by Tony Lavely
The opening to the meeting the next morning was simple, and well received. Jones sat, then pushed a full-size mailer across to Beckie. “If it should go to you?”
“While Ms Ardan did yeoman work for all of us, if all is well, it requires my signature to have force.”
She pulled the tear strip and slid the papers out. “Each of you, read and initial,” she said to Amy and Willie. “Any questions, ask them now; you will not have another chance.” Her glare as she spoke would remind them of the contract disaster they’d recently mitigated. She began her study.
With Solène returned to her father, they worked through lunch, clarifying wording and meaning as they went. By mid-afternoon, Amy had asked her last question and Willie had initialed his last page; Beckie pulled the final page of the document to her and scrawled her name, Rebecca S. Jamse for Ian Jamse, Ltd, over the slender line. When she passed it back to Jones, he did likewise.
“Finally!” he said with a great sigh that could only be relief. “Now, these…” Brody opened the case he’d been holding and handed Jones a second envelope. “We must retain the originals, but you may take notes. If we block out the identifying details, a copy would be permitted.”
Beckie took the time to read the four sheets from beginning to end. She aligned them and handed them to Willie. “Thank you. As I expected, an inhospitable area, fraught with dangers beyond the… fragile political situation.” She recalled a recent 6.4 earthquake not far from where the map said Jones’ site lay. “We are not responsible for acts of nature, though we will assist as we may should a disaster occur.”
“Of course. That meets our expectation.”
“Can you say what you expect the site to reveal? That region of Pakistan could… Well, I guess there’s a long list of things it might be. I’d have to study more to make a guess.”
“Please do not make the effort. Until it becomes obvious, we cannot discuss that. And we do not believe that restriction compromises your effort in any way.”
Beckie smiled her I-know-what-you-believe smile. “We’ll hold that in abeyance until necessary. Hopefully, there will be no issue.”
“Good! When can you have the fee schedule?” He took a deep breath. “My principals are rightly concerned at our acceptance of a contract with no terms limiting remuneration—though the protections we agreed meet their needs,” he quickly added. “But they are anxious to understand our exposure… believing it to be substantially less than Ms Ardan’s figure of yesterday.” He gave a twisted smile. “Hoping it is.”
Beckie looked at Willie. He’s better at this than me. “Willie, can we give them a starting figure? No promises that it’d be final but enough for us to get started on determining what will be involved?”
He took the detail documents and reread them. “Yeah. Five hundred thousand euros will cover us til the end of February.” He glanced at the papers once more. “We’ll have the final figures by then. Nothing will interfere with putting the contract in force.”
“With your approval, then, we’ll begin the day the deposit arrives in our bank, per the contract.” Beckie rose. “A pleasure doing business with you; I hope your efforts are successful as you anticipate.”
Bakir’s Return
Beckie had returned to her room after they had all had a celebratory drink in the bar—Beckie sticking to Evian. She was ready for a shower, wearing only the Mandarin’s courtesy robe, which wrapped around her three times and was long enough she had to take care not to trip but was wonderfully soft and thick. It’s like a wearable blanket, she enthused; idly, she wondered how much they’d add to the bill if she asked for one more her size to take home.
She was sleepily contemplating getting up and exchanging the robe for the hot water of the shower when a knock roused her.
“Willie,” she said when he opened the door and peeked in, “it’s not time for dinner yet, is it?”
“No, couple hours. But, you have a visitor… If you’re ready to see company?”
“Not likely,” she said, plucking at the robe. “Can they… Who is it, anyway? Do I know them?”
“I guess—”
He was pushed through the door. What the hell?
Mike Sverdupe, her brother, worked his way around Willie’s bulk.
Beckie jumped completely off the bed and gripped her brother with all the strength she had. A couple of kisses and they leaned apart.
“What—” they started together.
“You first,” Beckie said. “I know what I’m doing here but you, you’re supposed to be in school. You didn’t get thrown out…”
He laughed, a warm sound to force some of Beckie’s ghosts away. “No, I took a couple days off. Before you ask, Lissa’s okay except mad that she couldn’t come with… me.”
That’s a funny pause. “So, Mom and Dad? They’re okay too? I’m glad I got to see them at Christmas. You guys, too. We don’t see each other enough.”
Willie had excused himself. Decided I’m okay with Mike, I guess. Mike pushed her toward the bed so he could use the make-up table chair.
“Well,” he said, “what with your schedule… You’ll have to slow down soon, Mom says.”
“I suppose. But I’m not in a hurry to do that.” They laughed together at the incongruity of her words. “I’m fine, too, so if that’s why you’re here…”
He looked away. That’s upsetting. He’s fixing to lie to me. “Kinda… But not really. You looked great at Christmas, and you look fine now… Really well padded, even.”
She giggled, pressing the robe’s fabric against her body. “Yeah. I was about to get a shower, so sit right there and I’ll be out in ten minutes.”
“I’ll get the real update from Amy and Willie, til you’re ready.”
In fifteen minutes, Beckie stepped through the door to find Mike alone, waiting for her.
“What? What the fuck is going on? Where are Amy and Willie?”
Mike was up and backing away. “Wait a second, Beckie. Hold on.” When she slowed down, he continued, “Willie and Amy are having dinner. He made a reservation for us, too, at…” He dragged a slip of paper from his pocket. “Well, the cabbie will be able to read it. He says it’s good.”
“I’m sure it will be,” she said, keeping the anger in her head from seeping around her control. “What is going on? Tell me or suffer the consequences!” came roaring back from their childhood.
“At dinner. It’s time to go. It’s not bad, believe me.”
I’d be happier if he believed it.
The maître d’ listened to Mike’s name, and led them to a table tucked into a curtained alcove. Beckie knew from the look of the curtains that they could scream at each other and not bother the other diners. With a little smirk on her face, she guessed that siblings screaming at each other wasn’t the primary reason for the alcove’s existence.
But nonetheless, if Mike didn’t give her some answers, that would be in the cards. She pressed her pique back and resolved to enjoy the evening. They had come to Paris to cement the last job Ian had wanted to take; it was under contract. Amy had done as well as expected, and Solène had been reunited with family. The plane tomorrow… Boynton had reserved first class again. She had only Willie’s promised ‘discussion’ to endure, or maybe even enjoy, depending. And, as she studied the menu—one of those ‘date’ menus with no prices—well, the food’ll be excellent, too, maybe even better than that. “And you can have a little wine, right,” she whispered to the baby. “Just a glass. And none tomorrow, promise.”
“Huh?” Mike said. “What was that?”
“Nothing.” She patted her baby bump. “Just talking to the baby.”
He smiled, then handed her his menu. “I can guess that you’re mad about being given the blank menu…”
“I was, for a second.” She handed it back after a glance. “But I got over it. No, I was just saying I’d have some wine tonight, and none tomorrow on the plane.”
He nodded, but he hadn’t finished. His brow w
as furrowed and… his silverware certainly didn’t deserve that much attention. He set the knife back down after polishing it with his napkin and looked up. “About that… I hoped you could stay for a couple days more…”
Beckie felt her eyebrows rise almost to her hairline. She caught her breath, then, to make an attempt at recovery, she pulled her pony tail around and undid the tie. Her dark hair floated free in the faint movement of the air. “That’s a surprise, Mike.” What is he playing at?
A discreet tap on the curtain frame warned that the waiter was waiting.
“Come,” she said. Mike can wait; I think I’ll need the wine first!
The waiter was a young lady; with her was the sommelier, a white-haired gentleman carrying two flutes and an ice bucket. “Courtesy of your friend,” he said, setting the bucket in a stand Beckie hadn’t noticed. “I have a very nice 2004 Taittinger Comte de Champagne, which I hope you enjoy.” He popped the cork and carefully poured the wine.
He offered the glass to Mike, who demurred. “She is the… expert.”
Beckie smiled and took the glass. She sipped. Woo, baby! I may have more than one! “This is excellent! Thank you.”
He added to Beckie’s glass and poured Mike’s, then ducked through the curtain. Mike tasted his, and nodded to her. The waitress, still hovering beside Mike’s chair, explained the menu and “nos specialites.”
“We’ll be a minute, I think, making our decisions,” Beckie said, and the girl followed the sommelier.
After a brief conversation about the offerings and what do you think you’ll have, Beckie sipped from her flute and gazed over its rim into Mike’s eyes. “Are you going to tell me what this is about now, or will I have to wait until dessert?”
“It’s about Devon. Devon Bredeck. You do remember him, right?”
She thought for a second. “Yeah. But since I don’t think I’ve seen Devon since… since the senior prom… That was, like, four years ago. Why… Why are you bringing him up?” She put her glass down a little too hard, but he apparently didn’t take it amiss; he took the bottle and refilled it. “Thanks, but that’s not what I meant.”
“Yeah, but it took some time.”
“And it is good,” she said with a smile. I know exactly what he’s doing. Lissa hasn’t squashed all his little foibles. “You’re thinking Lissa shoulda done this, not you, right?”
With what could only be a forlorn nod of agreement, he said, “She’d have been better, that’s for sure!” He stopped to run his hand through his still white hair. “But I promised him… I’d do it. He was worried how she’d… approach it, I think.”
Before Beckie could respond, the waitress knocked, prepared to take their orders and offer another bottle of the Taittinger. Mike said “Yes, please,” before giving her their selections.
Beckie’d been goggling at him since he’d asked for the second bottle of wine. “Not any advantage to getting me drunk, little brother.”
“Not in the traditional sense, but you don’t hit as hard when you’re tipsy.”
She reached across the table and smacked his arm. “And maybe I won’t remember it in the morning?”
“No, I’m pretty sure you’ll remember it. I’m not sure exactly what to say… But I can say this for now… Devon’s been watching you since high school. Hell, he’s been watching you since kindergarten!”
The fuck? Now there’s something I could never have expected! What’s he want? What could he want? “Well, you and he were almost the only guys in school not trying to get a hand into my shirt or pants, at least that I recall…”
“Well, you are my sister.”
“And Lissa wouldn’t let you out of hers! But what’s his excuse?”
“He’s in lurve with you. What did you think?”
Beckie smothered her laugh. “I think you can’t deliver that line. But seriously, what?”
“I’m serious. He’s been head over heels for you since forever. He’s smart enough to realize you and Ian were a… perfect match, so he just pined away. Ran marathons for… release, I guess. It was interesting when he found out about… Ian’s death. On the one hand, over the moon that you were… unattached, I guess. And sick at heart that you’d lost him.”
“As much as me?” Beckie turned away. “I’m going to the ladies.”
The waitress pointed Beckie in the correct direction, which included a trip down steep stairs into a short hallway. Well lit… there’s the door.
She had no thoughts except Ian; she sat on one of the under-stuffed mini-sofas that ladies must always need when they retreat to the bathroom. And make no mistake, Beckie, you just retreated. From your brother. No! Not from him. From me! From the idea that I can get over Ian. I don’t want to get over Ian; I love him! And his baby! She hugged herself as close to the child as she could.
The door rattled before opening; she sat up straight and pulled her hair in front of her face, hoping to cover the red-eye evidence. However, the two woman who entered had no interest in others; they carried on their conversation, in French, for the seven minutes they spent in the room.
Alone again, Beckie thought I’d better get my act together and get back to Mike. I suppose he’s trying to help…
She washed her face and made repairs to her minimal make-up. The waitress met her at the top of the stairs. “Pardon, mademoiselle—”
“Madame.”
“Pardon, Madame, you must go to the entry. Your escort has been called.”
Beckie gave the girl a questioning look, then, with a glance into the empty alcove, she hurried to the front. The maitre d’ held the door, but closed it behind her. Yeah, it’s colder since we went in. And the rain’s picked up. She looked up and down trying to find Mike in the few pedestrians rushing to get out of the wet. A Paris taxi stood at the curb. Beckie stepped toward the street for a better view; when she did, an arm snaked out of the vehicle and caught her, pulling her in.
“What…” She smelled the soporific on the rag, but only for a moment. I’m the boss! This doesn’t happen to…
Beckie’s headache woke her. Must have; it’s dark and quiet, with a faint odor of fresh damp evergreens. Oh! Could be my hands are tied, too. After a few moments of investigation, she had decided that she’d been bound by the hands, her belongings had been removed—but not her clothes—and she lay on something low, close to the floor, but not the floor, next to another person. She couldn’t verify, but expected Mike lay there beside her.
Fucking great! She fought her way to stand now that her eyes had adjusted. It was not completely black; a stripe highlighted the bottom of the door and a lamp outside shone dimly, also in stripes, through the window. In addition to the door with the light behind it, another stood open. When she stumbled to it, a commode and sink greeted her. She relieved herself, scrubbed her face and tried to pull her hair back. The tie… it had been in her pocket, but not now. Not even lint there, now. She left the light on… pretty dim… and made a quick survey of her… our! prison.
Mike lay on the side of a mattress that had been dropped in the middle of a hardwood floor. The room was perhaps three times the size of the mattress; it had the two doors she’d already noticed, and a single window covered by shutters, which accounted for the light from the nearly full moon and from the street lamp Beckie could see when she got close. But the window was locked… or painted shut, and the shutters were outside; she couldn’t determine anything else about the location. Wait, second floor, from the height above the ground.
With a sigh, she sat down and berated herself for sloppiness. At least, so far, Mike was safe, unlike the last time she’d not watched her ass close enough, killing Ian. Anger rose in her heart this time; she waited it out. Nothing good comes from unbridled rage.
When she’d breathed her way to calm, close enough, she grabbed Mike’s foot and shook, gently at first, then harder and even harder. Worried, she moved to check his breathing and pulse, but he shook off her hand and began shaky twitching.
After
several minutes of his reaching full consciousness, Beckie said, “Not a good morning, Mike, but—”
“It’s morning? God, I feel sucky!”
“You’re not alone. You think you can untie this cord on my hands?”
He found it easy to help, since his hands were unfettered.
Rubbing her wrists, Beckie said, “I guess this is on me, unless you’ve been doing some really strange research?”
“No. I mean, I’m sure the school is doing things… but me, I’m just a lowly lab assistant, doing nothing more than picking up. Yeah, I think this is pretty much on you. Lissa’s the only one even knows I’m here.”
“Wait, Devon… he knows you’re here, too.”
“Well, yeah, but… he’s here, not there.”
Devon’s getting more and more… I don’t know. Even when I was after Ian, I didn’t try anything like this. Yeah, she snarked at herself, you ran off to London and took off your clothes! Okay, okay. I didn’t say bright, just, I didn’t stalk him. The next thought to illuminate her: “Could this be Devon?”
Mike’s face gave his opinion away. His brows shot up to allow his eyes to open so wide Beckie wondered if they’d fall out on the floor. He fell back on the mattress, then levered himself vertical again. “No, Beckie. I can’t in a million years imagine him doing anything like this to you. It’s just not the way he’s wired.” He paused. “And he speaks no French; his second language is ‘runner.’ He knows no one outside his company, which has no interests outside the U.S. Send someone else to grab you? He’d do it himself if he thought it would work.
“Knowing what he does about you… about us… this isn’t him. No way.”
“It seemed kinda counter to what I remember, but he is an outlier here.”
They spent an hour in talk that advanced Beckie’s knowledge of Devon, his company servicing runners, especially marathon runners who were trying to qualify for those events that weren’t just lace up your sneakers and join the pack. There must have been more than Beckie ever thought; he was making good money, according to Mike. He’d audited several of her Engineering courses… “Must have sat in the back, way in the back,” she said. “I can’t believe I never noticed him.”
