“The art world is a cruel place like that.” Who was he kidding – he loved how it functioned, how there were always people itching to fill in gaps in their private collections, only to discover a new one should there be a highest bidder. There was no way that the CIA would ever truly stifle the way his palms itched to run along textured marble, or how his gaze always was drawn to canvases filled with delicately balanced paints and brush strokes. Yet for all of his love of the arts, of beauty, it was at times a bit of a surprise to find someone who might hold it in such high appreciation as himself in its many forms. Napoleon had decided that yes, he very nearly liked Tatyana Sokolova.
The man leaned back ever so slightly in his seat, exuding confidence and aloofness all at once, fingertips idling with the edge of the table only momentarily as if it had been an item of interest, fleeting in nature. “You see, I work alone,” he began after taking in a sharp breath, gaze lifting to meet the other’s, “But I would be willing to make an exception. It sounds like we both bring several different skills to the table, which would certainly be of use for your client.” And if the thrill of the game wasn’t enough, even more was added to sweeten the deal, the woman speaking of what would surely be a glamorous party and an impressive collection, as well as a rocket scientist. Any spy worth their salt knew that rocket scientists were practically worth more than their weight in gold – or blood. Which brought up several questions as to why Mrs. Sokolova had thought the man was relevant to the conversation, but she had slipped him in quite subtly enough that there was no equally subtle way of verbally deliberating upon her stance.
“Really now? Though the wrong side might be a bit of a relative phrase.” Perhaps it was just coincidence, though he doubted it, but his companion certainly reminded him of a particular work partner. A pause was given as he similarly offered a quick smile to their waitress as their water was brought before taking a sip, mind much more focused on their task on hand. Oh, he was going to enjoy his research tonight. “Perhaps if the Baron is willing, I could meet him at his daughter’s birthday party to discuss if we may somehow convince the Wallace Collection to loosen their grip upon the painting. How soon will he be back, do you think?”
“I do understand that you enjoy working alone, and I share that view with you. Normally I wouldn’t approach a stranger that sat up for a coffee with such delicate matters, but you seem someone with a sharp eye for art and a heart that’s benevolent enough to know how to negotiate.” She grinned, the fingers running over the perspiration clinging to the water bottle. Today was a surprisingly good day, Mr. Petterson seemed to fall from the skies, right into her lap—and as good as he seemed to be, there was something lurking in the shadows of that well placed smile, a little jackal, waiting to attack. A promise of stealing what she desired if EVA wasn’t careful enough. That information was stored, along with a mental note to find out more about this charming man, a little too charming to be roaming around without a purpose.
She crossed her legs under the table, long digits abandoning the water bottle without leaving any fingerprints behind, to lace them over the intricate metal design on the table. “Well you see, Mr. Petterson, while I do love my country, I chose to do so with open eyes, so I don’t differentiate between them. For me the wrong side lies in the hands of megalomaniac private companies or individuals that happen to have impulses for starting wars. Like the Baron’s brother friends.” The blonde drummed her fingers against the metal, appreciating the sounds of nails against iron, that was everything she could feed him, that job would be a complicate one without someone, even more complicated if the brunet wasn’t aware of the risks it would involve. The Baron’s brother seemed to be a central piece for a bunch of lunatics trying to erase the human race, or maybe take control of it who knew? EVA took another sip of water, her eyes distant.
“The Baron, as I said before, is in Africa. But he’ll be back in a week. Until then, I think I can manage to get you an invitation. I’m sure you’ll show up with your best suit and a good proposition about the Wallace Collection.” EVA leaned in on the table, a large smile playing on her mouth. “You, Mr. Petterson, is a gift from the skies, how could I be so lucky?”