. One World has been responsible for a number of deaths. Eighteen months ago, they succeeded in blowing up a limousine carrying the former sultan of Dubai. But this is the first time they have targeted a child.” He steepled his fingers. “Loup, this choice is yours. Mr. Danielson received word of your existence through, ah, certain channels. He inquired about your services, thinking you could provide an extra layer of protection. Global Security has committed to this job, but I have not committed you. You’re young and inexperienced. If you wish to pass, I will call off the meeting and extend our regrets.”
“Yeah, but I’m good.” Loup looked at Pilar. “What do you think?”
Pilar sighed. “Oh, hell. It’s a kid, you know?”
“Uh-huh.”
“So you wish to be considered for the job?” Magnus asked, clarifying.
“Yeah,” Loup said thoughtfully. “I kind of get what the One World people are saying, you know? The world could be a lot more fair than it is, and that sucks. A lot of rich and powerful people suck. But killing them for it is wrong. Especially kids.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “If the client concurs, your sole duty will be to guard his daughter throughout the duration of this party. He’ll want a demonstration. Are you prepared to do a standard disarmament drill with Mr. Kensington here?”
[Santa Olivia 02] - Saints Astray Page 17
