Topless Agenda

by Lyle Christie

  “I guess we’ll have to take care of your girlfriend first!” Jarib yelled.

  “No! She has nothing to do with any of this!” Babineux cried out.

  “Then her death will be your final lesson about the importance of keeping your word,” he said, before turning his attention to Bridgette.

  “It’s too bad. I really had hoped to fuck you before I killed you,” he said.

  “Fuck me? Fuck you!” she said, indignantly.

  Hearing Bridgette tough talk her antagonist was enough to make me feel instantly better at having been so easily seduced by her charms back on my houseboat. She was quite a woman, and one that I now desperately needed to save. Jarib turned his cruel gaze back to Babineux, who was frozen in terror as he watched the scene unfold before his eyes.

  “Say goodbye to your girlfriend, Babineux.”

  “No!” Babineux pleaded.

  Jarib cocked the pistol and was about to pull the trigger, but I didn’t have time to pull out my gun, and decided, instead, to perform a move I dubbed the Sir Lancelot—due to its similarity to medieval jousting. Jarib, unaware that I was coming up quickly upon him, was caught fully by surprise when I braced my ski pole against my hip and rammed it into his side. It wasn’t very chivalrous, but then neither was shooting a defenseless woman in the face. The tip of the pole imbedded into his torso right up to the basket, snapping a few ribs and, judging by his tortured scream, probably penetrated a few important organs. He fell to the ground, his gun dropping out of his hand, as he clutched his side and desperately tried to hold back a great tide of oozing blood that was staining the snow. I picked up his gun and took a moment to gaze down at him.

  “You really do suck with the ladies,” I said.

  “Fuck you,” he said, tiny droplets of blood flying from his mouth.

  “Fuck me? Fuck you,” I said, repeating Bridgette’s words.

  I slipped down the short distance to Bridgette to find her looking up at me with otherworldly relief in her eyes.

  “Thanks, Tag. I seriously owe you one.”

  “No, I’d say we’re probably even considering the night we spent on my houseboat.”

  The scared look on her face was replaced by a brief smile, and I reached down and pulled her up to her feet. She gave me a quick and unexpected kiss on the lips, then the two of us headed down the hill to join Babineux, who immediately embraced Bridgette.

  “OK, lovebirds, there are potentially only one and a half additional assholes left that I know about.”

  “Good, and, if we run into them, why don’t you take care of the one, and I’ll take care of the half,” Babineux, said.

  “OK, but as I’m twice the man you are, it seems only fitting.”

  We headed down the mountain, this time with Babineux leading the way, Bridgette in the middle, and, lastly, me taking up the position of rear guard. We managed to go nearly a half mile without so much as a peep from the terrorists before cutting off the main run and skiing up to Babineux’s chalet. Everyone popped out of their bindings and climbed the stairs to the back deck.

  “Maybe I should go first,” I said.

  “By all means.”

  Babineux unlocked the door, and I slipped inside to find Lux patiently waiting in the living room.

  “Have a nice day of skiing?” she asked.

  “Yeah, except for the hit team, but you’ll be happy to hear that I found our love bears just in the nick of time.”

  “Is everyone OK?” she asked, sounding concerned.

  “Yeah, though Babineux is still French.”

  “Well, there’s nothing we can do about that, unfortunately.”

  Lux reached into her bag and pulled out my shoes.

  “Do you want to change now?”

  “Fuck yeah! There’s nothing in the world quite as uncomfortable as ski boots—least of all, rentals,” I said, as I unbuckled the boots and slipped on my shoes.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said, as I headed off to the back door to get Babineux and Bridgette. They followed me into the living room, but Bridgette stopped short when she saw Lux.

  “Oh, hello, Lux,” she said, as innocently as she could muster, considering their last exchange had been at gunpoint on the bow of the Sozo just before she and Babineux fled Martinique.

  “Hello, Bridgette. Having fun?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “Good.”

  “Look, Lux, I’m sorry about what happened back on the Sozo, but...”

  “No time for a family reunion right now,” I interrupted.

  “Why are you here?” Babineux asked.

  “The CIA wants you to come in,” Lux said.

  “I’m sure they do, but they can fuck off. Everything that happened up there today was because of them—and you,” he said, pointing at Lux and me.

  “They are offering you protection and full immunity. It’s your only chance of survival.”

  “And what about my hundred million dollars in jewels you thieving asshole?”

  “It’s gone, so you can count that as the cost of doing business with terrorists.”

  Babineux looked particularly annoyed as he considered my last statement.

  “Well?” I asked.

  “I think this is all a clever setup.”

  “It’s not. I promise you. Do you think I would bring my sister into this if it were a setup?” Lux asked.

  Babineux paced back and forth in his living room as he considered that question, but then, as he stopped and was about to speak, a barrage of bullets shattered the glass window behind him. He dove to the floor and crawled over to the couch where Bridgette and Lux had already taken refuge. I stayed low and moved over to the window and hazarded a brief glance outside to look for the shooter. I found him about fifty yards off in the woods, sitting with his rifle perched on a downed tree. Wonderful, he had a very good long range weapon, and all we had on us were our pistols. Sure, I had an entire arsenal in the trunk of the car, but they were useless with us pinned down in Big Bird’s chalet. Suddenly, more shots started coming from a different direction, which meant our hit team might have called in some reinforcements.

  “Let’s go see if we can get to the car via the front door,” I said.

  “Oh, do you want to make it easier for your hit team to take me out?” Babineux asked.

  “Goddammit, Babineux! If we wanted you dead—you’d already be dead, so, now, you and Bridgette have about five seconds to grab what you need, and then we’re getting the fuck out of here.”

  The two of them disappeared into the bedroom and returned a minute later with their bags the joined Lux and formed up behind me while I used the nearest window to make sure the way was clear. I was hoping that the terrorists didn’t have enough uninjured assholes left to completely encircle the house, but the only way to find out was to actually leave and draw out their fire. I opened the door and slipped out, scanning the surrounding area for any sign of movement. The others followed, and, when we were only halfway to the car, a fire team in the woods across the road decided to take a few potshots. We all dropped to the ground and crawled over and regrouped behind a small stone wall that bordered the edge of the driveway.

  “Lux, did you get a good look at the shooters in the woods?”

  “Not really, why?”

  “It was the fucking Fuchs.”

  “You sure?”

  “Pretty fucking sure.”

  Suddenly, shots came from behind us, followed by more shots from the team in the woods across the street. Unfortunately, our Audi was parked at the end of the driveway, so we now had a lot of treacherous open ground to cover.

  “Goddammit! We are dead in the middle of a fucking turkey shoot—and guess what?”

  “What?” Lux asked.

  “We’re the fucking turkeys! So, if we hope to survive this lovely little encounter, you three are going to have to haul ass to the car while I lay down some suppressive fire.”

  “What about you?”

  “Don�
�t worry. I’ll be right behind you.”

  I popped up and fired at the fucking Fuchs, sending the fuckers ducking for cover, and it allowed the others to reach the car. I decided to make my break, but one of the fucking Fuchs managed to get off a couple shots—both going high and right. I fired two more times then ran like hell for the car. I was nearly there when a shot came from behind, forcing me to duck down and crawl on my hands and knees. Lux saw my predicament and backed partially into the driveway, meeting me halfway in the veritable no man’s land. Just as I opened the door, I heard more shots coming from the house then more from the direction of the woods, so I fired a shot in each direction then climbed into the car. Lux put it in first gear and hit the gas, and the powerful engine roared to life, spinning all four tires as we made the turn onto the street. The back end swung out, but she corrective steered then accelerated, quickly putting precious distance between us and our attackers.

  “Goddammit. It’s bad enough that we have to deal with a terrorist hit squad, but now we’ve got to worry about those fucking Fuchs! That’s it—from here on out, we should trust no one, and that means fuck Zurich and fuck Monte Carlo. Plan A and B are officially cancelled. We have to assume the mission has been compromised and, therefore, need a backup to the backup plan. What do you think, Lux?”

  “Unfortunately, I think you’re right, but that means we need a new destination.”

  “Babineux, do you have any family or friends in Europe that no one knows about? Preferably near the coast?”

  “I have a half-sister in Taormina, Sicily.”

  “Is she attractive?”

  “She’s beautiful.”

  “Perfect. We’ve got Plan C, as in C-cup if we’re extremely lucky.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The Mustache Ride

  I HAD NEVER been to Sicily, but, at the moment, it seemed to be as good a destination as anywhere else in Europe. Of course, things were a tad bit more complicated now because we were more or less on our own. Sure, I could trust Corn and John, but, obviously, someone else had an interest in seeing Babineux, and possibly the rest of us, dead. I had only been officially working with the CIA for twenty-four hours, and I was already regretting taking on this supposedly straight forward snatch and grab. When it rained it poured, and, right now, we were in a deluge—of shit. At least we were no longer being shot at as we made our way through Davos and towards the road that would take us to the main highway. All was quiet, and about five wonderfully uneventful minutes passed before Babineux decided he wanted to discuss our little situation.

  “So, Asshole, what are the specifics of the CIA’s deal?” he asked.

  “Lux will have to explain that part, but since you’re feeling chatty, do you mind if I ask a few questions first?”

  “Fire away—Asshole,” he said, with a little snicker.

  Apparently, he was getting a lot of pleasure repeatedly referring to me by the name Asshole. Oh well, it was hard to blame him considering our brief and tumultuous relationship history.

  “Any idea who, other than your terrorist clients, would want to see you dead?”

  “How the hell would I know?”

  “Yeah, how indeed says the guy who just happened to know all about me before I even got on the plane to Soft Taco Island. You seem like the type of guy who knows everything about everything.”

  He laughed before replying.

  “I’m sorry, but this time I don’t know anything about anything.”

  “Ever heard of the Fuchs Corporation?”

  “Of course, it’s one of Germany’s oldest and wealthiest privately owned corporations.”

  “Any idea why they would be interested in you?”

  “Not offhand, though we’ve crossed paths on a few deals over the years.”

  “Did you happen to have fucked over the Fuchs on any of those fucking deals?”

  “Not really. They were all mutually beneficial.”

  Sweet Lord! This fucking snatch and grab was getting less straightforward by the second, and even worse was the fact that I didn’t trust Babineux—and it wasn’t because he was an arms dealer. It was mainly because he was also a politician, and I generally didn’t trust any politician, whether he or she was a third world island president, senator, congressman, or city councilman. Most, if not all, were self serving pieces of shit, riding the system to fulfill their own selfish agenda.

  “So, what’s the CIA’s deal?” Babineux asked.

  This was Lux’s territory, so she took over the conversation.

  “The Agency is willing to forget about the missile deal and give both you and Bridgette full immunity and protection in exchange for information on your terrorist clients.”

  Babineux chuckled quietly to himself before responding.

  “Oh well, I suppose that isn’t the worst option, and it’s as good a time as any for a visit to America.”

  “Alrighty then, I suppose now all we have to do is stay alive and get the fuck out of Europe,” I said, as I reached down and scanned through the satellite navigation system.

  There were a couple of options to get out of these mountains and into Italy, and I chose the one that would make the least sense to anyone pursuing us. That direction happened to be southeast, and it was definitely the scenic route and appeared to be sparsely populated and curvy as all hell. It was therefore a good thing that I was in the front seat, or I might have gotten car sick and puked in front of two women who I’d had sex with and one man I hadn’t. We reached Italy in a little over an hour and cruised easily through the border, as the guards were obviously far more interested in Lux and Bridgette than anyone or anything else in the car. Thank God for Italian men!

  We continued on through Italy for over an hour until I realized it was well after lunch and figured everyone must be hungry. After a brief conversation it was unanimously agreed that we look should for a restaurant—preferably one without a view. When it came to food, I was happy to be in Italy, as I could do with a little more pasta and a lot less fondue at the moment. I wasn’t emotionally ready to have another belly full of cheese and the requisite emergency dump at a gas station, least of all, with our current company. Up ahead, there was a quaint looking wood shingled restaurant on the left, and Lux cut across the highway and parked in front. The place was bustling with late afternoon diners, but we were lucky and managed to get a table near the fireplace. The waiter, a handsome, dark haired Italian twentysomething, came over and smiled unabashedly at the girls, his joy so evident that I suspected his balls were already cooking up a fresh batch of his own personal cream sauce.

  “Ciao-ciao! I’m Giovanni,” he said.

  “Ciao-ciao,” I said back.

  “Ah—Americano.”

  “Ci.”

  Another one. Fuck. I might need to take a few language refresher courses.

  “Very cool. I have a sister in America. Where you from?”

  “California.”

  “No way, my sister, she is in Los Angeles at UCLA.”

  “Ah, lucky girl—that’s a good school.”

  “Yeah, she’s studying drama—wants to be an actress.”

  “Is she pretty?”

  “She’s beautiful!”

  “Then she’s in the right place.”

  Just then, a large group of men came in wearing soccer uniforms and looking as though they had just walked off the field. They were obviously some local team celebrating a win or lamenting a loss, and not surprisingly, each and every one of them gave Lux and Bridgette the thorough once-over as they walked past our table, and I couldn’t help but laugh at seeing such bold unabashed gawking.

  “What’s so funny?” Lux asked.

  “Italian men are awesome in that they have no shame whatsoever when it comes to checking out the opposite sex.”

  “Awesome? How would you like getting ogled by a bunch of guido assholes?” Lux asked.

  “Depends on the guido assholes, and, while we know they’re guidos, how can we be sure that they�
�re actually assholes?” I responded.

  “The bad facial hair,” Bridgette interjected.

  Giovanni, who had been patiently listening to the discussion and just happened to be clean-shaven, laughed at Bridgette’s little quip, and it got him a lovely smile from her in return. As I thought about her words, I realized she might just have a point, as most people I’d ever known with bad facial hair displayed some pretty peculiar personality traits. I decided to leave that thought behind for the moment and instead turned my attention to Giovanni, as he was ready to take our order.

  “Can I get you anything to start? Drinks perhaps?”

  “A bottle of your best local Chianti,” Babineux said.

  Everyone was clearly hungry and, therefore, a little cranky, but thankfully Babineux had chimed in so that Giovanni could at least start our order. He reappeared a moment later with a bottle of wine, then took it to Babineux before opening it and pouring him a taste. Being the consummate Frenchman, he made quite a show of swishing it around, smelling it, and practically gargling it in his mouth before finally swallowing and telling Giovanni to go ahead and fill our glasses. I waited until everyone had their wine then lifted my glass to toast.

  “Here’s to us all hopefully getting together for Christmas,” I said.

  It was a reference to Babineux’s parting words back in Martinique, and he was the only one who laughed when we clinked glasses, as Lux and Bridgette were clearly suffering from low blood sugar and beyond any kind of humor. Of course, Lux was also still angry with Bridgette about her little indiscretion back on Soft Taco Island—a topic they had yet to discuss. I took a sip then put down my wine and combed the menu for just the right dish. We were in northern Italy, so we could expect some excellent risotto and polenta, and the pasta sauces would most likely be made with cream and cheese rather than tomatoes or olive oil. Of course, it could get even more complicated as every province also tended to have its own specialty.

  Giovanni returned a few minutes later to find a quiet table, everyone still engrossed in their menus, clearly too hungry to be able to decide what to eat. He, thankfully, stepped in, started making recommendations, and soon managed to have all of our orders together. I went with the house made gnocchi in a creamy alfredo sauce while Babineux got some rich sounding lamb dish—because he’s French and they tended to order those kinds of things. Bridgette and Lux both chose the mushroom risotto, and it allowed Giovanni to finally leave and put in our order.