Models and Super Spies Ch. 12

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Tomorrow.
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Part 12 of the 13 part series

Updated 10/05/2022
Created 03/13/2009
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Chapter 12: Tomorrow

"This is it. This is what it's all been leading up to." Vincent Silva, director of C.L.O.A.K., paused for dramatic effect, looking around the briefing room of black op special agents. Everyone in the room was off the books. They'd sacrificed their rights for the good of the country, and they were prepared to sacrifice their lives.

Trey Kennedy and Liz Hawkins shared a quick glance. They were the only ones that spotted the irony of Vincent's statement. Everything certainly had been leading up to "this," just not the way the operatives knew it.

"Alexander Mishin has made his move." The screens behind the handsome older man lit up with pictures of another handsome man. Alexander Mishin had one hand in his pocket as he looked over his shoulder. He could have been a Bond-villain with those faded aviators, his black, week-old beard, and his bleached and styled blonde hair. Vincent Silva couldn't have picked a better scapegoat.

The screens switched to a few images taken from the basement of the Green Fairy Lounge. Mishin was there in his black suit and faux hawk, his arm thrown around the notorious Samuel Smith as he hurried the man out the back door. Huddled around the two men were several of Samuel's goons, armed with automatic pistols and hard looks.

"These were taken last night, on a foiled operation by Tango Number One. The African American man is Samuel Smith, an assumed potential buyer. Smith returned to Las Vegas and my sources have confirmed that he is without the list. Mishin is still at large."

While all of that was true, Vincent was leaving out several huge details. Again, Liz and Trey shared a look. They had to step very carefully from here on out. It appeared that their traitorous director wasn't aware that either agent knew the truth. He also didn't suspect that Trey was now fully aware that he was supposed to be set up as the seller. Mishin's surprise appearance had foiled that, of course.

Vincent ran his hand through his salt-and-pepper beard. He looked tired, his eyes red with exhaustion. "I've got all my feelers out there. We're searching for him. One good thing is that Mishin loves the spotlight, so I'm guessing he's not going to stay hidden for long."

How are you going to spin this one, Vince? Liz thought as she watched him closely. Now that he knew Mishin was alive, his problems got more complicated. He couldn't simply pin it all on Trey; not with his primary suspect hiding in the darkness, waiting to strike.

Not to mention the matter of the list. Erin Small must have hit the fail-safe and drawn all the data in just before any party was able to extract it from the Green Fairy Lounge. That list could be anywhere now, although judging from the confidence hiding behind Vincent's façade, he probably knew where it was and at least had an idea on how to get to it.

"My guess is that he'll make his next move aboard the Solstice, tomorrow night. The nautical club will be making its invitation-only debut, just in time for the summer solstice, and the upscale party will be filled with potential buyers. It's something Mishin won't be able to resist."

Ah, now that makes sense. Liz tapped her lips in thought, this time resisting the desire to glance at Trey. He was a smart guy; he must have been following. Erin's ship was one of the repositories of the lists, as well as her personal residence. It made perfect sense that she'd moved all the data there.

"Agent Kennedy will be working from the inside. The rest of you are support." Liz nearly protested. She wasn't going? "I'm going to need all hands on deck for this one. The stakes are too high to fuck it up." Vincent glanced around at the small gathering of operatives, his dark eyes glowering. He wanted everyone to understand that failure wasn't an option. "Dismissed."

As the group filtered out of the room, the middle-aged director caught the attention of Liz and Trey and waved them over. "Meet me in my office in fifteen. I need to brief you on Trey's alias." There was more to it, Liz knew. A bead of fear rolled down her spine. Did he know that she knew? He couldn't…

"Yes, sir," Liz said, hoping her sarcasm would cover her anxiety.

"Don't get smart with me, Hawkins," Vincent said with a smile, a crinkle in the corners of his eyes. That smile was a good thing. The man was overconfident. And if he was overconfident, then he probably wasn't picking up on the clues.

***

Vincent Silva leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes. Alicia with her flowing blonde hair filled the space behind his eyelids. Alicia and her soft, brown eyes. Last night had been incredible. Until they were interrupted, it had been as good as he'd dreamed it would be. Better.

She'd matured in the five years since they'd last been together. She'd gone from a naïve girl to a mature, young woman. What amazed Vincent the most, however, was that despite being in the modeling business for close to five years – not to mention the last couple months – she was still as genuine as she'd been when he'd first bumped into her at a mutual friend's house party, so many years ago.

And the sex. She'd certain gotten better at that! The Alicia he'd known before was tentative and inexperienced. The passion was there, but the experience wasn't. Now, Christ could she fuck. She knew how hot she was, and more importantly, she knew exactly how to use it.

Five years ago, she'd never have fucked him at the ballet, in public. She'd never have used his cock like a dildo, rubbing the crown along her baby smooth mound…

"Vincent, you ready for us?" Liz's voice interrupted him from his revelry. He sat up in his chair, like someone had walked in on him jerking off. He wasn't used to abruptness like that. Emily was always there to give him at least a little forewarning.

And thinking of Emily turned his thoughts to Alexander Mishin: the perpetual nail right in the arch of his foot. The harder he tried to stomp it out, the more it hurt back. Now, the man knew he was being hunted. That couldn't be good.

"Come on in," he said gruffly, waving to the two.

Trey was looking more thunderstruck than ever. He'd been pretty much a zombie through their briefing. His vacant look hadn't faded yet. Last night must have been traumatic. According to Liz's report, the gangster, Samuel Smith, nearly blew his head off – would have, had she not stepped in.

Why the fuck was she there? If she'd stayed away and coordinated the raid, like he'd told her, then he wouldn't be in this mess. Vincent had been counting on the analyst-turned-agent's green-ness to get him into trouble. He was supposed to have taken that bullet. Now he had two headaches to worry about, not just one: Trey and Mishin. He wouldn't let that happen again. This time, he was going to make sure Trey was alone.

"You did well last night," he said to the two of them, Liz first, being the heroine. No matter how good he was at spin, he couldn't deny her this bit of glory. And who knows, maybe a little praise here would help her slip up later on. "But our man got away. Trey, you're going to need to be perfect tomorrow."

"I think I should go, sir. I don't think Trey is ready to run solo."

"It's a good thing you're not making these decisions," he said firmly, shutting down any further protest from the redhead. "I'm pretty certain Mishin's going to be on board the Solstice for its debut launch. If the chance to rub elbows with so many celebrities in such a… decadent setting was not enough, then the fact that the world's most successful – meaning most wealthy and corrupt – business men will be there seals the deal."

"You think he's still trying to sell the list? Now that he knows we're on to him?" Liz asked, a little incredulously.

"I liked you better with the dark hair," he winked. "You're more argumentative with it red." She rolled her eyes. "I do think he's still trying to sell it, yes. I think he's got nothing else. In fact, after last night, he may be even more desperate. It's his ticket out of here."

"But aboard something so public?" she pressed.

"The Solstice's… solstice party," Vincent shook his head at the cheesiness, "is anything but public, Liz. The invitation list is more exclusive than a dinner party at the White House, and once it leaves dock, it doesn't return until dawn. Not to mention the charted route heads into international waters, where he may think he's safe." And where questions don't necessarily need to be answered, Vincent added to himself. For a group like C.L.O.A.K., the invisible border was pretty insignificant, but it would provide enough red tape that the CIA won't bother with a thorough investigation.

Trey asked, "So where do we come in?"

"Ah, yes. Here's your cover." He pushed the file across the table in his direction. "Liz is right, going solo is a risk, but that party is too exclusive to get her in. I'm hoping you'll be able to handle it?"

Trey nodded.

"Good. You'll be going in with the caterers. I need you to locate Mishin. That'll be your primary goal."

"Want me to apprehend him when I do?" he asked.

Vincent shook his head. "No, not at all. We need to know where he's stashed the list. So tail him. We have an understanding with the event manager. As soon as you locate Mishin, speak with her. You'll be reassigned to whatever room he's in."

Trey nodded. He hadn't said anything so far. "Good. You should be good. Should be easy. Not like last night. No one ever notices the help."

"So what's he supposed to do, once he finds him?" Liz pressed.

"Stay close. He'd hidden the list aboard the Solstice and he's going to sell it. Wait until we know where it is."

"I called that meeting in the other room for two reasons. One, yes, they will be support, but there's more. We have a traitor in C.L.O.A.K. A mole. I'm pretty sure it's someone in that room, and if my suspicions are correct, that someone will also be aboard the ship. If you see him or her, then it's imperative that you eliminate them, too. I can't have any more loose ends. Not like the ones we created last night. Understood?"

"What about my wife?" Trey asked.

Vincent reached down into all his training and put on the most sympathetic face he could muster. "We're doing everything we can, but it appears Alexander Mishin may have outsmarted us with her, as well."

It was like watching a train wreck. Vincent loved it. Trey's face went from blank and lost to withering.

"Vincent, I don't think this is the time to—" Liz began.

"It's absolutely the time! You know as well as I do that this life we lead doesn't always have a happy ending. Trey needs to go into the endgame with the facts."

The copper-haired man glanced from Liz to Vincent, his eyes rimmed with red. "How? Why?"

Unyielding, Vincent Silva removed a manila envelope from the top drawer of his desk and handed it to Trey. These would be the last few nails of the man's coffin. "Go on," he prompted. "You need to see them."

Trey's fingers shook as he pulled back the brass closure and removed the 8 x 10 glossies. They were prints from Alicia's night at the Green Fairy. With Alexander Mishin. Stills that left no doubt that she'd been fucked, and had fucked back.

Vincent was quiet, but inside, he was celebrating as Trey's face filled with rage and desolation. A man in despair was destructive. And right now, he needed Trey to be an atom bomb.

"Rumor has it Mishin has invited your wife to the solstice party tomorrow night." Vincent watched the other man carefully. He saw it there. Jealousy. Envy. Fury. "I need you to restrain yourself at first. I need to trust that you can do that for me, OK? A snake in the grass. You'll be able to strike. I won't deny that. But not until it's right."

Manipulating the emotions of men and women came easily to Vincent Silva. It's what had gotten him to where he was now, and what would get him so much further. Trey wouldn't be able to help himself; he'd kill Mishin before the night was out. Sending Alicia into the lion's den was a risk, but it was one he had to take. Mishin had already proven that he couldn't resist her. She'd be the death of him, and he had no idea. And if she saw her husband in a murderous rage, then even better.

"You're doing what's best for your country, and for that, I'm thankful," Vincent soothed, molding the man's hateful energy. Honing it like a weapon. Last night had been a debacle, but maybe it worked out better this way.

"I need you to maintain cover. No matter what you see or hear. No matter what. Understand?" Vincent's dark eyes glowed as he watched his scapegoat nod. Tomorrow was going to be fantastic.

***

"You're being set up, Trey," Liz whispered as soon as they'd left the C.L.O.A.K. compound. She'd swept her car for bugs, but made sure she wasn't being tailed by someone with a shotgun mic before talking.

"I know," he said quietly.

"You know?"

"This whole thing's been a set-up from the beginning. An elaborate plot for Vincent to steal my wife from me and ruin my life."

Well, there was more to it than that, the redhead thought, but she was still surprised by his acute awareness. "You and I are being manipulated. That whole thing with the gala – with Alicia bidding on Tony – was a deception. Nothing happened that night; was probably contrived by Vincent to get you…" One hand on the wheel, Liz ran her hand through her once-again glossy, red hair. "Shit, Trey, I need you with me tomorrow night. I need you alert and clear-headed."

"Those photos weren't a 'deception,'" Trey replied, sarcasm creeping into his soft voice.

"Trey, listen to me." Liz licked her lips. "Vincent wants you irrational. Needs you to be. You're gonna take the fall for him! Tomorrow night's a trap, OK? And if you don't snap out of it, then it won't matter what we know or not."

If Trey lost it in any way, Vincent Silva could spin it in his favor. Liz was sure of that. If Trey attacked him, C.L.O.A.K.'s support would identify him with the traitor. If he attacked Mishin, he'd be playing directly into Vincent's web.

The safest bet would be to keep Trey miles from that ship, but that would also tip the black ops director off. She needed to keep her knowledge a secret.

"I know." He stared out the window. "I know!" he repeated, finally finding some passion. "It's just… shit, Liz, my marriage is over! And right now, I want someone to pay. Alexander Mishin or Vincent Silva, I could care less right now!"

The redhead wet her lips. Vincent had conditioned him so well. He was volatile. As deadly as a suicide bomber. But what could she do? To go in without him meant failure.

So here she was, taking a risk. It wasn't until they were pulling into the hotel parking lot that Trey asked the obvious question. "Where are we going?"

Liz didn't respond. It was best to keep him in the dark. Just a little bit longer. She navigated the car up the corkscrew ramp of the tall parking garage. Thirteen flights of dizzying round and round. At noon on a random Tuesday in the summer, the fourteenth floor of the parking deck was empty. Well, empty save one other car.

A lipstick red Mercedes convertible.

"Do her a favor, Trey. Don't tell her you'll be at the party tomorrow night."

***

Alicia had woken in Vince's empty bed and immediately knew something was wrong. She was used to being instructed on what to do, how to pose, which way to look; the sensation she was feeling was similar. Look this way. Do this thing. Obey. Don't question.

There had been a note sitting on the bedside. She'd taken it, but was so eager to get out of there that she hadn't bothered reading it in until she was pulling out of the man's Larchmount home. It was sweet and non-consequential, just as she'd suspected it would be. All the right words there, hitting the perfect balance of romantic and reasonable. He'd changed so much in five years.

Then she'd remembered the snippet of his telephone conversation. The anger that simmered just beneath the surface. And the rage in the way he'd fucked her afterwards. She knew, deep down, that he hadn't changed after all…

The meet came through in a coded message, just the way Vince had explained it would. A noon-time meet up in an empty parking garage, attached to the downtown Carlyle Hotel. Not having anywhere else to go, she'd headed over there earlier to shower and freshen up, breakfasting on a cigarette and a couple pills.

By the time noon rolled around, she had a healthy buzz going on. Her body felt enveloped in a plush blanket, fresh out of the dryer. So when her husband stepped out of the car with a petite redhead, she felt she took it fairly well.

The blonde blinked behind her dark shades and glanced beyond them. They'd parked between her and stairwell, cutting off her only escape. She looked over, where the fourteenth story ledge gave way to another form of escape. Medicated, she wondered how long she'd fall.

"Don't even think about it," the redhead said firmly, her voice stronger than Alicia would have expected. There was something familiar about her, although that could have been the drugs talking. She'd been suffering from bouts of déjà vu for too long.

"I'm not, don't worry," Alicia responded, trying to match the other woman's confidence. "But maybe I'd be better off?" She turned her head to regard Trey, who looked just as startled as she felt.

"Because you think your husband's a traitor?" the redhead asked. It sounded false when the other woman said it. Once again, she felt that nagging feeling of being misled. "He's not, Alicia. And deep down, you know it."

The young model's heart fluttered as a breeze swept through their floor of the empty garage. She turned and paced away from them. Toward the ledge. She needed open air. She started to feel cornered.

"You can't trust Vincent," the woman continued behind her. "Listen to your instincts, girl!"

"It's too late," she said fatalistically. "It's too late."

She paused at the rail of the garage. The wind felt wonderful on her face. She glanced down. All the way down. Cars glided along the streets like ants in a gridded ant farm. Speeding up, slowing down, turning. Going about their business. Did they know her? Would they recognize her face in the newspaper? In the obituaries? Had she "made" it yet?

Her grip tightened on the railing. She hadn't. Hadn't made it. Yet. Her wedding rings were gone. She didn't even know where anymore. Didn't care.

"Don't jump." Trey's voice was closer than she'd expected. She could practically feel his breath on the back of her neck. Could feel his warmth.

"I'm not going to." She had more work to do. She turned, leaning dangerously on the edge, and looked at him. He looked sad. In her medicated state, she could admit that it was her fault, and that in turn made her sad. But it didn't change anything.

"I know you're not," he said.

"I'm sorry for what I said… the other day…"

He stepped forward. He looked ragged, but handsome. Trey had always been handsome, no doubt, but she liked his new look. She liked the scruff and the short hair. He shook his head, dismissing it. "Look, tomorrow… tomorrow may be the most important day of your life. Vincent's going to ask you to attend the Soltice's grand opening. You need to go."

He took her hands in his, tracing his fingers over where her rings used to be. "This feels like a 'goodbye,' Trey."

"You and I both know we've already passed that stage. We said goodbye a long time ago."

Despite her anesthetized emotions, Alicia felt a tear rolled down her cheek. "I'm not the same woman you married. The things I've done…"

"I know."

"You know…" She laughed pityingly. Of course he knew. He was a spy.