Fingers twist stolen keys in the ignition. And they’re off again. Tiago has to chuckle in reflection. Shut up and drive? It appears his partner is quite a bossy girl. The double-oh sighs, body relaxing in the seat as he wraps his hands around the wheel, turning the Aston Martin onto the motorway again.
The truth is… he likes being bossed around. Every so often. It gives him focus. Helps him to compartmentalise.
Tiago hums as the yellow lines on the road streak into a blur, mind starting to turn over to the mission once more. To succeed they are both going to need to sink into their new roles completely. So, Rodriguez spends the next few minutes quietly formulating a backstory for Señor Juan Alejandro Martínez in his idle ponderings. It’s only when Miss Taylor starts to yawn in the passenger seat that he stirs. She’s getting bored? That won’t do.
Reaching forward, Tiago switches on the radio. Flicks a few switches to get into the latest music channels. Something by Cliff Richard blusters out of silver wired speakers after a few minutes of attempting to tune in. Rodriguez raises an eyebrow, biting back a snigger at the lyrics. Not bad, for the 1950s. His hands tap a little on the wheel as the catchy tune hits its stride, chin nodding along with the beat.
Opening the windows slightly, he lets a bit of fresh air in, watching Emilia’s wavy hair catch in the breeze, as she pokes her head out the window. The scent of the sea starts to drift in.
“Do you know how to dance, Em?” Rodriguez pops her the question half an hour later as they pull up to the docks near Dover. Tiago sits back in his seat, hands sliding down the leather on the wheel, as they queue to drive up on the boarding ramp. “Tango dancing, specifically…”
The Spaniard elaborates. “Since I am Señor Martínez, corporate business sponsor, I assume I must come from a rich, influential family. Possibly based in Granada. My father, when he wasn’t drinking himself into an early grave, owned a small vineyard in the hills which was his pride and joy and kept him ever so busy. When he wasn’t doing business with the Turks, that is. My aunt therefore took me to regular dance classes as a child - so as to improve my chances as a young bachelor among the upper echelon of the corporate world.” He exchanges a glance with Em.
“Obviously I know how to tango anyway.” Tiago pauses, smiles in memory “…I was in with the right crowd. Once.”
He sighs “…in any case, to participate in a dance is what will be expected of us in the General’s ballroom. I think we can show them something they won’t forget in a hurry.”
Catching his tongue between his teeth, Rodriguez drives them up the ramp into the waiting freighter, parking the Aston in the cargo hold.
They’re led to their cabin rooms by a porter a few minutes later. The sea voyage to Hamburg should take no longer than 2 days. Plenty of time for Emilia to perfect her dance routine before then.
Tiago smiles as he watches her explore the medium-sized room, pretty dress and light brown shawl hugging her shoulders. The colour matches her mousey hair, and the smile on her face is enchanting. Em’s hands skim over the small ornaments over the fireplace, gaudy furnishings in the style of one of the old, sunken liners like the Titanic. A single bed with drapes stands in a corner. Rodriguez’s own, smaller cabin is a little further away along the corridor outside.
Tiago’s genuinely interested. Luxury is often afforded to double-ohs on assignment. Less often is it granted to obscure field agents cataloging the errors of Q-branch. That was why he had switched room cards with her. Discreetly of course. He doesn’t want her to know.
Strolling forward into the room, he catches Emilia’s arm lightly. An odd frown passes over his face, before melting away. Fingers gently roll down her skin until he’s holding her hand. He lifts the back of her palm to his lips, pressing a respectful kiss there. Like a gentleman.
“Come, let me teach you the first steps…”
A kind expression is on his face as he brings her other arm up around his shoulder.
“You hold me here, see? Yes. And then. Feet.”
Tiago chuckles as Em swiftly changes her stance. There’s no malice in his tone, simply gentle warmth. He places his own hand around hers, holding it over his heart.
“Now, as the man I would usually lead in this dance… however, you’re the assassin this time, aren’t you?” Tiago smiles slightly, before lowering his chin, deferring to his partner.
“So, I would assume Miss Haywood has a bit more ammunition to give, a bit more to say for herself-”
Rodriguez grins as he spins her suddenly out to the side, catching Em in a half-dip. His dark eyes observe hers, waiting patiently.
“Well then? Tell me a bit more about Rachel Haywood… what’s her story?”