by Cole Reid
“What do you think they are?” asked Simone.
“He’s overdue, for his,” said Georgia.
“And you’re comfortable making that decision?” said Simone.
“Well,” said Georgia, “You just said, when women are in the decision chair, we’re not the worst. How bad of a decision can it be?”
“That’s what I needed you to see,” said Simone, “It had to come out of your lips.”
“Why?” asked Georgia.
“So from this point out, there’s no hesistation on your part,” said Simone, “Or mine, because we’re both in agreement.”
“So this little act was all for me?” said Georgia.
“Everything since we brought you here has been all for you,” said Simone, “Including shackling you to the chair. Notice how eager you were to listen when we walked through the vineyard. Do you remember how it began? What you first felt? You were happy to listen because it was so much better than being tied to a chair. Best hearing aid in the world. You should see a prisoner on his first day on the outside. He takes notice of absolutely everything.”
“Touché,” said Georgia.
“Pas de qu'à,” said Simone. Nothing at all.
“So tell me the play,” said Georgia, “Tell me exactly.”
“We’re going to break your nose, blacken your eye and break your arm and wrist,” said Simone. Georgia’s eyes got big but she stayed otherwise calm.
“And why would you do that?” asked Georgia.
“There’s a subgenre of the Honey Trap spy,” said Simone, “We call it thedemoiselle en détresse, I don’t know what it would be called in English, which is why I say practice your French.”
“Damsel in distress,” said Georgia.
“Oui,” said Simone, “C’est ca.”
“How is being so battered going to help me?” asked Georgia.
“Somethings have to be real,” said Simone, “You keep the reasons behind them hidden but there has to be enough reality to hide behind.”
“So you break my bones for something to hide behind,” said Georgia.
“We’re going to have you go to the hospital,” said Simone, “So picture yourself lying in a hospital with real injuries.”
“Why do I want to picture that?” asked Georgia.
“Because that’s the kind of pressure that we need to put on Arthur Witt,” said Simone.
“Breaking my body puts pressure on Arthur Witt,” said Georgia.
“He’s an administrator, like me,” said Simone, “You sit back and find ways of accomplishing objectives. I like to think I’m a hands-on administrator.”
“What makes you think that?” asked Georgia.
“We are smaller,” said Simone, “That’s the nature of it. We have a smaller margin of error. Why do you think I used Gavril to go get you? If he’s in my custody, I have to house and feed him. I need him to earn his porridge. I can’t just have him sit, the same with you. I’ve watched you. I brought you here. I wanted to meet you. If I’m going to put you in play, I want to meet you. And you’ll be operating here in France so I will be able to observe you.”
“And I have to trust you to put me in the hospital?” said Georgia.
“No,” said Simone, “You have to trust the fact that Arthur Witt will be sympathetic to you if you’re lying in a hospital bed. It’s one thing for him to sit back comfortably and get reports on everything that is going on. It’s a completely different thing for him to view the consequences of his actions directly.”
“So I represent the consequences of his actions,” said Georgia.
“No,” said Simone, “You represent him coming to terms with the consequences of his actions. You are, as far as can be known, the last of your class of Peers.”
“But how do I know that?” asked Georgia.
“Know?” said Simone
“You’ve told me so much,” said Georgia, “But with nothing to back it up.”
“That’s not true,” said Simone.
“How is it not?” said Georgia, “You told me that Arthur Witt has set us all up to come to Paris to be summarily executed by one of our own. And that person has been spying for the Soviets. And you say that Witt has been stealing funds for himself. And you tied me to a chair first so I can believe it better. But there’s no solid intelligence behind any of what you’ve said. None.”
“Isn’t there?” said Simone.
“Where?” asked Georgia, “I see nothing. Not even what you told me about your own history. Why should I believe you? You’ve treated me well but you’ve also tied me to a chair. And you know, as well as I do, that you’re employing tactics. You’ve admitted as much.”
“I have,” said Simone, “That’s true, along with everything I’ve told you. But don’t focus too much on me, Agent Georgia Standing, step back and see the big picture.”
“I’m tired of games,” said Georgia, “Just give it to me.”
“I’m giving you the opportunity to ask Arthur Witt about it yourself,” said Simone, “We draw him here, to France, where I can protect you.”
“Like you protected Gavril,” said Georgia.
“Gavril wasn’t entirely under my protection at that time,” said Simone.
“Then what would you call it?” asked Georgia.
“I told you before,” said Simone, “I was trying to make him earn his porridge, to make him useful.”
“You treat all your guests the same,” said Georgia.
“Guests in this house are always treated the same,” said Simone.
“How’s that?” asked Georgia.
“Fairly,” said Simone.
“You did say Nazis were guests in this house,” said Georgia.
“No,” said Simone, “Not them. They were no guests. Guests are welcome.”
“I suppose they weren’t guests,” said Georgia, “Seeing as how they owned the place when they were here.” Simone went quiet.
“Watch yourself, Agent Georgia Standing,” said Simone, “Being careful is always better than being smart.”
“I’ll be both,” said Georgia, “Just not now.”
“Go upstairs and take a moment,” said Simone, “Take no more than twenty minutes. When you come back down Cedric will be waiting.”
“Waiting to beat me up,” said Georgia.
“In a word,” said Simone, “Yes.” Georgia left Simone sitting, seeing her light a cigarette out of the corner of her eye. Georgia went upstairs to her room and sat on her bed. She didn’t lie down. She would start feeling sorry for herself if she did. Instead, she wanted to show Simone she could handle it, being in play was being in play. It meant many things. Georgia got off the bed and went downstairs through the dining room and into the den. The den was empty. She walked through the door leading to the living room and saw Simone seated in the same chair Georgia first saw her in.
“Thank you,” said Simone.
“For?” asked Georgia.
“Not making me come get you,” said Simone. Georgia looked off.
“Cedric,” said Simone. Cedric came into the room from the hallway. He stood silent in the room.
“Just get it over with,” said Georgia, “Hit me.”
“It’s not going to work that way,” said Simone, “Cedric is a gentleman and won’t hit a woman, so you have to hit him first. Just hit him as hard as you can. When he’s had enough you’ll know.” It was the kind of instruction that Georgia didn’t need repeated. To get in free licks on a man who would break her bones was more than a welcome twist. She had anticipated standing still and taking a heavy blow. Georgia went straight toward Cedric noticing the height difference as she got closer. She balled up her fist and just swung. She could tell it made an impact but it didn’t require a response. She tried again. Georgia aimed for the same place on the side of Cedric’s face. She was sure he had been hit harder but not repeatedly in the same spot. The fifth blow brought on a different look in his eyes. Georgia noticed it and swallowed. She knew what was coming next. Cedric laid his
fist heavy into the bridge of Georgia’s nose sending her flying backwards unable to keep her balance. Georgia fell over on her thighs and rolled.
“Ribs,” said Simone, “Ribs and wrist.” Cedric moved quickly, wanting to get it over with quicker than Georgia. He walked forward and raised his left leg bringing his barefoot down on the left side of Georgia rib cage. Georgia didn’t scream. She grunted. She was still struggling from the confusion of trying to return to normal breathing. Cedric grabbed her left arm locked it between his thighs and twisted her wrist. The break could be heard and even made Simone grimace. Georgia screamed but only three times. She didn’t want to give the satisfaction of her suffering. Simone took no satisfaction in any case. Cedric realizing he had done what he was asked left the living room through the same doorway, without looking at Simone. Simone would have usually thanked Cedric, but she knew he didn’t want to be thanked.
“Guillame,” said Simone, “Get her to the car.” Simone realized that Cedric would be the wrong person to carry Georgia to the car. Simone saw it as the burden of her job, making the inappropriate appropriate. Guillame came into the living room through the same doorway as Cedric.
“Take caution her ribs on the left side,” said Simone, “Don’t let her head tilt back. She could suffocate on her own blood.” Georgia looked more in a state of slumber than sickness. Guillame kneeled down and scooped her up in his arms. He carried Georgia out through the den into the dining room and outside. Cedric had pulled the car out of the garage for Guillame to drive. Cedric was too upset to drive.
•••
The car wasn’t Simone’s 504 Coupé. It was the other car on the property, a dark green 1968 Renault 16. It wasn’t fast. Guillame didn’t try. He didn’t drive like he was headed to a hospital. He drove like he enjoyed driving, the pleasure of being behind the wheel. Simone wasn’t in the car. Guillame drove while Cedric stayed in the back seat with Georgia. She had to suffer, broken nose, broken wrist and broken ribs. Cedric didn’t say much. He didn’t apologize but looked concerningly at Georgia, when the road was bumpy. He instinctively realized Georgia could feel each bump on the road in her bones, literally. He seemed to have a military discipline about him. He reminded her of the mission at hand. He told her to anticipate the questions Arthur Witt would ask her. In French, he reminded her, her story had to be better than fool-proof because Arthur Witt was an intelligence chief—far from being a fool. Georgia didn’t look at Cedric. She leaned in the opposite direction staring out the window. It was less than one hundred kilometers to Bourges. The drive was a little over an hour. The backseat atmosphere made the drive last much longer. For Guillame, it was about an hour.
The hospital was once a hotel. The style resembled the quintessential French Chateau. The building was white cement stucco with a mansard roof. The only styling of the façade came from the windows. Each window was relieved with a Roman arch carved above and cement cross, dividing the window into four sections. The drive in front of the hospital was the same peach-colored gravel as Chateau Constance. Guilliame didn’t drive over the gravel. Cedric ordered Georgia out of the car to continue to the hospital door on foot. As Georgia got out of the car, she didn’t have to close the door. Cedric reached over and shut the door behind her, leaving Georgia a 20-meter walk to the door. Guilliame didn’t have to start the engine. The exchange was so quick he never cut the engine off. No one heard or saw the brief delivery in the dimming daylight. The car was already out of view by the time Georgia took her fourth step over the gravel. Even her footsteps were inaudible, inside the thick walls of the hospital. She treaded slow and lightly over the tiny dry rocks. Her breath didn’t come easily. It barely came at all. Her lungs inflated against broken ribs and her air intake came through a broken nose. She tried to breathe through her mouth but found the taste of blood to be worse than the smell of it. The worst pain was her aching pride. After Owen, she was feeling like a capable agent. She didn’t doubt that she had more to learn but she felt able. Now, she struggled to walk twenty meters. It took her more than a minute to make it to the front door of the hospital. It was a walk of shame and the old wood door was shut. Georgia knew the door was heavier than she wanted it to be but she didn’t know how hard she could knock or for how long. She took her right arm off her ribs and got a solid grip on the door handle. She balled her left hand around her right hand for support but her right hand did all the pulling. She was able to get the door open enough to slide part of her body in. When an orderly on the inside saw her wedged between in door, he came to assist.
The walk and weight of the door had burned up a lot of the bits of energy Georgia had. She had enough energy to maintain herself on her feet but it didn’t suit her purpose. She was playing the role of the damsel in distress. She played it up by collapsing into the orderly’s arms.
She relaxed into a half conscious state, which made the breathing easier. She didn’t need so much air if she wasn’t moving. She could feel the orderly lowering her into a wheelchair and someone pushing her along. She felt the wheelchair stop and someone lift her onto a padded table. She felt the air rush toward her as someone moved near. She felt the poke of a needle in her arm. She felt the tape sticking to her arm. The tape was the absolute warmest thing to touch her skin. She could feel the slow stream of fluids passing into her vein. She could feel the urgency in the room.
The table began to move. She heard the word radiographie twice. And knew where she was going. She could hear the ungreased wheels of the IV stand being pulled along with her. Just when she began to feel the cold air making her uncomfortable, she had a blanket thrown on top of her. It was heavy and smelled of nothing. The way to the X-ray room wasn’t long, which disappointed Georgia. She liked being pushed around on a gurney. It was classic fun, like being a kid. It was short but she had no choice but to enjoy it. She had already paid for the ride with multiple injuries. She relaxed in the X-ray room. She didn’t have to move; she was moved. The technician and the orderly positioned her in multiple directions to get the pictures they needed. They found the broken ribs and broken nose. The swell of her left wrist lead them to her other injury.
Her ribs had to be set as well as her nose. Her wrist would have to be wound and cast. She lied in her hospital bed looking appropriately infirmed. Her left arm had a stiff white cast covering half her forearm. A long white gause was wrapped around her head, as if to bind her nose to her face. The gause was looped around her head as a fashion for a patient. It was a sign that said healing. Without a mirror, Georgia was aware of how unattractive she looked but she took reprieve in the fact that it was the look she was going for, distressed. She lied in the hospital bed for a full day, having her temperature and pulse checked. She was encouraged to drink as much as she could and was given the location of the restroom. She was a patient on the first day and a guest on the second. A nurse came to take her information and ask if there was anyone she needed to call. Georgia gave a fake name and asked if it was ok to call international. The nurse said je vous en prie. You’re welcome.
The number was one she was required not to use. It was the office of the Directorate of Division Operations for the Northern Hemisphere, Arthur Witt’s office. Georgia spoke to the man, not Arthur Witt, his secretary. It was a little used line. But it had an electronic scramble, preventing the line from being tapped. It put a certain nervousness in the secretary’s voice. The line had electronic security for a reason. Georgia said one thing, Queen of Spades. Georgia knew the message would be relayed to Arthur himself and he would tell the secretary what to do. The secretary transferred her call to Arthur’s desk.
“Hello, Georgia,” said Arthur. His voice was different from the last time Georgia heard it. It wasn’t shaky. It was steady. It was so steady it seemed unnatural. A normal speech pattern had some irregularities because the brain could process information at a quicker speed than could be relayed using the voice. A completely steady speech pattern was manufactured. It was usually only possible if someone made a conscious
effort to appear calm. The only people who could manage it without trying were those who had no emotional connection to the words they spoke. Those were generally sociopaths. Arthur Witt was one or the other.
“Sir,” said Georgia.
“How can I be of service?” asked Arthur.
“Can you come to France?” asked Georgia. She was direct.
“Come to France,” said Arthur, “Why would I do that?”
“Because I need you to,” said Georgia.
“Ok,” said Arthur, “Explain to me how that is.”
“I got a package,” said Georgia.
“A package from whom?” asked Arthur.
“The King of Diamonds,” said Georgia.
“The King of Diamonds,” said Arthur, “How would he know where you were to send you a package?”
“There’s something going on, Sir,” said Georgia, “I think he found something and I don’t know whether he sent the package or had someone send it. But he sent me a message.“