Double Dealing(45)

"Yet I’m the Esmeralda this time," Jordan replied, "although you hardly look at all like Quasimodo."

We joined a tour group, staying within earshot as the guide explained various things to them in passable English. I felt bad for the tourists, though, as the guide seemed to have forgotten every adjective other than 'famous.' In the course of the ten minutes we were near them, she used the term 'famous French' to describe at least half a dozen different things. Jordan noticed too, and on the way back to the barge, we both descended into utter silliness. "Ah, it is the famous French street lamp," I noted, causing Jordan to giggle helplessly.

"Along the famous French river," Jordan laughed, leaning on my arm. We continued on, until both of us nearly breathless with laughter. We rested against a building, Jordan in my arms, and she turned her eyes up to mine. "And what of the famous French kiss?"



* * *



That evening, after Jordan had gone to sleep, I left the barge again, this time taking the Metro to Stade Charlety. Underneath the larger soccer and rugby stadium I found what I was looking for, the small indoor arena. Inside, the Paris Volley volleyball team was practicing, the stands mostly empty except for a few dedicated fans and my contact.

"They’re not shit compared to Dynamo Moscow," my contact said in a heavy accent.

"You didn’t come here just to watch men in overly tight uniforms jump around playing volleyball," I countered. "Besides, women's volleyball is much more entertaining."

"Spoken like a man who’s not in a new relationship," my contact said. "Are things not as I was led to believe?"

I glowered and shook my head. "Things are fine there, not that it’s your business. On the other hand, your business is telling me you have your eyes on a special item.”

"There’s an item within the Institut du Monde Arabe that my employer wishes to have," he said. "A twelfth-century illuminated copy of the Quran, one of the most valuable copies in existence. It belonged to the great Saladin himself, according to legend at least. What would a fair price for such an item be?"

"If you assist me with my problem I spoke to you about, it wouldn’t be much," I said. “Just one condition.”

“And what’s this condition?" he asked curiously as I gathered my few items and prepared to leave.

"This is a deception, so you must approach Felix as if we’ve never talked. I have an easy way to get him involved without it looking like a setup. If your employer can figure out a way to get him alone, that would be best."

"Agreed. We’ll contact you in about a week. Until then, have a pleasant day."

I left the arena, heading back towards the Metro station. Along the way I stopped at a late night chocolatier, picking up fourteen truffles, a dozen for Jordan while I enjoyed two on the way back to the barge. Getting back on board, it was my turn to find Felix sitting on the deck watching the lights. He was sipping at a large mug of coffee, a habit he'd picked up in America, favoring huge cups over the tiny flavor-packed sips I preferred. "How was your walk?"

"I picked up some chocolates for Jordan," I said, showing him the box. Felix inhaled the aroma and nodded in appreciation. "Think she’ll enjoy them?"

“Who doesn’t like chocolate? Anyway, I heard you two had a great time today. Jordan even said you were the perfect gentleman.”

"You sound surprised, Felix,” I said, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, maybe I have been rash in my judgment of you, Francois. Sometimes it’s difficult to remember that you’re not me, regardless of how similar we are."

"More similar than you'd like to think, in my opinion," I replied. "Or perhaps Jordan is just that special of a woman." It was true, the only other person who could keep the two of us together on a consistent basis was our father.





Chapter 18





Jordan




The drive south toward the Rhone district was picturesque. Along the way, Francois sat in the back with me and helped me with my French, which I struggled with constantly. Despite both of the brothers telling me that I was doing fine, I knew they were just trying to make me feel good about it.

"I feel like a fool, and my tongue keeps tripping over itself," I complained as we passed a sign on the road for Avallon. We'd been on the road for about two hours, and I was ready for a pit stop. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to sound fluid."

“I think you just need some wine," Francois said with a grin. When I looked at him like he was crazy, he chuckled and nodded. "It’s true. Not the wine specifically, but the loosening of the tongue. You’d be surprised at how much you actually know. After a glass or two of wine, the alcohol helps you relax, and you'll find yourself just speaking without worrying about if you’re saying it correctly. Just don't overdo it, or else you end up singing drunkenly in a language you don't know."