A new team member

…

I had gone over a number of different ways I could run into Juliet, but most seemed staged, and I got the impression from her most recent conversation with Larry, that she was not silly.

In fact, in my mind, a second meeting, coincidental or not, would send up a red flag.  This was where spycraft bordered on Hollywood, we needed to set the stage, and for that, we needed extras.

And that meant a phone call to Alfie.  I told him what I needed, and he asked for 24 hours to set it up, and true to his word, I was in the arrival hall of Venice Airport, waiting for the newest member of the team.

Cecilia Walker was an aspiring actress, an ideal cover for her so-called part-time profession as an agent at large.  We all had cover stories, with both personal and legitimate reasons for being in places that we’d not normally be expected to be.  And in her case, she was never the same person twice, quite literally the master of disguise.

For Cecilia, there was a film festival in Venice she would be attending.  Timing in this case was everything.

As for me, I had a background in archaeology and journalism and was actually employed to write articles for a number of publications, a job I kept up after I left the service, along with the idea of writing a book, which became the object of a long-standing joke between Violetta and I.

One day I would finish it

But ironically, Cecilia had the perfect cover, being able to slip into any role without having to work too hard on the finer details. 

Alfie had sent a photo of her, and even though I did spend a few moments wondering if I might recognize her from some part she may have played, it didn’t stir up any recollection.  Of course, there was always a vast difference between studio poses and real life, and the woman that came out of the gate was quite different from the one I was expecting.

Although the few paparazzi that were loitering in the terminal just in case a celebrity did suddenly arrive, didn’t recognize her, that might be due to the fact she was dressed casually and had changed both hairstyle and color, and, as I had learned from the woman I’d spent a lot of time with, nuances in make-up could make all the difference.

But there was one photographer that was interested, perhaps he had seen her before, and I waited until she had spoken to him before wandering over.  She had scanned the gate area, both to familiarise herself with the layout and people there, as well as locate me, all without looking like she was doing anything other than immediately disembarking the plane.

It showed experience, and preparedness, not her first, as they say, rodeo.

She had been tracking me the whole time, so once I was in her direct line of sight, anyone observing us would assume we were old friends.

There was a hug before words were spoken, the sort that made me realize what I had been missing for some time, warm personal contact.

“You haven’t aged a bit,” she said, a smile lingering.

“It’s the wine, excellent preservative.  You, on the other hand, have grown up.” 

The script called for old friends who hadn’t seen each other for a year or so.

She performed a pirouette and then burst into giggles.  “Sorry, it’s just when I did that for one of my grandmothers, she said I was acting like a tart.”

“Grandmothers can be like that,” I said, remembering Violetta used to use the same word for her sister’s grandchildren.

“My house is a renovator’s disaster at the moment, so we’re staying in a quaint hotel on the edge of the main Canal, and some interesting restaurants.”

Alfie had booked us adjoining rooms on the same floor as Juliet, which, when she learned I would be staying there too, would give me the surprise element I was looking for.

“I am so looking forward to this week.  If we get the time, you’ll have to show me everything.”

In that short distance from the airport terminal to the water taxi berths, there was time enough to discover what had exactly been missing in my life since Violetta had died.

Yes, there was a period of mourning, a period where there had been no point in getting out of bed, a period where I felt completely lost without the one person who made my life make sense.

But in those few short minutes, there it was again, and with it the belief that perhaps there was someone else out there who could fill that gap, but never replace her because there would never be anyone else like her.  Cecilia was not the one, but she was part of the process.

I had to remember, also, she was a consummate actress, that she was playing a role, and it was totally believable.

Once we were on the water taxi and away from prying eyes and ears, I had to ask, “how did you end up on Rodby’s roster, especially in light of how good an actor you are?”

“You think so, why thank you.  But the duality, accidentally.  I got caught in the crossfire, and thinking at the time, someone had changed the script and forgot to tell me, sort of kicked some ass.  Delusions of becoming a female version of Liam Neeson.  Instead, I was offered a recurring female James Bond, in real life.”

Good to know I could depend on her in a scrap.

“This might not come to that, in fact, it might be quite boring.”

She smiled.  “A free trip to Venice, a film festival pass to everything, working with a legend, what’s not to like?”

What had Alfie told her?  Legend I was not, perhaps slightly more successful than the average agent, but I was just doing my job until I didn’t want to do it anymore.  How many of us could say we preferred to sacrifice everything for the love of the one?

“I assume you are up to speed with what’s required of you in the first instance?”

“A role is a role, Evan, and I love a good role.  This woman you’re supposed to be cozying up to, and the guy using her, it’s almost like a plotline in a B grade movie.”

I hadn’t thought of it like that, but now that she mentioned it, it felt a bit like exactly that.

“Should I make her jealous?”

“It’s not like that, or at least that’s the impression I got when I ran into her.  Depends on what Larry’s intentions are.  Chances are when we get to the hotel we might see her again, and you might get an idea.  I’m not the best person reading women’s minds.”

“No man ever is.  We have to have that element of surprise to keep you interested, but if I was in her position, and I saw you with a woman like me, and I was supposed to get close to you for whatever reason, I might be forced into making a move I didn’t want to.  The fact she’s here with you in her sights generally means one thing.”

The question was, how desperate would she be?  That would depend on the motivation, or what leverage he had.  Pushing the envelope might, as Cecilia said force her hand.

So much for a softly, softly approach.

And it might force Larry’s hand as well

“So, is it your first time in Venice?”

“No, I used to come here when younger with my mother who was I guess a Venetian.  After she died, not so much.”

“No other baggage?”  It had surprised me she had only one carrying bag.

It was always excess baggage when traveling anywhere with my ex.

“Only emotional.  I was told to pack light, anything I needed you’d get for me.” 

The accompanying wicked smile was enough.  I’d have to make sure the expense account was big enough.

After a pleasant forty-five-minute grand tour of the canals going the long way to the berths not far from St Mark’s Square, we jumped off as soon as the taxi came alongside.

The hotel wasn’t far from the bronze equestrian monument to Victor Emmanuel II statue, which she took a moment to look at, almost causing several strollers to walk into her.

That element of careless tourist didn’t make her stand-up as much as if she had purposefully walked from the berth to the hotel, a small detail in a studied persona, the role of an extra perhaps in a film.

It was the part of the day, for late summer that I liked the best, and in a week or so, the weather would slowly get colder until Christmas, and winter, was upon us.

Then, she did the complete 360-degree turn just taking it all in.  “Some things never change, I remember all of this.”

Perhaps living off and on for so long here had made me a little immune to the charm of the place, but it was hard not to get caught up in the moment.

“Your hotel awaits.”

For a few seconds the reality of the situation faded into the background, and I could push all the nastiness of Larry and his machinations aside, but then the reality came back, I remembered who I was and what I’d been, and how important it was not to lose sight of the objective.

It had not been easy while Violetta was still alive, nor was hiding the real truth of my past from her.  Yes, I had told her a version of my precious life, and the possible dangers it could present, which was why she suggested we live in a number of different places, never the same in a single location, but with Venice, it had been different.  It had a profound effect on her, and it was where she chose to spend her last days.

It had not held the same effect on me. Not since she passed, and I had been looking to leave, find somewhere new, and different to stay, more so since I learned of Larry’s plans.

Now it just made me angry.

“I’m sorry,” she said, suddenly next to me, “do we need to be someplace?”

“What, no, sorry.”

“You looked annoyed, I hope not with me.”

“No, never.  Just thinking about Larry. And Juliet, I guess I’m lamenting the nuisance the pair of them are in intruding on my solitude.  Something to note, you don’t ever get the luxury of retirement in this business, except in death.”

“Then let’s hope it doesn’t happen.”

…

© Charles Heath 2022

Meeting with the enemy

…

I woke with what one might call metaphorical clouds hanging over my head.

The day before, everything was as normal as it could be, I had plans and was intending to get on with my life, realizing that Violetta would be disappointed if she knew how moribund I’d become.

That was before Alfie had appeared out of nowhere, on a mission for a man I never wanted to see or work for again.

Never say never.

Now I had a target on my back and found myself in a very strange situation.  Normally random events were exactly that, random.  But it would not be when the time came for Juliet to accidentally see me, a coincidence surely.

But not.

For a long time, before I fell into a light, fitful sleep, I went through a variety of scenarios when I imagined we would run into each other, and concluded it would most likely be somewhere in St Marks square.

Then it was a matter of whether on not I would make it easy for her, and was still undecided when sleep came.  Now, in the cold hard light of dawn, I decided it would be better to get it over with as quickly as possible.

I’d also decided that I was not going to give Larry any chance of success, as I had the element of surprise on my side.

I’d also forgotten about those pre-mission nerves, that mixture of fear and excitement when starting out, usually not knowing what was going to happen.  Of course, I was a lot older now, and the world I once lived in had no doubt changed considerably, but not the people in it.  They were the one constant, and most were predictable.

Larry certainly would be.  Juliet would be less so, but knowing her end game would tip the scales in my favour.  How I would deal with her would be dictated on that first meeting.

That too was the fuel for a different sort of feeling.  I knew, back when I first met her, my judgement was impaired by a lot of different drugs, and I wasn’t quite thinking straight, but there had been a spark, and in different circumstances, the outcome might have been different.  I was not sure what I felt right then.

But, I’d soon find out.

I took a water taxi to St Mark’s square, or just a short distance from it, where the statue of xxx greeted all those who disembarked.  From there it was a short walk on the promenade, and instead of heading towards the square, I went in the opposite direction, towards the hotel Juliet was staying.

Getting there early, I was hoping to see her leave the hotel and follow discreetly, waiting for the opportunity to ‘discover’ her.  It was not a surprise to discover her ‘friend’ who greeted her at the airport had the same idea. 

It was evident that Larry didn’t trust her to keep him informed, or the tail was insurance.  Either way, it was a complication.

I found a 0lace to sit, one of many cafes along the promenade, in sight of the hotel entrance and her minder.  Judging by the blank expression, it was possible he didn’t know me by sight, which could be useful.

My phone decided to announce an incoming message, and it was from Alfie.  The identity of one of the men, muscle for a local crime boss, no doubt lent as a favour to Larry, was Giuseppe, last name irrelevant.  The other, one of Larry’s lieutenants here to smooth the path for Larry’s arrival.

Giuseppe’s resume was short, mostly petty crimes, having graduated from peddling knock off’s to the tourists.  Judging by his body language, he was unimpressed with being a minder.  And restless, because over the next half hour he was up and down, pacing, and not happy, having exchanged words with several people who seemingly had walked in front of him.

Perhaps if I provoked him…

No time, Juliet chose that moment to emerge from the hotel.  He was straight out of his seat and walked over to her.  She was not pleased to see him, and I watched them engage in a heated exchange over the next five minutes, drawing attention to themselves, and odd glances from a few tourists.  At what seemed the end of the argument I saw her shrug, and both headed towards the square together.

It was obvious Giuseppe’s instructions were to stay with her, which I imagine would make her job of a chance meeting all that harder.

I followed, discreetly, behind them.

She ambled, taking the time to look around, much like a tourist would, and basically, she was a tourist.  I wondered if she had been to Venice before, and concluded she hadn’t, using her phone camera to take photos of the gondolas, the Canal, the colonnade, the bridge of sighs, and Doges palace; frequently stopping much to Giuseppe’s annoyance.

It took nearly an hour to cover a very short distance, ending up at a Cafe, one of those that jutted out into the square.  She sat at one table, and Giuseppe sat at another, not far from her.

When his attention was elsewhere, watching a group of young female American tourists, I came up from behind and sat beside him, so engrossed in the girls he neither saw nor heard me arrive.

And the reason he almost jumped out of his seat when I said, in his language, “So, Giuseppe, what are you up to now?”

When he recovered, he glared at me.  “Who are you?”  It was not a polite tone.

“Trouble, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“I’m minding my own business.  You should too.”

There was an undertone and implied threat.

“Or what?”

I saw him glance over in Juliet’s direction.  A waiter just delivered coffee and what looked like a cake.

“Who is she?” I asked.

He turned to look at me.  “That’s none of your business.”

It was clear he didn’t know what I looked like and was relying on Juliet to identify me.

“It is if you’re point man of a kidnap team.  Is that what this is about.”

Giuseppe laughed.  “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Maybe, maybe not.  But I’m going over yo that woman you’ve been watching and tell that she has an unwanted admirer, and then if I can find a policeman, I’m going to tell him you’re acting suspiciously.”

His expression told me that was the last thing he needed.  I suspect his track record with the police along with a complaint involving a female tourist might just get him into enough trouble to make him think twice about hanging around.

On the other hand, it might not.  I could see him hesitating, orders to stay versus trouble with the police.  Trouble with the police won out.

He stood.  “You have made yourself some difficulties, this isn’t over.”

I shrugged.  “It will be if I see you loitering near her again.”

He had his phone in his hand as he left and was making a call before he’d taken 20 paces.  The next person wasn’t going to be so easy to spot.

…

© Charles Heath 2022

Making sure I recognized the target

…

It was mid-afternoon and a half hour before her plane touched down when I arrived at the airport by water taxi.  It was not a trip I made often, but that final run from the city across the open water was at times invigorating, sometimes quite pleasant.

Today the water had a chop, and the ride was less smooth than usual.  The driver also seemed to be in a hurry, just about leaving the dock before I’d got off the boat.  It was one of the more interesting ways of arriving at an airport.

It was a leisurely walk to the terminal building, and just as I passed the first of the arrival boards, I saw her plane had landed, about ten minutes early. 

I headed to the gate where as I arrived the first of the passengers were coming through the door.  She was not at the front of the plane, and it is a full flight, it might be a while before she appeared.

I checked to see if there was anyone who seemed out of place, expecting that Larry would not be that trusting to allow her any freedom, but there were no suspicious others, except if you counted me in that category, lurking within eyesight, but masked from the exiting passenger’s view.

It was several minutes before she appeared, casually dressed as a tourist might, in a bright coloured floral dress with a denim jacket, and travelling with a cabin bag she wheeled in front of her.

She looked different again than the photograph, not as gaunt in the face, as if she had recovered from a serious illness.  I could not see the expression on her face, but one thing was clear, she was not happy.

Then I saw why.

A man came up to her just as she left the lounge area, appearing suddenly which meant he had been hidden from me, and she looked surprised, then angry, angry enough that airport security started walking towards them.

The man, seeing the police approaching said something to her, then quickly walked away.  I took a photograph and looking at it realised it wouldn’t be difficult to remember him if I needed to.

Alfie would no doubt tell me who he was in due course.  In the meantime, Juliet had waited for the police and then spoke to them briefly before heading towards the water taxi terminal.

I was closer to that exit and got there before her, checking to see if the man who had accosted her was waiting outside, as he had left in that direction, and had passed quite close to me.  Most noticeable about him, the tattoo of a snake wrapped around his neck.

It gave him that fearsome look that he no doubt used in his profession.

I couldn’t see him, so I headed towards the terminal, this time with the intention of getting the public water bus otherwise known as a Vaporetto.  She followed more casually, taking in the sights as if it was her first time in Venice.

It also gave rise to the thought again of how she was going to ‘run into me’ in a city full of alleyways and hidden passageways, making it easy for even the most experienced traveller to get lost at least once during their visit.  The only possibility was in St marks square or the promenade along the Canal that led off the square from the Doges Palace.

Then I saw him, waiting by a water taxi, or perhaps a private motorboat.  She saw him too and headed straight for the Vaporetto, boarding just before it departed, giving him no chance to catch her.  It was an amusing charade, and an act of defiance she would probably pay for later.

It provided an opportunity to follow him, and when he left, I asked the driver of my water taxi to follow him, coming up with a suitable excuse why I would want to do so, but not sure the driver believed me.  One thing was certain, with a captive passenger, he could charge a premium fare knowing I’d have to pay it.

Keeping a suitable distance between us, he followed the boat to Murano, the island of glass-blowing factories.  He waited until the driver of the boat left the dock and then took his place for me to disembark, and then I gave him a head start before following discreetly, or as discretely as I could in the circumstances.  There were not many visitors about, so I could hardly lose myself in the crowd.

We passed several glass showrooms on the way alongside the Canal until he reached a bridge and crossed it.  On the other side, I could see a basilica, yet another of the many churches in the city, each as old and ornate as the next, and one of the many I’d visited over time and many visits to the city.

But this was not one I’d been to before.

On the other side of the bridge, not far from the church, he stopped and turned around.  It was as if he knew he was being followed, and fortunately, just at that moment I was all but hidden behind the base of the bridge on the opposite side of the Canal.

A long hard stare at each of those he could see, including those crossing the bridge, then he shrugged and walked towards another man, similarly dressed, waiting outside the church. 

I managed to get a better photograph of him and one of his new companions too, just before they met and walked into the church.  I was not going to follow them in.  I was hoping Alfie would find out who they were, and where to find them, though I had a feeling I was going to meet them again, but not in similar circumstances.

Another question popped into my head as I walked back to the Vaporetto station.  Where was Larry right now?  On his way to Venice?  Or would he wait until Juliet made contact?  I knew which hotel she was staying in, a rather small but interesting one I’d stayed at the first time I came to Venice, do I could find her any time I wanted to.

…

© Charles Heath 2022

An old acquaintance

…

I had three questions that needed answers.

First, how did Larry find out I was the one behind his brother’s death?

It begged the question of whether there was a leak in Rodby’s organization because he was the only one other than the logistics team that knew anything about that mission.

It could be that he assumed that being part of the team sent to neutralize a problem, that I was the perpetrator or I knew who was.  Either way, I didn’t like my chances of surviving an interrogation.

Or someone had been taking photos of the crime scene, even though I’d taken precautions not to be recognized, slipped up, but that would assume he had photos of everyone on the team.  I made a note to ask about the health of the other team members.

I would have to compile a list of questions to ask Larry when we finally met, what one might call a fly on the wall moment.

The second, how did Larry know of my association with Juliet.  She was a respected doctor in a respectable hospital when I last saw her.

To be known to Larry, she had to have fallen from that pedestal.  Given what the Waterville organization was known for, all of the branches of crime seemed far removed from who and what she was.

Some investigation was needed, and I sent a message to Alfie on the burner phone he left me.  It had a few other tricks up its sleeve like recording conversations and taking photos that were automatically sent back to base, and an app that detected recording equipment like those used by the security services.

If Juliet was wired, I’d know.

And speaking of Juliet, the third question was how she going to orchestrate a casual meeting between us, and could I muster the necessary surprise when we finally crossed paths.

When a message arrived later in the day in response to my query, it had a current photo and an abbreviated resume of her life since the last time I saw her.

The first sentence that caught my eye was that she was no longer a doctor.  Well, not a practicing doctor.  It seemed the stress of working endless hours in the hospital led to an accident when she had been overtired, which led to an addiction to painkillers when led to self-medicating to making a mistake.

That led to seeking other means of fulfilling the addiction, and that was a slippery slope.  Without reading the fine print, it was a simple connection from ex-doctor to addict to a soul depended on a person the likes of Larry.  To him, a doctor of her caliber would be useful in patching up criminals who couldn’t go to hospitals to be patched up after committing a crime and getting injured if not shot in the process

Now, Larry had another use for her.

The current photo of her showed a woman who had aged more than normal, perhaps as a result of drug abuse, thinner than I remembered her, and with straw blonde hair replacing the rich burgundy she used to have.

Her recent resume was more of a horror story than the life she may once have expected for herself, but desperation often led people down paths the least desired, and saying they had choices was not always true.  It would be interesting to learn if she would be willing to tell me about any of it.

There was also a footnote that told me where and when would be arriving, the airport, the following day, and I decided to go and check her out, to make sure I’d recognize her when the time came.  As she was now, I didn’t think, without the photograph Alfie had sent me, I would have recognized her on the street.

…

© Charles Heath 2022