With a Pull of a Trigger

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

The Art of Espionage

Monte Carlo, Monaco

Gregory stepped out of the sleek black car, adjusting his tie. He buttoned his suit jacket and offered his hand to the lady stepping out of the car, her silky black dress vivid and elegant against her creamy white skin. She smiled at the man, stepping out of the car, careful not to step on her flowing black dress.

Reini smiled softly as Gregory looked up at her and kissed the back of her hand. He held her hand as they walked to the entrance of the establishment, handing his car keys to the valet.

“Veuillez prendre soin de ma voiture,” said Gregory. (Please take care of my car.)

The man nodded, taking the keys from Gregory’s hand. “J'espère que vous apprécierez votre temps ici, monsieur.” (I hope you enjoy your time here, sir.)

Gregory smiled. “Merci beaucoup.” (Thank you very much.)

“Brush up on your French.”

Greg and Reini looked up from their desks, raising their eyebrows at Amrie. Amrie smiled at them and gave them brown folders, leaning against a desk after she did so.

“You’re going to Monaco,” said Amrie, gesturing to the brown folders which were in their hands. “And you’re going to interrogate that man, Carick Perrott, and kill him.”

“That’s our job?” asked Greg, sipping his coffee.

Amrie nodded. “Kill him after the interrogation. He is apparently The Alliance’s dealer of arms and weaponry. Interrogate him first. If you can, learn about who the supplier is. If you can’t, just kill him, fast and unseen. Are we clear?”

Reini nodded.

Reini stepped inside the Monte Carlo casino, looking every bit the posh and snooty lady she needed to be. She looked at Greg for a moment, smiling sweetly, before removing her hand from his. “I’ll be going to the bar, sweetie,” she said, her voice so very saccharine.

“Be careful darling,” said Greg, smiling at her. He looked at her walk away for a few moments before finally stepping down the few steps, going to the poker table.

“We’re in,” whispered Reini, still smiling radiantly at the others. “We spot him.”

“Good,” said Charles, his fingers moving on the keyboard with lightning speed. “Do you have a vision of him?”

“Yes,” answered Reini, hopping up a barstool and crossing her legs.

“Very good,” said Charles.

Reini smiled sweetly at the bartender and raised a finger up. “A glass of Merlot, please.”

“Hey Charles? Information on our mission, please?” asked Reini, walking inside Charles’ office.

Charles rolled his swivel chair to the left and took two brown folders, turning around and giving them to Greg and Reini. “Your names are Harriet and Wentworth Macintyre. You two are married, almost five years now. You have a mansion in Vermont and another in Washington D.C. Harriet is a famous fashion designer, creator of the brand Harriet designs which have taken London by storm in 2006.

“How are we going to approach him?” asked Greg.

Charles grinned. “You’re apparently going to have a new mansion in Brazil and apparently you need protection.”