The Assignment

The Assignment

D. A. Ratliff

I woke up in Paris, not knowing if this would be the best or worst day of my life. Dawn lit the city sky outside the hotel room where I had spent the last three days posing as a wealthy vineyard heiress from Reims. There was a plot to kidnap the young heiress, Lucie Boudoin, and I had taken her place as bait. For my first assignment, being bait was stressful, but I had to admit it was a bit of an adrenaline rush.

Lucie’s father, Henri Boudoin, owned one of the largest and oldest vineyards in the Champagne region and had powerful friends and more than a few enemies. Interpol intercepted a threat to his family, and Boudoin turned to the organization I work for, the International Global Polity, for help. The IGP sequestered Lucie in a safe house, and the director, Moreau, decided I was ready to take on my first assignment.

Don’t expect a business card from me. The IGP is ultra-secretive and answers only to the Tribunal, an anonymous group thought to consist of former heads of state who decided the global security agencies were no match for the threat level faced. Their representative and only contact was Mr. Parker, a British gentleman I had yet to meet.

The IGP consisted of the highest-trained operatives in the world and had no budgetary concerns. Get the job done no matter the cost. I’m convinced that men like Boudoin finance the organization, as the simple threat of the kidnapping of one young woman would not be a routine operation we would usually accept.

Since checking into the hotel, I did what any young wealthy woman would do in Paris—I shopped. To look the part, Moreau gave me Henri Boudoin’s ‘Black” credit card, which only the elite wealthy possess, with instructions to spend with abandon. The idea was to draw attention to myself. Lucie had a reputation for loving anything expensive, and I lived up to her reputation, knowing the items would be returned. The piles of shopping bags in the hotel room stood as a testament to my efforts.

After room service breakfast, I dressed. A glance in the mirror shocked me with how different I looked. My body type was much like Lucie’s, but where I was dark-haired and green-eyed, Lucie was a blonde with ice-blue eyes. Thanks to Valentine Caprise, IGP’s resident makeup artist who created the teams’ disguises, I had become Lucie, down to the contours of her face, voice, and walk.

Before I left, I texted Moreau. Leaving hotel. Status?

He responded quickly. Intel says today. Backup is in place. Follow the plan, Erka.

I will.

I stashed the IGP phone in an agreed-upon hiding place, grabbed my purse, and headed into a beautiful Spring morning in Paris. The portier hailed a cab for me, and I gave the driver my destination, the Hermès store on the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré.

In ninety minutes, I spent nearly € 5000 on two pairs of shoes, a bracelet, and a scarf. Packages in hand, I left the store, and as soon as I reached the sidewalk, a limo stopped on the street. Three men surrounded me and walked me toward the vehicle. As one man opened the rear door, the man to my right whispered, “Don’t make a scene, or it will be your last. Get into the car.”

He pressed the barrel of a gun against my side, and I had no intention of resisting. Once in the limo, I felt the prick of a needle on my neck, and I drifted into darkness.

~~~

Awareness came slowly. At first, I thought I was in the dark, but then I realized my eyes were closed. I struggled to open them as the dim light in the room aggravated my pounding headache. I tried to move, and thankfully, they had not tied me up.

I lay on my side, on something soft, and as my eyes adjusted, I saw I was in a small bedroom. I tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea thwarted that move, and I lay still, waiting for the pain to subside.

Barely moving my head, I took stock of the room. It was quaint, with a very French country style. Outside, birds were chirping, so I must be in the countryside, or all I would hear was the cooing of Paris’ pigeons. There was one small window with drapes matching the floral bedspread. I could be my grand-mère’s home if I didn’t know better.

But I was not. I was on assignment for IGP, and I had no doubt my life was in danger. I forced myself to remember my training and trust that my team was nearby, but, at the moment, I wasn’t sure why I had decided to accept Moreau’s offer.

I intended to be a lawyer— Erka Blasi, a law student at University Panthéon-Assas. I had done well in my classes and was studying for my last exam in the library when a man approached me with a letter inviting me to meet with Monsieur Moreau at three pm the next day. The letter was intriguing. Moreau explained that he knew of my excellent academic record and would like to discuss a career opportunity.

At that time, I was all about career opportunities but very naive regarding what I was about to have presented to me. A town car with blacked-out windows picked me up promptly at three pm the following day and drove me to an unknown destination. A somber young man escorted me from the garage to Moreau’s office.

The next three hours blurred in my memory. After signing a French Government Secrets Act document, Moreau explained the work of the IGP. The French document wasn’t necessarily legal, but it served to warn me of the consequences of revealing what I was told.

Moreau gave me forty-eight hours to decide whether I wanted to join the IGP. It took me twenty hours to determine that I did.

After nine months of extensive and grueling training, I was on my first mission and managed to get kidnapped on purpose. I scoffed. All was going according to plan, and all I could do was trust that Claude and his team were nearby. At least the tracker sewn into my bra should tell them where the kidnappers had brought me.

As the pain in my head eased and I could think clearly, I searched the room for listening devices but found none. The window was sealed shut, and the closet had no attic access. I sat on the bed and looked around the room for anything I could use as a weapon. The small bedside lamp proved to be the only choice, and I moved it a bit closer to the edge of the nightstand and waited.

As daylight waned, the door opened, and two men dressed in black wearing ski masks entered. One was carrying a video camera on a tripod.

I jumped off the bed and feigned fright, which didn’t require much acting. “Why did you take me? I want to go home.”

“Shut up.” The taller man grabbed my shoulder and pushed me back onto the bed. “You keep quiet and only speak if I tell you to. We’re about to call your daddy and tell him if he wants to see you again, he will have to pay us €10 million.”

The other man set up the camera, and the tall man made me sit closer to the head of the bed, which put me closer to the lamp.

“You ready?”

The cameraman nodded, and the tall man made a call, which he put on speaker. “Monsieur Boudoin, I expected you would take this call. We have your daughter. If you want to see her again, it will cost €10 million in cash.”

“Is Lucie all right? I need to see her.”

The tall guy motioned for the camera to go live and grabbed my shoulder. “As you see, she is unharmed, but if you don’t have the money ready when we call again, that will not be the case.” He ran his hand along my neck and down my chest. “However, as you see, dear Lucie is on a bed, and we might just have some fun with her if you don’t comply.”

Boudoin cried. “No, no, I will get the money. Please do not hurt her.”

“Your choice. We will call again in one hour. Have the money ready.”

He ended the call. “Well, that went well, but I think to motivate your father, a few bruises will make him understand we are not fooling around.” He looked at the cameraman. “Keep filming.”

He turned toward me, ripped my blouse open, and then backhanded me. My head snapped to the left, and the metallic taste of blood seeped into my mouth. He raised his hand to strike me again when I heard yelling and recognized Claude’s voice. It was time for me to act.

The tall guy drew his weapon and turned toward the door. While he was distracted, I grabbed the lamp and swung upward, catching him across the jaw, knocking him off his feet, and causing him to drop the gun. The cameraman who had stooped over to film began to react. I kicked the camera with all my strength. It struck him in the face, and he fell against the wall, grabbing his bloody nose.

I managed to get to the gun before either man recovered. When Claude burst through the door, I had both my assailants at gunpoint.

Claude leaned against the doorframe. “Looks like you didn’t need us.”

~~~

Late in the evening, after Valentine reversed my appearance, I entered the “Lounge,” as the enormous conference room in IGP headquarters was called. I scanned the room, which was both intimidating and fascinating. Banks of monitors, some displaying real-time video of locations worldwide, and some showing data scrolling across the screen covered the walls. The enormity of my job became real today, and I found myself excited for what lay ahead.

Moreau sat at the head of the table and motioned for the team to sit down. He spoke as always, with little inflection in his voice. “The cell that kidnapped Erka is aligned with a terrorist group that originated in Belgium but has spread to several European countries. We believe this operation was intended to gain funding for acts of terrorism. They did not count on us.” He paused and turned toward me. “Erka, your performance these last few days has been outstanding. You never broke cover, and you followed your training expertly. We are pleased to have you aboard. Lucie Boudoin is back with her family now and safe, thanks to your efforts.”

It was late when Claude dropped me off at my apartment. All I wanted was to sleep, knowing that this day had been my best day and had boosted my confidence. I was shocked to open the door and find the purchases I had made over the three days, including the Hermès bags that ended up in the kidnappers’ car, in my living room. A note from Moreau lay on the coffee table.

Erka, Mr. Boudoin is grateful for your courage to put yourself in danger to protect his daughter and wishes you to keep all the items you bought. Typically, we do not allow operatives to accept gifts, but Mr. Parker approved. You certainly deserved it.

I couldn't help but grin as I sat among all the beautiful items. This was my best day in more ways than one.

__________________________

"The Assignment" is a prequel to the previously published story, "Courier to Paris."