June 1999
Dun-dun-dun...Meeeow! The cat's jumping out of the bag ^_^
Standard disclaimers apply. I don't own nobody here. They either belong to Sunrise, Bandai, Panzer/Davies or their moms. Not me. I just write what they tell me to write. Hey, don't laugh. You ever been held hostage by a crazed Duo muse, Methos muse and Blair muse? At the same time? 'tis not pretty lemme tell ya...
It was hard to imagine a room so crowded to be so quiet. And yet, that was what it was. A veritable throng of at least fifty people fell into a hushed silence as the balding man behind the lectern read out a detailed description of the next item under the hammer.
"...dated back to the 16th Century. Its last recorded owner was Sir Redmond of Kentridge, deceased in the year 2138 A.D. The jewelled grip is solid ..."
The auctioneer's monotone drawled, extolling the virtues of the ancient two-handed broadsword displayed in the middle of the stage, leaning dramatically against drapes of plush purple velvet.
Duo struggled to stifle a yawn as he pushed himself further into the shadows of the cloistered balcony above the auction hall. After three days of dragging his sorry ass around the town of New Bourdeaux, getting in touch with contacts who were more elusive than eels in mud, Duo was rather relieved with his current position.
Momentarily switching off the irritating nasal drone, Duo ran his eyes quickly over his surroundings. Comfortably seated in a two-person couch set for patrons to rest in, Duo took in the rich and tasteful furnishing of the gallery. There were several other cloistered balconies, and from where he sat, he could see at least two. Thankfully, they were empty of occupants, thus ensuring him the much-needed privacy in which to observe his target in action. If he ever showed up, Duo frowned, glancing at his wristwatch in annoyance. Below him, the crowd was seated in neatly arranged semi-circular rows, all eyes concentrated on the sword and all ears trained onto the commentary given by the auctioneer.
"Sounds like a mosquito..." Duo grumbled to himself, stretching his neck slightly to catch a more clear glimpse of the crowd. The men and the few women there were mostly elegantly-dressed, easily screaming of money. And no wonder, Duo smirked, considering how much that silly sword was going for...
The man below had finished his spiel and was now taking offers given in silence but indicated by raised eyebrows, numbered paddles or a discreet cough. Duo laughed to himself as he sensed the rising tension in the auctioneer's voice as the man acknowledged higher and higher bids, eyes darting back and forth across the floor as signals erupted with increased frenzy.
"Fifty million."
If the room was silent before, it was utterly dead now where acoustics were concerned. Duo couldn't help joining the rest of the crowd as they turned as one towards the owner of the voice that had breached the unwritten bidding protocol. A lone man stood up, tall and lanky, a crooked smile on his face. He cocked an eyebrow as though asking whether anyone else would top his bid.
"Going once..."
The whispering started, hushed at first but gaining volume and urgency as the seconds passed.
"...twice..."
There was some uneasy shifting among the bidders; some frantic looks. Duo almost laughed out loud at the frenzied sound of flipping checque books and the nervous clicking of cellular phones being employed.
"Sold for fifty million IC units!"
The sound of disappointment was almost universal as the sword so many clamoured for eluded their clutches. And above the multiple groans and moans, Duo imagined he detected not a few sighs of relief. His gaze once more drifted to the man who had acquired the most expensive piece of the evening. The man looked too young to be a seasoned antique buyer -- Duo knew it sounded stereotypical, but from what he'd seen during his numerous stake-outs these past few days, he was inclined to believe that antique buyers were mostly antiques in themselves. The man made his way through the other buyers in his row until he reached the wide, carpetted aisle between the two main rows of seats. Duo watched the man wink at the auctioneer, waiting until the gallery assistants had his recent acquisition carefully wrapped in soft velvet and ensconced in a case of polished teak. He nodded with satisfaction and turned to leave.
"Well," Duo huffed quietly. "That was exciting. Now if only Krokopovitch
would show up so that I can go back and get some sleep..." His eyes
strayed back towards the crowd that was even now steeling itself for
the next round, dismissing the tall man who was walking gracefully out
of
the room. Until a suddenly filled doorway caught his attention.
"Sonuvabitch!" Duo scrambled further into the shadows, mindful not to make any unnecessary noise as he spied on the blonde man in one of the side entrances to the room below him. It was his target, but where the picture he had based his notes on indicated a clean-shaven man, the figure below him sported a full beard and moustache. Dressed in a perfectly fitted, expensive-looking suit, Krokopovitch was leaning against the jamb, looking out of those beady blue eyes with what looked exactly like a python's lazy gaze as it contemplated a potential prey.
And Duo was surprised when Krokopovitch's 'prey' stopped instantly in his tracks, eyes darting immediately towards the smaller, blonde.
"Adam. I'm hurt you didn't notice me."
Krokopovitch's lips were moving. Duo strained his ears to catch the conversation as he tried to read their lips. But the couple was too far away and the angle in which they stood was not helping him one bit. Silently, the long-haired boy fumbled in the pockets of his backpack, grinning when his fingers encountered what he had included for moments just like this. Duo kept his eyes on the two men below as he primed the listening device with practised fingers. Stuffing the earpiece into one ear, Duo arranged the slim wire around his neck, under the fat braid that was already tucked under the collar of the white dress shirt he wore. Shuffling to a point nearer his target, Duo trained the audio receptor onto the two men as he adjusted the receiver's volume control.
"Mitcha. It wasn't on purpose, I assure you." Duo grinned at the taller man's accent, unashamedly admiring the deep, calm voice. The guy could make a great hypnotist, Duo thought. And 'Mitcha'?
"You're getting old, Adam." Krokopovitch continued, moving nearer towards the dark-haired man now identified as 'Adam'. "Too old, perhaps?"
Duo shivered at the cold grin that accompanied the inquiry, sensing the mocking taunt that accompanied it. He noted that Adam too, had not missed the jibe, sensing the almost imperceptible tensing of the broad shoulders under the calf-length leather coat he wore.
"Are you hinting at something, Mitcha? Because if you are, you'll have to be clearer. I seem to have developed a slight problem understanding you through that accent of yours."
Duo almost snorted at that comment. Accent? The obviously English Adam was complaining about Krokopovitch's accent? What a guy. He could learn to like him. True, Krokopovitch had a slight accent -- vaguely continental, undeniably eastern Europe in origin -- but it wasn't too bad so as to make him difficult to understand. Duo continued to listen in to the obviously strained conversation, only this time, he edged a little closer to the edge of the balcony in order to see the proceedings even more clearly.
Mitcha circled him in a slow walk, trying to instigate the tall man into doing something that he might regret. After one circuit however, Mitcha stopped, once more facing Adam.
"I'd forgotten how collected you are," he smiled, not unkindly, wistful even.
"Comes with age," came back the toneless reply. Adam stood still, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark slacks.
"Taste too, I see," the blonde smirked, one raised eyebrow taunting. "McLeod has a good effect on you." Yes, Adam looked much better in a proper shirt instead of those damnably oversized sweaters he used to favour when he'd last saw the man.
Adam snorted mirthlessly. "Only on Wednesdays, Mitcha. Only on Wednesdays." He sighed before continuing. "Was there any purpose to this conversation, Mitcha? I know it's not the sword. You could have had it if you really wanted to. You didn't lose yours, did you?" Adam's voice hinted darkly.
Mitcha was silent, a smile on his thin lips. He shook his head slowly. "I'm afraid not. And no, it's not the sword. It's the buyer." His smile widened when he saw the dark-haired man's eyes narrow, the green of his pupils turning almost golden in the reduced light. "Where's McLeod, Adam? Why isn't he here?"
"He has business elsewhere. What do you want with him, aside from the obvious?"
"Nothing." The blonde's smile faded, replaced by a grim curl of a sneer. "Aside from the obvious."
"Then you know the obvious answer. It's the same as it has always been. No sale." Adam turned to move, actually succeeding in taking a few steps before Mitcha's hand on his arm stopped him. Whirling, Adam faced the smaller man once more. "Which part of 'no' didn't you understand, Mitcha?"
The blonde pulled his hand away, raising both in a gesture of warding. "Call me Mikhail, please. It's what I go by nowadays."
"The angel of death. Subtle, very subtle."
Adam's voice had dropped to a bare whisper and Duo was hard-pressed to listen to every word. But he didn't miss the deadly emotional subtext. The two men hated each other with a vengeance. Why, he didn't know, but it looked like he was about to find out.
"I want McLeod, Adam. I want him *now*!"
"He's not yours to have. He will *never* be yours to have. And if you persist in this ridiculously asinine game of yours, you may as well give it up."
"No, Adam. I've waited centuries, pursued him for ages. His Quickening is *mine*."
The silence dripped. For a while, Duo thought there was something wrong with his receiver and he tapped at it curiously. Until Adam's voice, flat and cold, came over the receiver.
"Over my dead body."
"I thought you'd never say the magic words," the other man chuckled.
Duo frowned in his hiding place. What the hell were the two of them talking about? Quickenings? Dead bodies? And who the hell was McLeod to have two men fighting over him with such propriety? This was supposed to be a simple stake-out, Goddammit! The target was supposed to show up, go about his business and move off, hopefully giving Duo a chance to accomplish his mission in the process. Now, with this new development, he seemed to be facing a possible extension in mission time. Not a very palatable prospect, Duo groaned.
Suddenly, the two men below him turned as one, seeming to have reached some unspoken agreement. Duo rushed towards the stairs, unwilling to let his target out of his sight now that he had located him. Besides, there were too many questions he wanted answers to. And he was nothing if not curious.
End Part Five
Shirin
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