The Carbon Trap (The Carbon Series Book 1)

by Randy Dutton

  “Control, Sven.”

  “I am in control!” he protested loudly.

  “No, I mean, that’s what Alexis wants…control. Your phytoplankton is so effective, Alexis fears he’ll lose control. Do you understand?”

  “This really is all a game to him, isn’t it?”

  “Isn’t it for all of us?” she asked calmly.

  “It’s a mission for me.”

  “Sven, what are you planning?” she asked warily.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I saw it in your eyes earlier, with Alexis. Remember, I’m pretty good at reading microexpressions. Just watch me play five card stud at the Monte Carlo Casino. You’d see how good I am at reading poker faces by my success. I almost always win. Of course, I card count too.... But everyone has a tell, that little reaction one shows when something has changed.... So again, I’m asking you, what are you planning?”

  “Nothing. I’m going to do my job.”

  “That would be wise,” she cautioned. She then turned and continued their stroll.

  He fell in behind, then caught up to her side.

  The walkway had a knee high wall to seaward and a three-meter high wall inland. It was made of small rocks cemented together. Occasionally they passed a cement bench. By the time they came to the third bench, he was calm.

  Anna suddenly said, “Let’s sit for a moment.”

  That was something Sven was happy to do. Perhaps she’s not as tough as she thinks, he considered.

  Sitting side by side, she on his left, Anna started pointing out the Monaco city lights eight klicks away. Because Sven more enjoyed catching glimpses of her in the rising moonlight than in sightseeing, he also noticed something else. Her left hand had reached into her purse and pulled out a small plastic capsule. Through the corner of his eye, he thought he observed her sticking it somewhere. A moment later, it appeared she was putting something else back in her purse. His pulse raced. Is this a drop?

  Three minutes later, she was back on her feet. “Let’s go, we have reservations.” Off she went leaving him in her wake.

  Did she just leave a small chalk mark on the wall behind the bench? Or was that already there? It took Sven a moment to catch up.

  Soon, a villa along the water forced the path to turn inland, and as they passed the villa’s outer wall he was wowed by the cavalcade of purple and red bougainvillea covering everything but the windows. “I’m impressed with the surroundings. The architecture seems extremely well cared for.” He was trying to lighten the conversation.

  “This was David Niven’s villa.” She didn’t reveal a hint of excitement as they walked past, while Sven slowed and gazed at the architecture. Without looking at him or the villa, she added, “You should see it from seaward or, for that matter, from the inside.... The villa occupies its own, small peninsula so, once past the property line, the pathway returns to the coastline.”

  “You’ve been inside?”

  “Sven, I’m on the A-list. Over the years, I’ve been in most of the grand homes here.”

  Soon, a hotel with a large park appeared on the left. “This would be the Résidence Delcloy, sorry, the Hotel Delcloy. Quite good, particularly the breakfast.” About a minute later, a long beach appeared on the right. “And here we are, on the left, the Hotel Royal Riviera.”

  Soft lights illuminated the hotel and the stairway leading up to it. The staircase was bordered left and right by a stone wall and two wrought iron lights.

  The walk had done nothing to diminish Anna’s appearance. Sven considered that it even added a glow to her skin.

  When they entered the Panorama Restaurant, the maître d'hôtel immediately rushed to her. “Bonsoir, Anna,” he said, kissing her on both cheeks. “Comment allez-vous ce soir?”

  They chatted in French for a minute, with Sven not understanding any of it. The admiring look of the head waiter upon Anna’s attire showed that he must have approved. The maitre d’ then glanced at Sven and said in impeccable English, “Follow me. Chef Bruno will want to welcome you himself. I’ll tell him you are here.” He winked at Anna.

  They were led to a reserved outside table along the deck’s outer edge, overlooking the Beaulieu sur Mer Beach.

  “You know the chef?”

  “But of course. Who do you think made lunch yesterday? Me?” She gave him a knowing smile. “I can cook, but not nearly to this level.”

  “I guess I assumed…” He just stopped talking when she grinned at him.

  “We each have our specialties, do we not?” she asked rhetorically. “I…arrange things. You create things. We’re not that different.”

  A waiter brought over a wine stand and placed a bucket with ice on it. “Compliments of Chef Bruno, Mademoiselle.” He held the bottle of white burgundy, Bonneau Du Martray 2008, for Anna to inspect the label, she nodded, and he proceeded to spin the bottle of wine in the ice to chill it. After a while, he extracted the cork and poured a little in her wine glass.

  Anna swirled the wine in the glass, observing the flow of the inside layer of wine, an indicator of its sugar level, before sniffing the bouquet. She then took a sip. Her nod was the signal for him to fill her glass, then Sven’s.

  Sven grimaced. “Wine snob.”

  They both laughed.

  “You know, I could have done that,” he said. “And it’s a man’s job to have the first glass to remove any cork pieces.”

  “Chauvinist.” They both laughed again.

  “Maybe, maybe,” he allowed. “Where’s the menu?”

  “No menu tonight. Bruno is selecting the meal for us,” she said with satisfaction.

  “Seriously? He pampers you with his special dishes? What do you do for this guy?” He saw her raised brow. “No, never mind.” Sven shook his head. “I don’t want to know.”

  “No…you don’t,” she slowly agreed.

  A man in a white chef’s toque quickly moved towards their table.

  Anna promptly stood, causing Sven to rise as well. She was beaming.

  “Bonsoir, Anna!” Bruno said, giving her the customary kisses.

  He pulled up a third chair and they sat as they conversed in rapid French.

  I feel like a third wheel, Sven thought. And I feel jealous of a man half a foot shorter.

  Anna eventually got around to introducing Sven, and Bruno treated him like a long lost brother. That made Sven feel more accepted. After awhile, Bruno left them alone, allowing them to resume their small talk. The tension between them melted as they sipped wine and told stories.

  Twenty minutes later, Bruno returned, and with some fanfare, went into detail about the specialties he was serving them – tempura scampi, green lentil salad with a Madras curry, loup and tagliolini pan-fried with clams, veal filet fricasseed with mushrooms, and cannelloni gratin with parmesan.

  Bruno then went back to the kitchen leaving the waiter to serve each course at its designated time.

  The couple settled into light conversation about travels, music, and art preferences. Anna laughed when Sven described his version of the function of his headboard, and she explained to him the Belle Époque style of furniture, and how it represented the free expression of European thought before World War I shattered it.

  They found that each had different tastes in most things. Dinner lasted two hours and Anna and Sven were nearly done with a second bottle of wine when dessert was served – coffee infused soufflé with chocolate heart.

  “How...” Sven hesitated, “do you keep your incredible figure eating so lavishly?”

  “By beating the hell out of things.” She laughed. “By the way, your glances have not gone unnoticed.”

  “Am I that obvious?”

  “Quite…including when you think my eyes are closed,”

  “You don’t miss much, do you?” He felt embarrassed by his attraction to her, and perhaps a little flushed from the wine.

  “It’s my job to pay attention,” she said. Now done with wine, she sipped her now extinguished café brû
lot, a heavily flavored coffee served with flaming brandy.

  After several minutes, she asked, “Are you ready to go back to my villa?”

  “I do have a flight tomorrow afternoon, but I admit I’m enjoying the moment with you. You seem more relaxed now.” His passions were rising and he hoped they were reciprocal.

  She paused. “It’s not going to happen, Sven,” she professed sadly.

  “Why?” was the only response that came to mind.

  “Because we work together and…it may cloud my judgment in the future.”

  His brow knitted. “I’m confused.... We do two different things. Where’s the conflict?”

  “That...is difficult to explain. So I won’t attempt it.” And with that she motioned to the waiter to bring the check, which came within the minute. She spoke in French and the waiter nodded and left.

  “530 euros? I thought the meal was a gift?” he exclaimed.

  “No…I said the first bottle was a gift from Bruno. The meal was special but not free, and the Chef’s specialty always commands a premium price.” She chuckled. “Remember, your treat! And leave a lavish tip! I have a reputation to uphold.”

  Sven smiled and pulled out his corporate card. “Well, I’m glad we had this business meeting.”

  “Cheater.” She laughed.

  The waiter came to them as Sven pulled out the chair for Anna. “Mademoiselle, your taxi has arrived.”

  Sven’s eyebrow lifted. “I thought you said we were going to walk back?”

  “I changed my mind.” She turned towards the door.

  The five-minute taxi ride to the villa was quiet. Neither was really looking at the other, just glancing out the windows at the twinkling city lights and the landscaping glow from various villas. To Sven, Anna had a serene and distant look about her.

  The taxi cruised up her driveway.

  Sven exited and walked around the taxi. He opened her door, then paid the fare without comment.

  He was at a loss as to what would happen next. Apparently, it was to be nothing.

  Anna passed her bracelet over the key pad, which unlocked the door. She entered first. Lights in the entryway automatically brightened, and the pathway up to the second floor remained dimmed, like the rest of the lower floor.

  Sven still had hopes, but Anna crushed them with a single word. “Goodnight.”

  He responded with the same, while Anna glided upstairs to her bedroom.

  When he heard a door close, his thoughts became more confused. Was that it? I’m down here, alone, at 1 AM, and at a complete loss. She’s unlike any date I’ve ever had. Hell, was this even a date? I spent nearly a thousand dollars.... I guess not. He chuckled and shook his head, then walked upstairs and into his bedroom.

  An hour had passed, and Sven still couldn’t sleep.

  Is it the Belle Époque headboard, the wine, the conversation, the message drop, or the sensual woman just a couple rooms away? Whatever it is, it’s unsettling.

  Lying there, he heard padding feet walk past his door. His heart raced. Perhaps she’s still awake? Perhaps she’s reconsidered?

  He quickly rose and stuck his head out the bedroom door. Styx settled down in front of Anna’s bedroom door. The dog laid his head on its front paws, and his widely-spaced, brown eyes stared at him.

  The his tail isn’t wagging. Sven groaned. All thought of a romantic interlude evaporated. He closed the door and lay down under the brain-sucking headboard.

  Chapter 25

  June 30, 0900 hours

  Anna’s Villa, Côte d'Azur, France

  Sven awoke to the soft sound of music. Light streamed through a gap in the drapes while the aroma of coffee drifting through the open window from the deck below stirred him.

  I’ve got a slight headache from last night’s wine. Or maybe it’s from my brains being sucked out.

  He glanced at the clock and noted the time of 9 AM. Hell, I never sleep this late…when I’m alone. He quickly dressed for comfort in a white cotton shirt and tan slacks.

  It’s going to be a long flight home.

  Carrying his packed bag, he opened the bedroom door and quickly glanced to the right. Good, the Rott’s not there. He sauntered down the stairs and went into the kitchen. From the sliding glass door he saw Anna in a silk blouse and shorts.

  She was sitting at an umbrella-shaded deck table, her bare feet up on another chair. A glass of orange juice was by her side. Her sun-streaked hair framed her face in soft waves and flowed down several inches below the shoulder.

  Damn, even her feet are sexy, he thought. She’s reading a book in French. Culture snob. She’s an American but prefers to read French?

  Anna turned her head and beamed at him. “Bonjour, Sven!”

  He evaluated her innocent smile. She’s an enigma, wrapped in a riddle, shrouded in mystery, and dressed in silk, or so the Churchill quote goes. I lay awake much of the night in frustration, at one point considering getting a taxi to escape this emotional trap. But there were the dogs to consider. He looked at her angelic face. I know she isn’t trying to torment me, it just keeps happening. Did she even felt a fraction of the attraction?

  “Good morning,” he responded as he walked onto the deck, putting his luggage down.

  “How are your brains today?” she teased.

  He saw a table set up with coffee, fruit, juices, breads, cheeses, and some deli meats. “Mostly intact.” He put some bread and cheese onto a plate. Then he reached down and loaded a quantity of ham slices. He sat down opposite her. “Look, did I do something wrong last night?”

  “No, you were the perfect gentleman,” she replied without an ounce of sarcasm.

  “Why did you get so quiet last night?”

  “Was I? I hadn’t noticed.” She gave a little pout.

  “Forget it. I don’t know what I expected,” he said curtly.

  She sighed. “My intention, Sven, is to keep working with you. I don’t bed co-workers.” She became more stern. “I had fun last night. Just go with it.”

  His frustration made him incautious. “What about the drop?”

  “What drop?” she asked guardedly.

  Testily he told her. “That bit about taking something out of the bench and putting something in its place. That dead drop. What? You don’t think I watch spy movies? And yes, I noticed the chalk mark, too,” he added with satisfaction. Her response wasn’t what he expected.

  She slowly shook her head and said in a sad voice, “Sven, I’m sorry you caught that.”

  Leaning forward she became deadly serious. “Now let me tell you this!” she threatened in a low, measured voice. ”If you mention it to anyone, I’ll find out about it. If someone else doesn’t get you…I will. Do I make myself clear?!” Her eyes were drilling into his.

  He pushed his chair back.

  She added, “And that includes you telling Swanson!”

  He was completely stunned. Finally he uttered, “Wow, you’ve got the hardcase act down good. Yeah, I’ve got it.” He finished eating in silence while she went back to reading her book, her facial expression hard for him to read.

  The tension was palpable. For twenty minutes nothing passed between them. He felt they were at an impasse.

  Suddenly Anna put her book down and smiled warmly, “So, when’s your flight?”

  Any semblance of the threat was gone from her expression. Was it that easy for her to turn it on or off? he wondered testily. “It’s at 1 PM. Would you call me a taxi, or shall I?”

  “Nonsense, I’ll drive you,” she cheerfully proclaimed. “If you like, we can go now, and we’ll take a little sightseeing trip.”

  “That’s not necessary,” he said sullenly.

  “You’re my guest...I wouldn’t have it any other way.... I won’t take no for an answer.” She was giddy as a school girl. She stood up and put on sandals.

  “Oh, okay, I guess.” He stood up, utterly confused. He grabbed his bag.

  Within a minute, as if she had planned it, Anna had her purs
e, a light green scarf for her hair, and her keys out. She swept through the front door and pushed a button on the key fob. As one of three garage doors opened, she tied the scarf. Inside was an Alfa Romeo Spider.

  Now this Sven could expect from her, a deep blue sport convertible. It matched her outgoing, sun worshipping spirit, and even her eyes. Sven was no stranger to fast cars – this was a real road handler. He knew the Alfa had precise steering and high wishbone suspension, a very high-torque engine, and a sharp turning radius. It was designed to handle the narrow cobblestone roads of Italy. With an Alfa, you not only felt the road, you became its partner. He grimaced, as long as it’s not as road kill.

  “Jump in!” Anna was in the driver’s seat before he could open the door for her. The trunk popped open remotely, while she put on sunglasses and brought the engine to life.

  He threw his bag in the trunk next to another already inside, slammed the lid closed, and quickly got in. No sooner had he latched the seatbelt than the car, which had been parked facing outward, leapt forward. Had she hit the accelerator any faster, then even the anti-slippage control might not have been able to compensate on the cobblestone and gravel driveway.

  His eyes got larger. She speaks Italian. Does that mean she drives like a Neapolitan? Oh, God, I hope not! I’ve heard stories about how they don’t follow rules of the road. Please let her driving experience be from northern Italy! I’m not religious, but she’s making me susceptible.

  Anna cruised down the peninsula at a moderate clip.

  Sven relaxed. She’s not creating the road hazard I feared.

  In less time than it took the taxi the night before, they were on the same coast road as the restaurant. As she turned towards Nice, Sven’s thoughts were in overdrive. She’s always in the passing lane, always in control. I guess that sums up her life. I can’t keep my eyes off her, even when I’m trying to watch the scenery. The car so matches her eyes I’ll bet it was specially detailed. She has that carefree look I just love, but now, with today’s experience, I fear what’s beneath. And the smile, oh that smile, it’s bedeviling me. She’s in control and knows it.