UNEXPECTED PROSPECT

Sitting behind his desk pondering her objection, Sloane takes just a moment before he replies, “You’re telling me this is going to be a problem?”

Sydney stares at her boss in disbelief at what he’s asking her to do. Throughout her many years of employment at SD-6, she’s had many a task that was uncomfortable and at best only questioned her values. She’d been shot at, had her face licked and tortured yes, but for some reason what Sloane was asking her to do went beyond that. Nothing came close to how awkward she feels with this newest op.

With her arms crossed in defense, she questions, “Do you realize what you’re asking me to do,” almost at a whisper, to keep any unwanted outside attention to her concern. “There has to be another way.”

Sloane eyes her curiously. He knows she faced worse than this. He’s seen the bruises, heard of the circumstances. Why this, why now? “To a person of your professional status and experience, I don’t see the area of concern,” he answers, “We need two people for this since the window of opportunity is so small and Dixon is currently working elsewhere. This is just another job there are no expectations to this façade besides getting what we want.”

Feeling the pang of defeat knowing her objections are beginning to sound more trivial, Sydney bites her lip and accepts it. Not sure why she feels so uncomfortable about the trip, she picks up her brief bag and walks to leave his office. As she exits, she comments to herself, “Make sure you remind Sark of that too.”

Walking toward the secured elevator, her thoughts are consumed with questions of the origin of her unsettled feelings. Was it that Sark was a proven enemy of SD-6 and CIA? Or could it be the fact that every time she looked up from her work, a meeting or anything else in office, he seemed to be fixated on her in some way. Maybe it was on occasion, she hesitantly admits, when it was the other way around. Sark would catch her as she’d been purposely stealing a look. Distracted, she takes the corner near the exit a little too fast and without paying any attention.

“Whoa,” Sark says as he places his hand on her shoulder, stopping the collision between the two of them. “Better watch where you’re going Sydney.”

The warmness of his hand penetrates through her suit jacket and shirt. She shrugs it off, but not before a noticeable amount of pause. “You should do the same,” she warns as she feels a flush rise to her face.

Just before she steps to leave, Sark interjects, “So do you want me to pick you up tomorrow morning then.”

Sydney immediately snaps, “You’ll not come anywhere near my house.”

Sark’s eyes widen and Sydney notices his lower lip doing that pouty thing it does the few times she’s seen him amused. How she hates the fact she notices it and grows even more furious at the sight of his signature cocky smile.

“Ms. Bristow, I do hope you’re going to be a bit more pleasant when we’re husband and wife,” he taunts hoping to provoke her.

Narrowing her eyes in detest, Sydney gives no answer, just brushes by him accidentally grazing his arm with hers. “Bastard,” she mutters then proceeds to the exit.

Of all people, she questions later that night while packing one of her suitcases, why him? Of all the things she could have been asked to do, why this?

 She rummages through her nightclothes, trying to find the most suitable. Not an easy task when you have to choose between pairs of cotton pj’s with animals or skimpy solid colored cotton briefs with matching spaghetti strap tanks.

Years she’s worked with Dixon and maybe only a handful of times had she been disguised as a girlfriend. Now she’s ordered to be the newlywed wife of SD-6’s newly acquired possession, for a whole week no less. Stopping for just a moment, she recognizes the odd feeling of nervousness as it takes her.

‘Newlywed wife,’ she repeats. What’s worse is everything that goes along with that title. Shared quarters, a week of acting as if she adores her partner, public displays of affection…

“Dear lord,” she says aloud.

Lost in worry, she doesn’t hear Francie enter the room, “Two suitcases,” she complains to Sydney. “How long are they making you stay away this time?”

Sydney faces her and smiles, “If I’m lucky, only a week.” She watches as Francie looks at her with disbelief. But before she can make any of the usual comments about continual travel, Sydney interrupts, “Please don’t start, believe me I know too well I just got back from New York two days ago.”

“You must be damn good at what you do Syd,” Francie says. “And you must enjoy it to take the crap they dish you.”

Sydney laughs and discloses, “Today’s not the day to ask about the latter.”

With sympathy in her voice, Francie ends the conversation, “Well Christmas is in less than two weeks, I hope they don't make you stay away for the holiday.” Before Sydney can respond, Francie exits.

*******

Finding peace in an airport is no easy task, especially if you’re waiting in one, right before lunch rush. Old habits don’t die and people watching is one of hers. All the businessmen walking about in their expensive suits, following their own routine of winding through the line to get to the ticket counter. Cell phones in hand, on occasion they speak a little too loud as if the large numbers thrown out over the line were a form of phallic symbol.

One glance at her reflection in the window brings Sydney back to reality. Most times she hardly recognizes herself when in disguise and this morning is no different. The shoulder length brown wig with gold flecks styled in a perfect wave has become one of her favorites. Along with a new cream colored deep v-neck tank matched perfectly with her tan dress pant and Gucci print boots. Her ensemble, which includes a matching tan pea coat, cost more than one-week pay, she assumes. Not really her style either, but then she’s no longer herself.

Being someone else always rejuvenates her. Some would say it was due to an underlying awkwardness in her skin. Of course she’d debate that, everyone needs an escape from true life whether it be some sort of healthy addiction or in her case, work and a temporary change of being.

Waiting for her companion, she reaches into her Jackie O style Gucci bag to retrieve her traveling papers, just to familiarize herself further.

“Claudette,” Sydney hears from behind, “you ready?”

His voice is a bit hoarse, yet she feels her heart rate quicken at the sound. Only when she stands does she bring herself to meet his eye - casual yes, with his pressed denim jeans combined with a thin taupe crewneck sweater, but very appropriate considering the circumstances.

Now Sydney feels the reality of this, she will be alone with this man, relying solely on his talent and vice versa for the duration. All this comes to surface with one look in his eyes, eyes that shift away when her gaze lingers too long. Before she can take her carryon, he slings it over his shoulder. The sort of gesture a husband would normally make for his wife.

“Mr. and Mrs. Binoche,” the hotel desk clerk announces as he reads their reservation. “Welcome to the Park Tower Buenos Aires. We hope you enjoy your honeymoon in Argentina.”

The clerk slips Sark an access card as he replies, “We plan to do just that, thank you.”

Sydney smiles at the clerk before following Sark to the elevator. She watches as her faux husband strides confidently through the sumptuous lobby. Her thoughts momentarily wander to what he’s thinking.

Less than twenty words were said between them in the last thirty hours of reaching their destination. Nothing much too say, just the minimal, ‘Do you need help with that’ or the occasional question of her comfort. He’ll have to bring much more to the table if he wants to make this believable, stating this raises her concern. We only have five days to befriend the targets and it’s not going to be easy with a cold fish.

Upon entering the suite, Sydney is taken aback at its scheme. Reds, gold and uniquely shaped wooden furniture, compliment the detailed ceiling trim. Running her hand along the red, crushed velvet sofa and feeling the friction generate on her hand, she’s more than satisfied with their accommodations. Walking a bit farther, she comes across what she assumes correctly to be the bedroom door.

Plush and immaculate, she remarks while walking around the capacious room and nears the king size bed encased in dark wood. The red velvet blanket accented with large gold throw pillows appears welcoming, after such a long trip.

Too engrossed to notice, she’s startled at the sound of Sark’s voice coming from just inside the bedroom door, “Would you like something to eat?”

While hanging up her jacket, she responds, “Sure, there should be a room service menu by the phone.”

“Actually, the surveillance we’re linked to show Marcus and Consuela Espinoza were just seated downstairs. I rang to reserve the table next to theirs,” he informs her while casually leaning against the frame of the door.

Sydney unzips the front pocket of her bag and pulls out her makeup case, “Fine just give me about five minutes.”

Makeup perfected, Sydney meets Sark, who was waiting just outside the suite. Must of made a quick change, she notes, he’s now dressed in a tan single breasted suit with crisp white dress shirt and complimenting tie.

“Everything is set downstairs,” he starts. “You’re going to be up to this?”

Sydney glances at him as they ride down the elevator. “I’ve got my game face on, I’m more concerned about you.” She watches as he smiles seemingly amused.

Silent for the last few seconds of the elevator ride, he responds when they reach the lobby, “I’ve been ready for this since Los Angeles.”

As the elevator door opens, Sydney looks at Sark, almost feeling his last statement was more complex than it seemed. Momentarily she hesitates then steps behind him, following his lead into the hotel restaurant.

“Binoche,” Sark informs the maitre de of their reservation.

Sydney scans inside to see if she can spot the newlywed couple they’re here to contact. “Right this way sir,” the maitre de answers.

Interrupted by the feel of Sark’s hand sliding around her waist then coming to rest on her hip, Sydney allows Sark to guide her. “Come on dear,” he softly speaks in her ear, sending a chill down her.

**************

Marcus Espinoza founder and head of Espinoz Technologies had been in tech since age twenty. Before his independence, his business ranged from processor to V.P of Operations of a major electronics company. Most recently, unbeknownst to him, Marcus gave satellite access to K-Directorate businessmen the reason SD-6 sent them here. Now at forty-two, Marcus wed Consuela Frias faithful companion of over ten years, also ten years his junior.

 Sydney walks by the table, catching a glimpse of the couple. Consuela’s raven hair swept up in a loose wrap, showing off what look like two-karat diamond earrings. A handsome man in his own right, Marcus Espinoza sits across from his bride and even by candlelight one can see him watching her with a spark of love in his eyes.

Properly, Sark stands behind the chair, waiting for Sydney to sit as the maitre de looks on. “Your waiter will be here in just a moment,” he dismisses himself. Sitting across from Sark in silence, Sydney reaches for the menu to have something to take her attention away from the quiet.

“I love you so much, my dear. I can’t go a day without you.”

Sydney does her best to eavesdrop on their neighbor’s conversation. At last glance, Marcus was holding his wife’s hand, stroking it gently. Having gone through two bottles of wine, both should be fully intoxicated by now, she guesses.

Both Sydney and Sark had finished their dinner over five minutes ago. In hopes of drowning some of her nervousness, she finished at least half of their bottle of wine. Sadly, all she succeeded to do was get lost in more thought. This man, her husband sitting across from her was ever so quiet. His comfort level must be near hers for she has no idea where to begin this.

Surprised at his movement, Sydney watches Sark stand to leave pausing first by her chair. As she looks up at him, he lowers his head to gently place a kiss in her hair, “I’ll be right back,” he whispers in her ear. 

Curiously she watches as he walks toward the lobby of the hotel disappearing from her sight. Placing partial concentration back on the Espinoza’s, Sydney sighs, a bit frustrated by the night’s slowness. One of them needs to ease this tension before they blow the op.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sydney spies the couple sharing a moment of intimacy, their lips engaged so sweetly. How wonderful it must be to be in that sort of love, where you’re unable to live without the other. Danny loved her when he was alive as she did him, but just listening to Marcus’ words of genuine adoration for his wife has Sydney believing something was missing. That ache, deep in your gut when your partner was away only dissolving once you’re in their arms again. Sometimes she’s saddened by the thought of that type of love or even that one person doesn’t exist for her, again that’s in the rare moment when she can reflect on it.

Just as she finishes her glass of wine, Sark returns to the table. From the look in his eye, Sydney can tell he’s seen the kiss the Espinoza’s are still working on. In their first moment of ease, they smile at each other mildly embarrassed with the display. As if on cue, Sydney hears a small commotion from behind and she turns to find the house band approaching their instruments.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the emcee begins. “Although we told you our set was complete over an hour ago, we’ve been inspired to return for an encore.” The entire restaurant fixates on the dance floor in front of the band as he begins to read from a slip of paper. “The love for a woman is difficult to put into words, so much so confessions of such are rarely ever made by a man. Only when you find that one person, the one that brings you into the life you never dreamed existed, can a man begin to express what’s truly in his soul. In mine, what I can tell you is you are the most beautiful person in my life.” The emcee places the paper in his pocket, “Claudette Binoche, your husband wanted to express his love for you with those words and this song.”

Sydney watches as Sark stands, just as the band starts to play ‘Only Time Will Tell’ by Etta James. The familiar tune Francie would make her listen to while she went through one of her many music phases. Right before her, he extends his hand, inviting her to the dance floor. As she meets his eye, she notices a smile so much more the opposite of any she’s seen in their previous encounters. Wiped clean of any cockiness, arrogance or spite, what’s left is perfect, boyish charm. Of course she accepts his invite by placing her hand in his and allowing him to lead her to the floor.

I just needed someone, somebody to hold
When the bottle was empty
And the nights grew cold
In my hour of darkness
In my time of need
You were my angel of mercy
And helped me to believe

No notice is given to the thirty or so pairs of eyes that have followed them as they approach the dance floor. Nor is any notice given to the few gentlemen who unconsciously wrapped their arms around their companions, touched by Mr. Binoche’s words. All she can watch is the man in front of her as he leads her to a dance.

You touched my soul
When I was lonely
You held me up
When I couldn't fly
There's no words could explain
How I feel inside

Finally after what seemed more like a few minutes, they reach the floor. Sark faces Sydney and slides his hand around her waist, slowly pulling her to him. In return, Sydney places one hand on his shoulder while laying the other in his free hand.

And this I tell you
In a world full of anger
In times gone strange
You held me close
You held me close to you

Moving as one, they slowly sway to the music. Finding it easier to play her part now, Sydney looks at Sark hoping it appears to be with the kind of love a wife would show her husband. She takes it a step further by slipping her hand up the back of his neck, messing with his small curls. Acting like he enjoys the sensation, Sark closes his eyes with her touch.

Lay my head on your shoulder
I finally let it all out
It felt good for a moment
Not living in a shadow of doubt

Sark brings their intertwined hands near his heart, drawing Sydney to lay her head on his shoulder. In a voice rich with sultriness, he whispers near her ear, “They haven’t taken their eyes off us yet.”

But everybody needs a little something
To pull them through
I gave one for the other
And God know that the other was you

Sydney closes her eyes, beginning to get lost in the moment. Even thought it was all staged his words were some of the most romantic she’s ever heard. The song was a perfect addition.

Now only time will tell
If our love is scratched in sand

Or if it's etched in stone
Only time will tell
If our love will stand
Or walk the road alone

When Sydney reopens her eyes, she’s pleased to find The Espinoza’s have joined them now, dancing within a few feet. Surprisingly, Sydney makes eye contact with Consuela, who smiles cordially. Sydney does the same, making the initial contact.

My angel of mercy
Pulled me through somehow
I just hope you know
I need you now
You're the one
That touched my very soul
The one who held on tight
God knows you never let go

The song nearing its end, Sydney takes her head from Sark’s shoulder. With a handful of couples around them, most engrossed with their partners, Sydney watches Sark as he momentarily looks to his side finding their target couple watching the two of them.

Angel of mercy
It's time we closed the door
Put out the lights
And burn the fire
Burn the fire inside
Angel of mercy
You pulled me through
And this I tell to you
Lord know I'd tell it to you

Playing to the crowd, Sark meets Sydney’s eye. Gently he moves a stray hair from her face. His eyes sparkling with the brightest blue, he speaks just loud enough, “You’re everything.” Sydney reacts by returning a loving look. Catching her off guard, Sark lowers his mouth to Sydney’s overpowering her lips.

No choice in the matter, Sydney responds by first cupping the side of his face, then partially opening her mouth allowing his tongue room to explore. The taste of wine on his breath is sweet and just like hers his breathing becomes irregular as the kiss grows with intensity.

‘What is he doing,’ she screams internally, feeling his tongue as it massages the inside of her mouth. Almost terrified by the rush he’s sending all through her body, awakening feelings she thought were permanently dormant, she realizes her inability to stop without looking suspicious.

Thankfully a few moments after the song ends, Sark ends the kiss by softly grazing her cheek with the back of his hand. Before they part, Sark stays less than an inch from her face she assumes to catch his breath. Sydney watches, as his eyes appear to transform into a darker blue as he speaks, “I love you.”

Frozen by what she reads as truth, Sydney takes a moment before placing her hand in Sark’s so he can guide her back to the table. Making her way back she listens as the band starts to play ‘Parker’s Mood’ and is perplexed by the question that surfaces.

Did Sark realize Marcus and Consuela were no longer near when he spoke? She had no idea they had left, for some reason that was the furthest thing from her mind. Something had awakened in her she felt it winding through her body, enhancing everything around her. Calming herself, she reasons that Sark must not have noticed the couple leaving either.

Continued ==>