The suit I was wearing was worth more than my last paycheck, twice over. The jacket was cut a little loose for my tastes, a necessity for this job. My gear was tucked into a pouch under my waistcoat, and the looser fit would hide the bulge in the small of my back.
The papers got me through the door, an engraved invitation I didn't bother to read for an event I didn't know about what. Just that evening dresses, tuxedos and elaborate masks were in abundance. I pulled out my own mask, specially modified for this job. The matte silicone was topped with a thin ceramic covering, giving the mask a sheen like obsidian. I tried to suppress the sharp intake of breath as it clung to my face. I'll never get used to that.
Velvet ropes lead the way to the ballroom, and I was stopped cold on the way by a stunning sight. Her hair was worn up, leaving her neck bare save for the clasp of a necklace and the halter strap of her dress. Her shoulders and back were also naked, her spine leading a scintillating trail to a criss cross of white ribbons in the small of her back. As I passed, I saw that the bodice of her dress hung daringly low. It was highlighted by a necklace of glass crystals set in silver.
Though of the same material, the necklace didn't quite suit her mask. The silver wire glided along the ridge of her nose, lining it in a slight beak. It swept up, under and around her deep brown eyes with a wing like shape, the tips curling past the corners of her eyes around crystals. As it was silver wire, it did little to disguise her features, but did much to highlight her lovely eyes.
Which then looked right at me.
I looked away and marched on, cursing myself for the indiscretion. I was supposed to be invisible, and stopping to gawk at the ladies isn't helping. I didn't look back as I entered the ballroom and swept my eyes over the crowd looking for the target. Or tried to. My mask's satellite connection proved spotty, and the facial recognition software failed as a result. A glance into the corners of the room told me why: signal jammers were set up. Not uncommon for these kinds of parties, where cell phone use was restricted to outside the event area. I reached to scratch my ear and clicked off the external connection.
As I looked around, I figured the party would make facial recognition useless anyways, and started wondering what intel genius planned this op. Maybe I should have read the papers. I pulled them from my jacket pocket and started with the invitation: An Evening Incognito: A Romantic Rendezvous to help fund the fight against cancer. Right. Because cancer fears Zorro.
There was a photograph of the target, an average looking white guy with more salt than pepper in his hair, and a smile that looked more bleached than a Hollywood blond. He made a presidential bid once. It was a testament to the voting public that it never went anywhere, and he gave it up almost as soon as he started. But then he started selling secrets to the Chinese. And when your company has several exclusive contracts with the government, that can't be tolerated. Of course, we don't have any hard evidence. Yet.
I folded the photograph and tucked it back into my pocket, scanning the crowd once more. I declined an invitation to dance from an attractive blond in a black lace mask, with a dress to match her emerald eyes, and she went back into the crowd to look for a new partner. When I felt the bare spot on my wrist where my watch was, I changed my mind and decided to take her up on that dance.
I passed by the target on my way to her, recognizing the industrial strength gel that shaped his hair, and a plan quickly formed in my mind as I tapped her partner's shoulder and cut in. With the surprised look in her eyes, I was afraid she might refuse, but my wink seemed to defuse her fear. With my hand on her waist, I lead her around the dance floor near my target and whispered instructions into her ear. She was hesitant, but I said she could keep the watch, and whatever spoils she could get from him so long as she did as I asked.
She nodded, and after savoring another minute or two of dancing with her, I set her loose. His partner had just ran off to the ladies room when she ran into him. She flashes a coy smile, and batted her eye lashes at him. Poor sap never stood a chance.
I watched them take a turn around the dance floor, and as the song came to a close, she whispered in his ear. He flashed her a grin that could have sold a million used cars and followed her through the double doors on the far end of the ballroom that lead to a balcony. After a minute, she came out alone, missing the sash from her dress, but using both hands to keep the clasp on her small clutch purse from popping open. We traded smiles, and I walked through the doors while she made her way to the exit.
He was standing by the railing, blindfolded with a long white sash. He was reaching up to his face when I pulled out a bundle of cord from under my vest, grabbed his wrists, and bound them around his neck, drawing tight enough to prevent more than a few startled gasps. Taking out a flashlight from my pocket, I clicked it three times into the air and a harness dropped down from the roof.
I buckled him in as he was gasping from the lack of air, and tugged on the rope. We were then hauled up onto the roof where the team was waiting. They asked, and I told them we were going with option five. One of the black clad soldiers whistled. Must have been a new guy. They dragged him onto the helicopter, and one of them pulled off his blindfold handing the sash to me. They were all masked, it wouldn't matter if he saw them.
Draping the sash around my neck like a scarf, I grabbed the cable and they lowered me back down towards the balcony. I was twenty feet up when the doors below opened, and I flashed a signal with my light for them to stop. Beneath me was the woman in white with the silver mask, and following after her was a guy in a white tuxedo. He had a Zorro styled mask in hand, and they were talking animatedly. The wind only allowed me to hear snippets of what was being said, but with how her arms were waving, I could tell it was an argument.
He pointed a finger toward the balcony doors, then back to her. She replied by ripping the necklace from her throat and throwing it at his feet. The tinkling of the glass crystal breaking was clear even from my perch above them. He shouted a vulgar epithet at her, picked up the remains of the necklace and stormed back inside as she turned and leaned against the railing. I spent a minute or two admiring the moonlight reflected against her shoulders when the cord above me gave a violent start, and I was sent plummeting the rest of the way down.
In my report, I'll say I landed as gracefully as a jungle cat. For the moment, I was sprawled against the floor, with what I was pretty sure was a decent sized cut on my chin. I heard a voice ask if I was alright, and I explained that I had tripped. She gave me a dubious look that seemed awkward with the tears fresh on her face. As I got up, she pointed out I was bleeding. I looked up at her and pointed out the same, seeing blood seeping from the scratches around her throat from when she ripped off the necklace. She started to reach for her neck, but I stopped her, drawing a clean handkerchief from my pocket. It wouldn't do to stain her gloves, after all.
I asked her permission, and she hesitated. I insisted I wasn't a vampire, which got a laugh out of her at least, and I applied light pressure with my handkerchief over the scratches. As I tended to her, she drew a tissue from her purse and dabbed it against the cut under my chin. With the bleeding stopped, I said she should probably go back inside.
She didn't want to face everyone out there with the scratches on her neck. Thinking a moment, I took the sash from around my shoulders and handed it to her. She tied it loosely around her throat, covering the scratches, and letting the sash trail down her back. She gave me one more smile before facing the doors and taking a breath. She held her head high as she entered. I hope the night improves for her.
As I reentered the ballroom, I kept my head down and walked to the exit. I met the target as he came out of the elevator. He looked bleary eyed, as if he had woken up from a nap, his hair tousled, and a distinct smudge of lipstick against his collar. I pointed it out to him, and he snapped awake, making a dash for the restroom. He IS a married man, after all. Though with the type of stuff the interrogation team uses, he might be dreaming of that blond later.
Knowing myself, I might be dreaming of silver mask. Whoever she is.
