“Arabic,Farsi,Mandarin,Czech, andHindi.”
Ofcourse, she can speak five.Shealways has to win.
Theguy hears us speaking to each other, though, and says, “YouspeakEnglish?IspeakEnglish.”
Ilet out a relieved breath and tell him that we need to check in.Iget out the words, “Itshould be under the name…” before it hits me thatIdidn’t read this part of the mission briefing to know whether it’s under my name or not.
Zoecuts in and says, “KailaSonnenschein.”
Iraise an eyebrow at her and she just shrugs in a way that makes me imagine her saying, “What?Ilike the nameKaila.SometimesIjust want to beKaila.”AtleastSonnenscheinstarts with anS, just likeZoe’sactual last name.
Basedon how things don’t seem to be where the guy checking us in thinks they should be and the way his eyes rove around as if he’s trying to keep track of everything going on in the hotel,I’mguessing he’s the manager and doesn’t usually check guests in.Ourcover story is that we are inBelgradeon business for our restaurant chain, soIstart up a conversation with him, commiserating over employees calling in sick or just not even showing up.Or, worst of all, quitting over text.Andhow it leaves all their work to be covered by the manager.
Itmust be a sore spot for the man and he was in desperate need of an understanding ear because he fires right up.Andthen he says he’s giving us a great room.Wechat for a bit, and he asks what we are in town for.Itell him thatKailaandIare scouting restaurant locations.
“Oh, what is your restaurant chain called?”
“BiteNiteBurgers,”Itell him.It’sa cover businessI’veused often— it has come in very handy over the years.It’sverifiable, too, complete with pocket litter. “It’sa vampire-themed burger joint.”
Asthe man activates our room key cards, he says, “Pleasetell me that you serve your burgers with a big toothpick in the top, like a stake in the heart.”
Ismile. “Thatwe do.”
“Anddo you have one with a garlic aioli sauce?” he asks, looking hopeful and more than a bit excited. “Youknow, to keep the vampires away.”
“TheCountChuck-ulaBurger.”
Heclaps his hands. “Anddo you serve it with fang-tastic fries and ketchup?”
“Wejust call them fries.”Iturn toZoe. “Weshould suggest a change, don’t you think?”
Shelooks like she’s annoyed that we are just standing here, chatting, but she nods.Thenthe man says to her, “Whatis your favorite menu item?”
“Ithas to be theNosfera-Tots,”Zoesays. “They’rebite-sized potato tots that are delicious.”Okay,I’mimpressed that she came up with that on the spot.Thewoman is definitely quick on her feet.
“Oh!BecauseNosferatuslept in dirt, and potatoes grow in the dirt!Brilliant!Maybeyou can put one of your restaurants across the street.Thegrill there isawful.Theyalways overcook their meat because they’re too busy bickering over who chooses the best music.Forthe record: it’s none of them.They’reall just as bad at choosing music as they are at grilling.”
Itell him that we’ll check it out, andIgive him my business card, which has one of my cover names,LincolnLombardi, on it, along with theBiteNiteBurgerslogo, website, and a phone number that redirects toKella.Thenhe gives us our keys and tells us where our room is.
Aswe step into the elevator with our luggage and the doors start to close,Zoehisses, “Thatlegendary friendliness of yours?You’resupposed to use it to turn assets.Whenchecking into a hotel, you want tonotbe memorable.Notget the manager of the place to weave you a friendship bracelet.Doyou know nothing about being a covertoperative?”
Iglance over at her.Shelooks mad, likeIjust compromised our mission or something.ButIshake my head. “Idisagree.It’sgood to have friends everywhere.Younever know when it’ll make a difference.”Andsometimes, it’s enough if that “difference” is simply the amusement of connecting with someone six time zones away from home over vampire-themed burgers and flaky employees after a really long, very tiring day.
Theelevator doors open, andZoeleaves first, apparently not too tired to angrily speed walk down the hall with her bag over her shoulder. “Theroom’s this way,”Isay, trying to hide the smile in my voice, and she stops in her tracks.Isee her shoulders rise and fall from her deep breath before she turns and heads back toward me.Iopen the door to our suite and she goes inside.
Theplace is nice.Ithas a large living room with a couch and a couple of padded chairs, a coffee table, end tables, two desks, a kitchenette area with a mini fridge and microwave, and a small table.Thereare doors on opposite sides of the room that presumably lead to each of our bedrooms.
It’sa little strange to share a common area like this withZoe.Exceptfor the one mission a year and a half ago where we spent the bulk of the time staking out an abandoned building, our missions that crossover usually go something like this:Iwork hard on gathering intel, find a lead on a piece of informationIneed, and go on a mission to get it.Then, eitherIget there first and grab it beforeZoeshows up andIflaunt thatIgot it first, or she gets there first and flaunts that she has it.
Butstaying in a place like this that resembles a home?It’sjust sodomestic.Andwe don’t do domestic.Idon’t know how to be in this space with her.HowdoIact?HowdoIfeel?Ihave no idea.Butwith the arm not holding my bag,Imotion to the room. “Seewhat making friends gets you?”
Zoedrops her bag. “Wedon’t need nice rooms; we need a successful mission.”
“We’llget the successful mission.”BecauseI’mnot about to be unsuccessful on a mission, andIknowZoeisn’t, either. “Tomorrow, you’ll dress up asEliza…”Ican see the last nameCholmondeleyin my head, butIcan’t remember how it’s pronounced. “Chumley” comes to mind, but surely, it’s not that.SoIskip it and go for her code name instead “…‘MonaLiza’ innice roomsinstead of a hovel, and we’ll place the tracker like the pros that we are.”
I’vebarely finished saying the sentence when my secure phone rings.It’smy mom.EvenbeforeIpress to answer it,Ipull myRFdetector from my bag asZoeis pulling anNLJDfrom hers and we both start sweeping for bugs with the equipment and with well-trained eyes.Ipress answer. “Hello?”
“Hi.Didyour flight go well?”
