The Export

by J. K. Kelly

  “No, no, not funny at all,” Matt assured her, gesturing for her to take a seat on the stool next to him. “I’m so sorry, I’m just a bit clumsy.”

  The woman tossed her packet onto the bar and then ran her fingers through her long blonde hair, doing her best to recover from the collisions. She looked to the mirror behind the bar that was partially obscured by the dozens of liquor bottles stacked in front of it and then sat down.

  “Okay, I’m over it,” she said with a laugh of her own.

  “Quebec?” Matt asked her, gesturing for the bartender to come to them.

  “No, Montreal,” she replied. “Clumsy or not, you’re going to have to buy me a shot of something so I can settle down.”

  “Two Jägers and two vodkas,” he told the bartender. She smiled. “Come on, nobody’s ever needed a drink after meeting me before.”

  “No, it’s not you,” she said, her French Canadian accent flowing through lips he couldn’t keep his eyes off.

  “Dude,” she said, gesturing with her two fingers that first pointed to her lips and then moved upward to her eyes. Then, without flinching, she took the first and then the second shot of Jägermeister and downed them both.

  “Oh, we’re going to get along just fine, young lady,” Matt said, gesturing to the bartender for two more. “Between that and your potty mouth, I think I’m in love.” She laughed. As the two additional shots were delivered, she pushed the vodkas away and slid the two Jägers so they were in front of her newfound friend.

  “Drink up, bitch,” she said, her smile as wide as her beautiful brown eyes. Once Matt knocked back the first and then the second, they were even.

  “What next?” he asked.

  “You need to feed me,” she replied. Extending her hand, she smiled again. “By the way, I’m Eve.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  He had a job to do, scoping the layout before more alcohol could cause him to miss something or raise suspicion with any of the security teams on duty that night in the hotel.

  “Well, someone’s going to have to feed me,” she had said, “so if I’m still here when you’re done playing with your laptop, we’ll see what the night holds.”

  He excused himself, went to his room to drop off the packet, and then jumped back in an elevator. It was an old-world style with a non-functioning lever that elevator operators used to engage to raise or lower the lift back in earlier times. At the eleventh floor, he stumbled into the hallway and headed toward the door to the Roosevelt Suite.

  “Hold on,” one of Tilton’s security team said, raising a hand toward Matt’s chest to physically stop him if necessary.

  Matt looked around and took in everything he could. One nondescript guard with an earpiece and a bored look stood at the door to the suite, another of the same size, shape, and demeanor stood at the opposite end of the hallway, watching the emergency exit staircase door. The fire alarm pull was to the left of the exit doorway and a red firebell was mounted above it. This guard, the largest of the three, had positioned himself in front of Matt and planted his feet firmly in the middle of the hallway.

  “This isn’t the lobby,” Matt garbled, allowing the scent of the Jäger to tell the sentry that this was just a drunk attendee, too drunk to have removed his event badge before the meetings had even started.

  “No, sir,” the guard stated, Matt noticing a slight softening in the man’s demeanor. He was clearly the alpha, lean and mean, and judging from the flat-top haircut, a former Marine and perhaps special forces.

  “Just jump back in the elevator, and we’ll get you headed in the right direction.” The guard walked Matt back to the gold-mirrored elevator door, both men looking at the reflection of the other as they awaited its return. The bell sounded, the door slid open, and the guard guided the lost man into the elevator and then reached to push the L button to send him to the lobby or anywhere else but that floor.

  When the doors opened, a much sturdier, more sober American operative left the elevator and headed back down the main hallway to the restaurants and lounge bar. He hoped she’d still be there, but based on his observations and experience, he realized he probably had blown his chance.

  The bar was crowded and noisy, and the stools they had occupied were now taken by two other attendees deep in conversation about global warming, soccer, or whatever. He scanned the room. She was gone.

  Disappointed, Matt stepped as close to the bar as possible and waived to the bartender for service. No more of that damn Jäger, he thought. A voice whispered into his ear. Matt knew the voice, the accent, her scent, and grinned as he turned to face her. Their eyes met, and she returned the smile.

  “That was quick. I barely had time to take a leak,” she joked. “Now, what’s for dinner?”

  Matt knew the area well but was concerned that tourists would have crowded every restaurant to capacity by now. Except for one, maybe.

  “You like Italian food?” he asked.

  She didn’t need to answer; she took his arm and guided him out into the hallway. “Lead the way, George!”

  A quick five-minute walk back up the Grand Allee and Matt went up three steps, past two couples waiting for a table, and into the restaurant named Au Parmesan. The décor was made up of old wine bottles, now corked with lit, melting candles, red-and-white tablecloths, and photos of movie stars and sports heroes who had dined there over the years. An old man strolled between the tables in the small rooms, playing Volare on his accordion.

  “I know the owner,” Matt called out to Eve as he waved for her to come up the steps and into the room on the right side of the restaurant.

  Within a minute of his arrival, the host had quickly cleared a window table that had just been vacated, tossing on a new tablecloth like a matador with a cape. Two waiters worked as if performing a racing pit stop to reset the table and pull back chairs for their guests.

  After an intimate candlelight dinner that had started with the first bottle of red wine and ended after their signature trio dish, then strawberry shortcake and coffee for him, Matt paid the bill and escorted his guest down the steps and back toward the hotel.

  “The maître d’ used to have a basket of strawberries or blueberries always at the ready. He’d toss them to passing tourists and kids,” Matt told her as they walked. “But then some dipshit who couldn’t catch got a strawberry stain on her dollar-store dress and sued the place.”

  “What a shithead,” Eve protested.

  “So that was the end of the tossed fruit.”

  Eve laughed hard enough that she snorted and then was embarrassed at the noise she had made. He laughed at her, and that made her laugh even more until she finally calmed down and caught her breath.

  “So you called me George?” he stated. “You don’t recall I said my name was Matt?”

  She smiled, and they continued to walk toward the Chateau. “I was just busting on you,” she said. “You no doubt get that all the time.”

  Matt kept walking and looked to his left, where four horse-drawn carriages awaited their next tourists, the sound of their shod hooves clacking restlessly on the cobblestones of the old city.

  “Want to take a ride?” he asked but didn’t hear an answer. He looked to Eve, who seemed to have something else in mind.

  “Well, the first one should be in an elevator,” she told him. Without further delay they were on their way up to Matt’s room on the tenth floor. Leclerc wanted him as close to Tilton as possible without setting off any sirens, and Matt had agreed. They waited until an elderly couple ascending with them slowly exited on the third level.

  “I have to warn you, I prefer bathrooms with lots of mirrors and prefer standing,” he told her. “I like to watch.”

  “That’ll work. I can check my hair and makeup while you have your way with me,” she responded, laughing. In the morning, the sun shining brightly into Matt’s hotel room, he reached for the alarm on his phone and realized she was gone.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Room service
at any high-end hotel can be a treat, even a life saver, and the knock at the door signaled relief was imminent. As the attendant rolled in the cart, Matt could smell the freshly brewed coffee and began to jones for it. He’d enjoyed the dinner and his late-night dessert. And the perfect mattress, pillows, and comforter – a rarity for most travelers – had allowed him to sleep so soundly he couldn’t remember when he had last awoken so refreshed.

  The coffee would get things moving. While he sipped and watched the early morning walkers along the boardwalk below, he couldn’t imagine what the day, and Tilton, might bring.

  Thirty minutes later, Matt walked into the Chateau’s main event room and scanned the crowd for anything out of the ordinary. The keynoter, speaking in German, was giving an impassioned speech having to do with saving the environment. Behind him, a gallery of photos depicted polar bears without ice and other dire results of climate change.

  He rechecked the agenda Mercier had provided and confirmed that Tilton’s speech wasn’t scheduled until that afternoon. No doubt, the man was in a meeting somewhere in the Chateau. During the daylight, like most predators, he was probably on his best behavior.

  Matt left the room and began walking through the hallway, past the open doors to much smaller gatherings hosted by regional organizations or companies supporting the global cause. Speeches were being given, mostly in English, and the smell of coffee and danishes drew his attention to a continental breakfast displayed just a few feet from him. Headed there for more caffeine, Leclerc approached him, greeting him like a long-lost pal.

  “Matt Christopher, how are you, my friend?” Leclerc said loudly as he shook hands and then embraced the American operative. Matt reciprocated the enthusiasm and then gave Leclerc a warning look to tamp down the enthusiasm a notch.

  “Been too long, my friend. What’s new with you?” Matt responded. They moved their conversation closer to the wall to avoid the congestion, as a meeting was just ending and people were flooding the area in search of the next item on their agendas.

  “Everything going well with your trip, Matt?” Leclerc continued. “Anything I should know about?”

  “Well, I got laid last night. But, as for our person of interest, I haven’t seen or heard anything out of the ordinary.”

  Leclerc gave Matt a look of frustration.

  “What? This isn’t a friggin’ CIA op where we’ve placed bugs in his room. Unless there’s an incident or you tell me something has occurred, there’s not much I can do,” Matt explained. “If something does happen and he leaves a mess behind, then I will deal with it.”

  Leclerc seemed to think about this for a minute as both men looked through the crowd, smiling at the ladies that caught their eye. One woman approached them, asking if Leclerc could take a photo of her with Matt, and he laughed but obliged.

  As the woman took back her phone, she thanked Leclerc for the favor and smiled at Matt. “I know you’re not Clooney, but my girlfriends won’t know the difference,” she said. “Thanks so much!”

  Not wanting to draw additional attention to their meeting, Matt and Leclerc began to walk toward the winding marble stairway that would take them up to the hotel lobby. Once there, Leclerc thanked Matt for coming and moved on to other business.

  Staring down the massive main hallway toward the revolving golden entrance doors, Matt turned his head in the opposite direction toward the circular bar he had spent time in the night before. A familiar face popped in front of him.

  “Know where a girl can get a proper Bloody Mary at this hour?” Eve asked with a smile.

  To his surprise, Matt was happy to see her. He’d had many one-night stands and weekend flings over the years, but he felt mildly confused by the actual interest he had in this woman. She was attractive, willing, and as fun to drink with as most of his dates had been. But there seemed to be a strange chemistry between them that he didn’t necessarily understand. He was having fun and wasn’t watching for tells from her. He had no reason to.

  “I do indeed, young lady,” he answered. “Follow me!”

  An hour later, the bartender removed her second empty glass from the bar and left the bill, laid inside a red leather check holder that bore the Chateau’s crest on its cover. As Eve reached for it, Matt was quicker and signed the charge to his room.

  “It’s on me,” he laughed, picturing Mercier’s face when he reviewed Matt’s final bill and room charges. They exchanged small talk, thanked each other for an enjoyable date the night before, but then it was time for them to get back to work.

  “I have a photoshoot with an American politician,” she said, “some guy named Tilton at two o’clock in his suite. Want to come watch me work?”

  Matt’s eyes lit up. This might get him past Tilton’s security team and allow him to get face to face with his staffers and scope the suite. He checked his watch, the same silver TAG that he wore everywhere, and then pulled the day’s agenda from his jacket pocket. He pretended to have to jockey a few things, staring out the windows for a moment.

  “Yep, I’d love to,” he said with a smile. “I have a few things to take care of before then. Can we meet at the elevators just past the front desk at five of?”

  “Deal,” she said as she hopped off the barstool. She gave Matt a quick kiss on the cheek and then headed for the exit.

  “See you later!”

  Matt finished his Coke Zero, no ice, and went outside for a walk on the terrace. He hadn’t expected to be able to gain access to Tilton’s suite, but this was the break he needed to allow him to plant a few bugs and let the Canadian government prosecute or humiliate the man if he did indeed do something foul. If he planted the bugs and they were used to incriminate the bad actor, he might find himself in hot water back in Washington, but it would be worth it. He made a quick call to Leclerc asking for a meeting at the base of Champlain’s statue across from the Chateau. Matt waited patiently for him to arrive. Instead, Mercier showed up with apologies.

  “Something came up,” he explained. “What do you need?”

  “Bugs,” Matt said, explaining further to a confused Mercier. “Listening devices that I can plant in the suite.” He laid out the plan to the Canadian and hoped he would be able to deliver the goods in short order.

  “You’re not giving me much time,” Mercier protested. “If you wanted bugs, why didn’t you bring them with you or get here in time to install them before he arrived?”

  “They would have scanned the room for electronics before Tilton set foot in there,” Matt assured him. “His security team is well trained and, no doubt, accustomed to his missteps. Part of their job is to keep him out of trouble and keep their own jobs, too.”

  “But there is no time, and even if there were,” Mercier went on, “this is Canada, not Russia or China – or America for that matter – we don’t just bug people, regardless of their suspected behavior. You would need a court order!”

  “Bullshit,” Matt said, his tone of frustration very clear to Mercier. “The CSIS – your CIA – has an office just five minutes up the Grand Allee from here,” he said, physically pointing up the boulevard in the direction of the provincial government buildings. “If you want to do more than just have me clean up someone’s mess,” Matt continued, “make it happen!”

  Mercier looked unsure what he should do. Leclerc was in meetings and was not to be disturbed.

  “But if we plant bugs and they are found,” he continued, “our government – and you, Mr. Christopher, will bear the wrath of your first lady and, consequently, your president!”

  “If they’re letting this piece of shit act like an animal then fuck the both of them,” Matt said, the look of determination in his eyes helping to convince Mercier this man wanted to do the right thing and was willing to take the risk. “Look, if the heat comes, you can blame it on the photographer, you can say she was working for the National Enquirer or whatever shit rag they have up here in Canada.” Matt paused. An hour earlier, he was thinking about Eve in a way he hadn’
t thought of anyone in years. Now, he had just proposed to throw her under the bus if needed.

  “Go get me the bugs,” Matt demanded. “Have them direct the feed to the phone you gave me so I can listen in. They’ll know to record whatever they pick up.” Mercier looked around, perhaps debating, but time was of the essence.

  “Stop dicking about, man. We’re on the clock.” Thirty minutes later, Matt received a text on the phone the Canadians had given him.

  Check your room and happy hunting

  Matt swiped the key card to his room and went in, looking around for an envelope, something – anything that might hold the listening devices. Finally, stuck inside his toiletries bag, he found a small plastic bottle, the type prescription pills were dispensed in. Inside, he found one lone bug.

  “What the hell, man!” he exclaimed in frustration. “What the hell,” he repeated, shaking his head. With only once device, his ability to eavesdrop would be very limited.

  “We’ll just have to flip a coin on where we plant it – bedroom or bathroom,” he whispered.

  Matt took the elevator down to the lobby and stationed himself at the gold mirror doors and watched as tourists, event attendees, and staff came and went past him. The single bug rested in the watch pocket of his blue jeans. It was round, small, and thin, resembling a motion sickness patch worn by travelers on airplanes and cruise ships. If Tilton’s security team patted him down, they wouldn’t feel a thing. Right on schedule, Eve appeared from around a corner in an orange summer dress that stopped just above the knee, the neckline plunging between her breasts. She greeted Matt with a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for doing this, George,” she joked. Matt smiled and pushed the UP button for the lift.

  “Nikon’s the best!” Matt said, acknowledging the black camera she had strapped over her shoulder. “That’s a classic piece. I have a slightly newer model, autofocus and all that.”

  Eve smiled, but she appeared a bit nervous to Matt. “You good?” he asked.

  She looked at him and forced a smile. “I’m good. You made me think of my father. He left me this camera…” She hesitated. “Someday, I will have to upgrade. Shooting film gets more and more difficult. Everyone wants digital they can email around the world.”