No Man's Land

17- The 840 Summit

August 3rd, 2018

840 Summit~ Croatia

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Foreign Intelligence Officer J. *****

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Time-mark: 16:23-16:25

"Dobra večer, ma'am." The American ambassador to Croatia nodded to me, glancing at the cocktail cups in my hands.

"Evening, Marco."

"So, what do you have here that isn't poison?" Marco asked, sitting down. I rolled my eyes and poured the cocktail cups' contents into a glass.

"Everything, though I'd hope you're staying sober enough to facilitate the trade deals, correct?"

"Come on," Marco said, pausing to look at my name tag, "Marina, you should know I don't mess around when it comes to my job."

"Hm, then why is this the third time you've pitched this deal. Talk of the town is that you're getting lazy."

"You know a lot for a bartender, 'Rina."

"I dabble in other trades." I laughed, pushing the drink in front of him. "Now stop flirting with the bartender and go get us a trade deal, okay?" I spotted a woman making her way towards the bar, and raked my brain for who she was, but I couldn't put a name to her face.

"Dobra večer, gospođa. Čime Vas mogu uslužiti? What can I get for you?" I asked, following in accented English. She looked too tan to be Croatian, but had a foreign air to her.

"Vodka, add spiced ginger beer and lime." She said, her English pristine yet stiff.

"A Moscow Mule, then?"

"Right." As I worked on the drink, I observed her out of the corner of my eye. Long black hair with a sharp cut, minimal makeup besides lipstick and mascara, and expensive clothes. Everything about her screamed business. I slipped into the storage room and pulled my radio off of its place on my belt.

"This is *****, can I get an ID on the woman at the bar. Third seat, black hair, has a white clutch." I put the radio back in its place and grabbed two slices of lime from the refrigerator and reentered the actual bar part of my station, pushing the door closed behind me.

"Positive. I'll forward her info to your phone." The voice of my supervising officer rang in my earpiece. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and quickly pulled up the profile of a woman by the name of Alana Foster. She was thirty-one and worked for the private security company that had been partnering with the governments tonight. However, the Alana Foster in front of me was not the same as the one in the picture.

"Hey, less texting more working. Raditi. Work." One of the event supervisors hissed at me as she walked by. I held back a glare and slipped the phone back into my pocket, receiving a humored glance from Marco.

"A refill, please? You make a good cocktail, Marina."

"Thanks. It's just my job, though." I said, trying to stay in character.

"Job or not, you've got a talent for this." I silently nodded and grabbed his glass as I assembled the drink again, this time using a substitute for the alcohol. "This one's blank." He complained.

"Mhm." I waved dismissively as I watched the fake Alana Foster get up, leaving a 10 kuna note tucked under her glass. Lousy tip. Good thing bar tending wasn't my actual source of income. I pulled out my radio again and watched her as she weaved through the crowd. "Eyes on potential threat. 5'8", long black hair, knee lengths green dress, white clutch. Resemblance to one Alana Foster who can not be accounted for. I wouldn't engage, just keep eyes."