So Dick had shaved the scraggle of patchy facial hair off which he had been growing since that fateful night at the sewage treatment plant and had trimmed up his locks (with the help of a barber - Dick was going to trim his hair himself, but Adrian had insisted).
“I say, my boy, you are looking respectable!” Adrian had said upon seeing him. Dick had to admit that he felt respectable as well. The suit Dick had worn for his mother’s funeral hadn’t fit nearly as perfectly as the one he was wearing currently, a white jacket with a black bowtie and pants. He had requested a suit based on what he’d seen Daniel Craig wear in one of his James Bond movies.
Whatever this Black Eagle was, it undoubtedly was fancy.
Adrian was dressed sharply in a grey suit with black trim. It was expensive – the fabric was almost shiny. Dick looked at the suit with wonder and admiration in his eyes. The British man looked every bit the aristocrat that his accent suggested he was, he exuded power and confidence in his every movement.
“Here, this would be for you,” Adrian said, grabbing a pair of flutes filled with champagne from the table and passing one to Dick.
“I don’t think that I can afford-“
“Oh pshaw, old boy! Everything that you see here is complimentary! This is a Dom Perignon. Later on, we’ll have a glass of the smashingly good stuff.”
Dick grabbed the champagne flute in his long fingers and tried a sip. The taste was crisp, and just a little bit tart. The bubbles burned his throat as well. He decided that he liked this drink.
“It’s a sipping drink, my boy. No need to put your pinkie up like that, grab the glass normally. Like this, see? Very good. Now, enjoy yourself, but don’t leave without me. Do I have your word?”
Dick nodded his consent as he looked around at the large, extravagant ballroom. Magnificent glass chandeliers hung from the ceiling at regular intervals, bathing the hall in a fuzzy soft white light that made everything seem like it was straight out of a pleasant dream.
There were standing tables and a large area at the front where many guests were dancing along to the instrumental band playing in the corner. All in all, a few hundred guests were laughing and drinking and dancing.
Everybody here has money.
There were many servers dressed smartly in white tuxedos circulating the floor with drinks and hors d’ouevres. Guests mixed together, telling stories and laughing. The decadence on display was breathtaking. Dick gasped in amazement.
“This is all for us?”
“Precisely, my boy. We’ve won a great victory. Come, mingle with the guests.”
Dick walked around the hall feeling like a celebrity. People whom he had never met or heard of before were shaking his hand, and congratulating him on his achievement.
He was nervous. He didn’t know anyone besides Adrian in the room, and his experience with people in the “upper class” was not pleasant. He usually saw them screaming at baristas when they had issues with their caramel macchiatos.
Fortunately, perhaps sensing Dick’s discomfort, Adrian always seemed to be close to him. It was a reassuring thought for Dick to have a friend so close by.
People would come, and they would go, telling him names that he knew he wouldn’t remember.
“I am the Viscount du Chandalier. Truly an honor to shake your hand. Such an exciting time.”
“Can I get you something? Another glass of champagne, perhaps?”
Dick felt his head getting lighter, and his ears turn rosy red. The bubbly champagne was going to his head already, after just a few drinks.
When did I become such a drinker?
The lights, the laughter, the colors. Everything was blending perfectly. Dick stumbled over to a corner and looked over.
Beside him, there was a band with a few violinists and a cello playing soft classical music which was setting a beautiful ambiance for the evening’s festivities.
Dick approached the band leader, clapping as they concluded a string rendition of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata.
“That was beautiful,” Dick said
“Thank you, master…”
“Richard. My name’s Richard.” He reached out and shook the proffered hand, ignoring the faint look of sensible disgust which the violinist had on his face.
“Always happy to entertain, master Richard. Now, if you’ll excuse me-“ The cellist made to turn back to the band, to start another song.
“So I’ve been thinking,”
“Do tell,” the cellist stated dryly. His brow furrowed in annoyance, his bushy eyebrows almost touching together.
“Your music has been very slow. I really think that we should be livening it up a bit, don’t you think?”
“Master Richard, our set list has been approved and vetted for the entire evening. To diverge from the set list is beyond unprofessional.”
“Oh,” Dick considered for a moment, scrunching up his face in thought. “I wouldn’t want that. Oh! I know. Just tell them that I told you to change it. This is all for me, after all.”
The cellist sighed, tuning a chord as he answered.
“As you wish.”
For the first time in his adult life, Dick felt important. He looked around at a ballroom filled with smartly dressed people and imagined what they did. That guy with the thin pencil mustache was probably a prince or a duke or something.
He could see Abelard across the hall chatting with a few gentlemen dressed in formal military attire. He looked vastly different from the meeting which he and Adrian had attended. This Abelard seems warm and friendly and inviting. Dick wondered how that was possible.
“Sir? Master Richard?”
“Hmm?”
“What would you like to hear sir?” Dick considered for a moment, then told the cellist his selection. The disgust on his face was plain. “Very well sir.”
“Dick!” Adrian called, walking up to the band, “I’ve been looking for you, my boy. Come with me.”
Adrian guided Dick through the crowd, walking up to a standing table where a man with considerable mutton chops was talking with his beautiful date. As the two men approached the table, though, he dismissed her with a word.
“Adrian,” thundered the mutton-chopped man, “well met indeed!”
“Well met, Tobias. Permit me to introduce you to the illustrious Dick Mitey. He is American.”
“American?” Tobias looked at him with interest, peering out from behind his horn-rimmed glasses. “Indeed. Tobias Specht.” The large man reached out a meaty palm, engulfing Dick’s hand in his own.
“Tobias is the deputy mayor of Berlin,” Adrian explained.
“Indeed,” Dick said, trying hard to mimic what he believed to be proper etiquette when talking with important people such as the Deputy Mayor of Berlin. “Well met, indeed.”
Dick could see Adrian glaring at him out of the corner of his eye.
“Have you tried the shrimp?” Adrian asked, “they’re delicious.” Adrian caught the eye of one of the servers patrolling the ballroom dressed in white jackets and waived him over.
Dick was a bit in awe – he had been trying to get the attention of the servers since the beginning of the night to no avail.
“Indeed,” said Dick, “just leave the tray here.” The server acquiesced with a slight bow and set the tray down in front of them.
“What is it that you’ll do going forward, Dick?” Tobias Specht asked, grooming his luxurious mutton chops with his right hand.
“Well, you see –“
“He’s integral to the project, Herr Specht. We’re discussing plans currently,” Adrian said, answering for Dick.
Dick didn’t recall discussing the future with Adrian at all, but he could sense that the blonde man wanted him to steer away from that topic.
“Is that so?” Specht looked with renewed interest at Dick. “He wasn’t just in the retrieval?”
“No, sir.” Dick didn’t notice Adrian giving a subtle hand signal to Specht, advising him to stop talking.
; “Indeed,” Dick said, sticking a whole shrimp into his mouth, tail and all. “Formerly of the sewage treatment plant.” He chewed loudly, wondering why people who had money seemed to love shrimp so much. “These are crunchy!”
Dick tried to remove the mangled tail of the shrimp from his mouth without drawing attention to himself.
“Well, I must extend my congratulations to the both of you,” Tobias said as he put down the shrimp he was about to eat. Dick’s display had caused him to lose his appetite. “We are beyond excited for the announcement tonight!”
“Herr Specht, don’t spoil the surprise! Especially not in front of the guest of honor,” Adrian admonished. “Although, that does jog my memory. Abelard Lochte has requested to speak with you before the announcement. Would you please confer with him at your convenience?” Adrian articulated.
“Indeed. I shall find Lochte right away. Waiter, two glasses of port delivered to my office. Gentlemen,” Tobias Specht walked away from the table, navigated the crowd and quickly found Lochte. Dick watched as the two exchanged hushed words, and walked away together.
“What is the bloody hell is this band playing?” Adrian asked.
The band had begun to play the song which Dick had requested – an instrumental version of All-Star by Smashmouth. Guests on the ballroom dance floor had stopped dancing in confusion. A couple sat down with a huff, apparently not happy with the esoteric selection.
“Doesn’t it just make you happy?” Dick asked. Adrian stared at Dick for a moment before shaking his head and walking away. “What?” Dick called after him.
“I guess some people just don’t know good music,” Dick muttered, popping another shrimp into his mouth. “Here, you can take this away,” Dick grabbed the arm of a passing waiter. “They’re a little tasty, but I really don’t like the crunch.”
And so the evening progressed. Abelard and Tobias reappeared, both smiling. Tobias even raised a glass in a toast in Dick’ direction. That was a good thing, he figured. Eventually, though, Dick couldn’t hold it any longer. He just really needed to pee.
He told Adrian as much – the man had never been too far away the entire evening, then set off in search of a public washroom.
It took him much longer to find the bathroom than he would care to admit. A few times he almost gave in and unleashed his stream into the nearest potted plant, but he stayed strong.
That wasn’t the type of thing that one did in a fancy shin-dig like this. Dick could only imagine the tongue lashing that Adrian would give him if someone were to catch him pissing into a plant!
Eventually, he found his way into the men’s room, which was by far the classiest washroom that Dick had ever had the pleasure of peeing in. The wood bathroom frames and the marble floor looked more like an executive’s office then a restroom. There was even hand towels instead of paper towels!
Dick didn’t have the time to admire the woodwork and the architecture, however. He rushed into the first stall, unzipped and ahh.
There wasn’t much in the world that felt better than finally peeing after holding it in for too long, that was for sure.
Had Dick been paying attention he might have heard the door open and close with a soft whir, or the snickt of the deadbolt sliding into the latch. He might have even heard the stiletto heels clicking across the marble of the bathroom floor.
But he did not. Instead, he was pushing out the last few drops of urine while singing to himself.
“Hello Dick,” said the distinctly familiar and feminine voice. He turned, in his surprise forgetting to zip himself back up.
Standing behind him was a woman in a tight black velvet dress which ended at her upper thigh. It featured a plunging neckline which cut down to her navel and did a fantastic job of showing off the woman’s toned athletic body.
She seemed very familiar, somehow. Dick couldn’t place where he’d seen her before.
“If you’re going to stare at my breasts at least put your dick away, asshole.”
Dick apologized and zipped up, turning his slight frame away from the pretty woman standing in front of him out of modesty.
“Good,” she said. And then she kneed Dick in the crotch. Rolling around on the floor in excruciating pain, Dick realized where he’d seen her before. Standing before him in all her distantly cold beauty was Sarah Nieminen.
“Fucker,” she said.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sarah looked down at the tall, awkward looking person who was writhing in pain on the floor. She felt like kicking him again but decided against it.
“That’s for not being honest with us. And for Connor,” she said in her musical voice.
After the incident at the sewage treatment plant, the CIA had done extensive research on Dick Mitey looking for anything to suggest a criminal or terrorist background.
He seemed to live a boring life, as far as anyone could tell.
But she’d been there, she’d met Dick. She’d seen him drive by in the white van with the blonde stranger. Everything was pointing towards Dick as an international conspirator.
Everything except her gut, that was.
None of it made any sense.
The Agency had even extrapolated what had happened. The body of Alfred Gunter Katzmann had somehow ended up at the sewage treatment plant, ostensibly as a way to hide it until they were ready to transport.
They had then snuck out the body the following evening. It would have worked flawlessly if the sewage treatment plant hadn’t been under observation, too.
But there was no reason that she could think of for an innocent man to not comply with their investigation, no reason to withhold that he’d seen a body.
She’d practically begged for an assignment such as this before the incident at the sewage treatment plant. It seemed perfect. Her track record wasn’t perfect, but it was pretty damn good. Or it had been until she had let the blonde man escape.
She hoped that the one slip up wouldn’t take away from fifteen quality years.
For every Mo Al-Azhar and Connor Browne in the agency, there were three like Rico or Walker. She knew that in the back of their minds she was just a girl. A girl that didn’t deserve to play in the big leagues with the rest of them. She’d felt that sexism her entire adult life, but she’d realized early on that she had a choice. She could let it bring her down, or she could use it as a tool instead.
She was not going to let herself be defined exclusively by her gender.
That helpless feeling that sometimes came with it was a tool. Motivation in the gym, in Sarah’s relentless pursuit of respect. Hell, whenever she took home a guy from the bar, she made sure that she was going to come first. They didn’t like that much, but Sarah didn’t care. Feeling powerful and in charge turned her on more than any bulging bicep or toned stomach ever could.
She felt powerful right now. She could feel the men’s eyes on her as she walked in. It had taken the CIA a lot to get her in undetected, and she wasn’t about to screw that up; not after she’d let Dick and that cadaver slip through her fingers in Houston.
Mo had almost pulled her off the case, even. But it was still her case, even with Connor Browne still recovering slowly in a hospital room.
Sarah looked at Dick on the ground.
“I’m going to need you to be very quiet,” she said as Dick whimpered on the ground. Security had been strict, but Sarah didn’t need a gun to be deadly effective. “If you comply, you won’t be harmed. Fair enough?”
“Ye-yes.” Stammered the awkward looking man on the floor.
During their mission surveillance, Sarah decided that Dick was the most likely target for interrogation. The other man, finally identified as Adrian Vandervoort, had a strong military background and was most likely well versed in anti-interrogation tactics. Dick, on the other hand…
“Who do you work for?”
“The sew-sewage treatment plant.”
“Don’t fuck around with me. What, you think I’m stupid or something? Believe me whe
n I say the CIA is very persuasive when we need to be, fucker.” She moved to kick him again.
“Please don’t hurt me. I bruise like a peach! Please, I just want to go home!” Tears were streaming down his face. Either Dick was a fantastic actor, or he was telling the truth.
“Then you’re going to have to cooperate and tell me what you know. No, don’t use your suit jacket to wipe your nose… here.” Sarah passed him some torn up toilet paper. It was high-quality toilet paper, and it was almost as soft as an actual kleenex. These folks held nothing back in quality. She rolled it up and passed the wad to Dick.
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