“Eva clenches when she fires. Every time she pulled the trigger, she… grasps, you know?” He grinned roguishly. “I like it.”
Eva tutted. “I’m not going to make a habit of firing weaponry when we have sex, Bishop.”
He frowned. “Let’s leave it as an option is all I’m asking.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“But you love me.”
She gave him a humorous side eye. “Against my better judgement.”
Nash rolled his eyes. “I meant, did you find anything about those who attacked you?”
Both shook their heads. Bishop spoke first.
“Whoever they were, they were professional. No clothing labels, guns stripped of serial numbers, no IDs, credit cards, nothing. They were well trained.” He popped an olive in his mouth. “But we were better. My guess is Tartarus, but it’s just that, a guess. They were Caucasian, but we didn’t have any fireside chats to identify accents, so we don’t know. And we didn’t hang around to ask many questions.”
Nash nodded, accepting the logic of their strategy, but also in contemplation. First the attack on him in Nepal, then on Bishop and Eva in the Maldives. In both instances they’d thought they were safe, untraceable. In both instances they’d been so very wrong. The walls were closing in.
It was becoming clear that despite their best efforts, nowhere in the world was safe. They’d left their previously used fake passports in train stations in seedy locations around the world. Inevitably some punk would try and use them, or get caught selling them, be identified and create a false flag, prompting multiple law enforcement agencies to converge on a confused criminal with a fake ID and a stunned expression.
But despite all this, they were still getting found in even the most remote parts of the planet. Nash put his glass down conclusively, with such force that Eva and Bishop jumped.
“Enough of this bullshit.” Nash clenched and unclenched his fists. “We need to find Pinchot and turn him. This sitting around and waiting to get picked off is getting tedious. It’s time we take this fight to Tartarus. Let’s strategize our options.”
Over the next hour, that’s exactly what they did. The three drew up a list of names, people they’d worked with at MI6 and CIA who would be likely targets for recruitment. They’d supply the names to Harry and have her perform a forensic accountant investigation, looking for any sign of the hand of Tartarus. Then they’d strike.
Next, they turned their attention to finding Pinchot. That was the harder of their two tasks. Pinchot was a master of the espionage craft. If he didn’t want to be found, it would be next to impossible to do so. Then again, until recently, Nash thought he was equally good at concealing his existence, and that had proven to be a misplaced belief. No one could remain hidden forever. At least, that was the hope.
Bishop gently used his thumb to remove a tiny piece of rosemary from Eva’s lip. His hand lingered on her face. It was a tender and subtle gesture. In return, she nuzzled into his palm and pulled him in for a kiss.
Looking in Nash’s direction, Eva asked, “Everything alright? You looked okay, then suddenly sad.”
“Fine.” Nash stared down at the table. “That’s the knee jerk reply, isn’t it? Fine. It’s more, seeing you two so in love and happy despite everything reminded me of what I don’t have. Even before this whole Tartarus mess I was happy enough, content enough. It was my choice to remain single, to be unburdened… wow, that’s too harsh a word, isn’t it? What’s a better one? To be unbound by an ongoing relationship. For a long time that was for compassionate reasons; I was hardly in a profession where I could guarantee I’d be home every night for dinner. After I retired, I don’t know, maybe I thought I was too old, maybe I was still in the habit of pushing long-term relationships away, I don’t know.” Nash swirled his drink. “Sorry, got a bit maudlin.”
Bishop said, “That’s a longwinded way of saying you’re lonely.”
Nash tapped the table twice and pointed to him in agreeance.
Eva wrinkled her nose. “Did you ever want to get married, have kids and all that?”
“There were fleeting moments. Neither ever happened. I had two women propose to me, but they fizzled out. As for the kid thing, it never would have worked with my lifestyle.” He twirled the stem of his wine glass. “Life would have been different, for sure. Too late now for that sort of thing anyway.”
“Did you ever think of contacting past girlfriends?” Eva asked. “The ones you almost married? Who was the French spy who stole your heart, Sophia? Ever think of giving her a call?”
“Nearly every day.”
“And?”
“I never have.”
“You’re not dead yet.”
“Not for lack of trying on Tartarus’s behalf,” Nash replied with a close approximation of a smile. “But, ah, Sophia wouldn’t answer, I’m sure. Reasonably sure. Somewhat sure? Things didn’t end badly, but it definitely ended when it should have.”
“So…” Eva traced her finger around the tabletop. “Finding Pinchot is super important, right?”
“Oh, we’re back talking tactics are we?” Bishop asked, waving at the waiter for more wine.
“This is kind of tangentially aligned, Bishop,” she replied. “Pinchot, to the best of our knowledge, never left France.”
“We don’t know that,” Bishop replied. “We just don’t have proof that he has. Those are two completely disparate things.”
“Granted,” Eva went on. “If we assume Pinchot never left France, or at the very least require evidence that he did, and there may be a clue as to his next destination…”
Nash could see Eva was leading somewhere but wished she’d get to the point.
“… then logic would dictate we could possibly ask the Frenchies if they have anything at all on Pinchot.”
“Ask?” Bishop frowned. “One doesn’t ask an intelligence agency… oh…”
Eva’s lips pursed mischievously. “Hey Nash, you know anyone in French intelligence who you can trust?”
“Oh, hell no.” Nash shook his head violently. “No no no no no. No way. No chance in hell.” He folded his arms. “Nope.”
Fluttering her eyelids, Eva asked, “Is that a yes?”
Groaning, Nash asked, “Is this to find Pinchot or set me up on a date?”
