| Subject: Chapter 139 - rated 18+ |
Author:
Lynuslinus
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Date Posted: Saturday, September 18, 06:29:56pm
In reply to:
Lynuslinus
's message, "Whispered Identities - Chapter 129 and forward" on Sunday, August 22, 06:05:27pm
Nikita manouvered the Mercedes into the second body shop lot and wandered into the office. The first shop had been closed and judging by the dilapidated appearance of the exterior, the service would be suspect. A young man in overalls jumped up from his desk upon seeing Nikita enter the front door.
“Oui, oui, mademoiselle? Comment allez-vous?” he grinned scanning her body.
“Do you speak English?”
“A little....my older brother...he speak better...I will look him...to ....s’il vous plait....” he motioned for Nikita to be seated on an old leather chair.
Within minutes the brother returned. “How are you....oh, sorry...how do you do mademoiselle? I am much pleased to meet with you....may I offer you service to your body....oh, no.....how may I service you?”
Nikita suppressed a smiled. “I have a car with some damage....body damage. I wish it repaired and re-painted....but I am in somewhat of a hurry....I must be in Rome in two days for work.”
“Oh yes....Roma....are you a....ahhhh....model for clothes?”
“Ah....yes....very perceptive of you...yes, a model for clothing.”
“Comment? I can tell by how beautiful you are mademoiselle.” grinned the older brother.
“My car in out front....can you give me an estimate? I’ll pay extra for the rush...and may I view some samples of paint colours?”
“Oui! Of course, naturellement!”
The brothers followed Nikita outside to the Mercedes; watching her body movements intently from behind. She was dressed in black leather pants, with a silver silk blouse and matching deep silver down jacket. Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail and she wore dark sunglasses. The brothers walked around the Mercedes and examined the ‘damage’.
“Well, can you do the work?” she questioned.
“But of course...this is a tres....a beautiful car mademoiselle....unfortunate to have damage...you do not wish to keep the same colour?”
“No I need a change....I thought perhaps a deep blue or black....if I could look at some colour samples.”
“Yes....of course.....but to do a good job we will need at least one week.”
“No, like I said, that is not possible....could you begin immediately....I need to be in Rome in two days.”
“Ohhhhhhh....mon dieu.....we will have to work through the night and it will take at least one day for the paint to dry...but it will not be set dry....so I cannot guarantee it to last.”
“That’s fine. How much?”
“Hummmmm.....2000 euros for the rush job.”
“I’ll pay you 1000 euros for the rush job....that is more than fair I believe.”
The younger brother snickered and nodded. The older brother stood shaking his head.
“Ahhhhhh....but mademoiselle.....we will be working through the night....”
“Very well, you convinced me....1500 euros,” replied Nikita.
“Oui....agreed. Now come to see the paint colours so we can start.”
Nikita jumped into the taxi the younger brother had called and waved to the them as the taxi headed back in the direction of the hotel. Suddenly Nikita tapped the driver on the shoulder and motioned for him to pull over. She paid the fare and began to walk the inner city near the Tour de Babotte with its 18th century towers. The sky began to cloud over and as Nikita removed her dark glasses, she spotted a row of old, abandoned taxis. She scooted across the lane and darted between the old cars, looking for one with licence plates.
(('Hummmmm.....that one will do nicely....this is too easy....'))
Reaching into her handbag, she removed a multi-use tool and began unscrewing the front and rear plates from the old taxi. Suddenly she stopped. - she glanced around and noted that all the taxi plates began with the same number configuration.
(('Damn! I thought this was too easy....these taxis must all have specific numbers designating them as taxis....but wait....the first body shop...the one that is closed. There were at last three abandoned vehicles sitting there.'))
Nikita walked out into the street and wandered to the busy traffic intersection; waving down a taxi, she jumped in and gave the driver the street address but not the number of the first shop. Paying the driver, she strolled towards the dilapidated building. She glanced up and down the street and darted quickly behind the abandoned cars. Only one still had licence plates. Nikita quickly removed the front and rear plates; they were too large to hide in her handbag so she tucked them behind an oil drum and wandered back out into the street. She spotted a newspaper kiosk on the corner; and dashed over to it. Smiling at the attendant, she purchased a French newspaper and after handing him the money, was about to leave when her eyes caught the headline on a British newspaper, the Guardian. A European economic conference had been disrupted by protesters but that was not what caught Nikita’s eye: It was a picture of Zoe Bates and Conner Sloan, pushing through the protesters. The byline read: Exposed MI-6 agents push past conference protesters....
Nikita handed the attendant more coins and scooped up the Guardian newspaper.
(('What are Zoe Bates and Conner Sloan doing at a European economic conference? And won’t Declan Quinn be pissed that their pictures are on the front page of the Guardian!'))
Nikita made her way back to the abandoned shop and glanced quickly around before dashing over to retrieve the licence plates. She carefully wrapped the french newspaper around them and tucked them under her arm. She hailed a taxi and asked to be taken to a shop where she could purchase fresh fruit and wine. After attempting to communicate in half French and English, she nodded as the driver pulled up to a shop with fruit and vegetables. She got out and motioned for the driver to wait as she purchased, oranges, apples and bananas. She glanced around and saw no wine.
(('Well Michael, the hotel wine will have to do I guess.'))
As she made her way back to the hotel in the taxi, she rested her head on the seat back.
(('It felt good to be actually doing something on their ‘private’ mission....not letting Michael make all the decisions and performing all the tasks. She had begun to feel like a kept woman.'))
She smiled to herself. (('Not that I mind having this man keep me for himself.'))
She paid the taxi and entered the hotel; walking to the front desk, she asked for a selection of wines available in the hotel. Selecting two expensive red Bordeaux, she asked for them to be delivered to their room. Nikita inserted the key card into the door and entered their room. Michael turned quickly upon hearing the door and was about to jump up until spotting it was Nikita.
“How’s it going Michael?”
“Slow.....this is taking much longer than I had hoped. And MI-6 are using IP locators to get at me through my computer domain name.”
“We’re....I mean....the computer is protected right?” questioned Nikita.
“Yes...it’s a dead end for them. My worm virus was starting to send back IP addresses, then their detection protocols clicked in. I was tempted to zap their system....a dozen strokes on my computer could have sent a virus barreling back up the line to crash their hard drives....take out their systems and obliterate their data beyond the capability of any recovery system.”
“Wow! You can do that! Michael....that is incredible!”
“But it would serve no purpose...we need to gain intel from their system...not destroy it.”
Nikita placed her handbag, the licence plates in the newspaper and the plastic sack of fruit on a table, then tossed her jacket on a chair. She walked up to Michael, stood behind him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and began to run her fingers over his chest. She kissed his neck and nibbled his ear.
“Hummmmm.....gives me goose bumps what those magic fingers of yours can do Michael....zapping hard drives....shooting out viruses through cyberspace.”
Michael suppressed a smile. “Yes....I suppose. I’m going to let the worm continue to attempt access....but if there is no success, I will try to locate a crosus...that’s internet eavesdropping softwear. We might have to wait until we get to Portugal....have my contact locate one.”
“What is it exactly?”
“A simple metal box...looks like a palm pilot...it’s a cyber surveillance tool....softwear. I will have to re-write portions of the program to allow me access into the MI-6 protocols.”
“Well, like I said before...you are so not just a pretty face Michael.”
“What?”
Nikita smiled and began licking Michael’s ear. “Nothing...nothing at all...I’m just continually being impressed by what you do with computers.”
Michael leaned back in response to Nikita’s gestures. “If you continue that...my computer might crash. How did you make out at the body shop?”
Nikita released Michael and walked to a nearby chair, collapsing, she kicked off her shoes.
“Alright...it’s going to cost a little extra because of wanting the car completed quickly, and they say the paint won’t be set properly....but I told them I wanted it by this time tomorrow. Is that okay? They are working through the night to get it done.”
Michael raised his eyebrows, “Really...this time tomorrow? How did you manage to convince them to work so quickly?”
“Money...I just offered them more money. Oh, and maybe a few feminine whiles....they seemed to think I was a model on my way to Rome for a showing.”
Michael turned his face away from Nikita, obviously impressed with her performance but not wanting to acknowledge it. “I see....and what colour did you decide on?”
“Dark blue....that okay?”
“Yes...fine....ahhh, well done Nikita.”
Nikita jumped up and pulled out the licence plates from the newspaper. “Oh, I managed to locate some....well, let’s just say ...unused French licence plates.”
Michael rose and walked to take the plates from Nikita.
“You didn’t steal them....I mean from somebody’s car....I mean....someone that will report it to the police.”
Nikita flopped back onto her chair. “Yes, Michael....I saw this new Peugeot parked in front of the hotel and thought....hey...there’s some plates we could use...I’ll just ask the doorman for a screwdriver to remove them...he was very obliging and......!”
“Okay. Sorry....I realize you know how to perform certain....ah, tasks...but...well, where did you get them?”
“Abandoned car at the first body shop....closed....business not operating anymore.”
Michael could not suppress his smile any longer. “Well done Nikita. And you are so not just a beautiful....face.”
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