The Tale of Two Spies(Jones Sparrow and Shilo)IC

[Jones Sparrow]

The night was a cool and comfortable at the large villa in the Italian countryside. People of all sorts gathered at this place for a party held by a man named Isaac Rundi, a very powerful and wealthy businessman... and the top of the list for global terrorism. Jon Smith walked to the front door of security, he wore a classic black tuxedo with a black bow tie. His hair was messy, yet showed perfection and a sense of business. His gray eyes were intense searching the area, a habit he got from working with the CIA for so long... He walked up to security, handing him his invitation as he scanned the area quickly. "Jon... Smith...?" The Italian said with a grin. Jon nodded. His name was a very generic American name. Just like Dimitri for Russia and Jose for Spain. He gave him a nod to go in, Jon thanked him and went through the doors.

The party was like a classic ball, the floors and large staircase were made of marble with pillars on each side of the room, two large doors on either side. Groups of people were drinking, laughing, and having fun. Jon's orders were to wait until Mr. Rundi showed himself for his speech, then take him out stealthy, so in the meantime he might as well have fun. He straightened his bow as he walked through the crowds, nodding and smiling to a few people as he walked by.

[Shilo]

“So anyway, there I was, coffee in one hand, gun in the other, and suddenly the guy uses his free hand to unbutton his trousers and tells me, ‘If I’m going to die, I may as well die a happy man!’”

The sound of raucous laughter echoed from one corner of the room, the small group that had congregated there in hysterics over their champagne glasses. The throng of people, men and women, had gathered around a stunning young redheaded girl, and they were obviously very amused by the story she had just finished regaling them with. Every eye in that side of the hall was on her, and not just because she could tell a tale or two; she was a beautiful specimen. Long, auburn hair billowed down her back like a cascade of fire, her pale skin rivaling even the marble of the floor and walls. She was wearing a black, one shoulder cocktail dress that clung to her slender frame, pushing and accentuating in all the right places before it fell to the floor in waves of midnight. A slim diamond chain was fastened tightly around her neck, glittering in the light of the ballroom, and the same patterning was used in her earrings and bracelet. She looked amazing, and the gazes she was getting were either of lust, from the many men who stared at her eagerly; or jealousy from the girls they were supposed to be with. Leaning against one of the pillars, she cut the very epitome of elegance and grace.

Of course, nobody in the room knew that it was all a charade. The girl that they were so entranced with did not have red hair, nor did she have the wing tattoo on her wrist. Her name was not Emily. She did not have an educated English accent. The girl they were laughing with did not exist, nor would she exist any longer after tonight. After tonight, Emily would vanish, along with Isabelle, Maria, Yulia, Jessica, and every other mask that the woman playing the role of ‘Emily’ had ever worn. They were facades, lies to be used and discarded, and Françoise Beaumont was very good at lying to people. In fact, she was so good at it that the French government had made it her job, and a well-paid one at that. This ball was just that; another job, and as it seemed to be an important occasion, Françoise had come well dressed for it. She smiled and laughed and drank champagne with the rest of them, but all the time she was waiting, watching for the signal that the fun was about to begin.

Nobody else in the room knew it, but tonight, Françoise smirked, was promising to be one hell of an evening.

[Jones Sparrow]

Jon had a drink in his hand, a strong scotch with two ice cubes. He watched the people dance and have fun, and thought it was time to join in. He scanned the area, until his sight caught a very attractive red head. Something in the back of his head buzzed as he watched her. She seemed like a normal woman one second, then a focused, cold one the next when she gazed around the room... He didnt seem to mind that warning. He walked towards her, grabbing a drink from a waiter with a tray. He made his way through the crowd. He didnt say anything, he just gave the red head the glass of alcohol, taking a sip of his own.

[Shilo]

As Françoise laughed along with the rest, her eyes flickered over the room. There was one particular man she was looking for...somebody she was supposed to meet here. She had been given details of his appearance by the American representative for the CIA who had briefed her before she left. The man she was scanning the room for did not know that she was coming here, or even who she was, but that didn't matter. Françoise already had a plan formulated, and a good one too. She shifted a little on her high heels, finishing her glass of champagne quickly. She probably shouldn't have been drinking, but que sera sera. Who gave a damn? She was blending in, wasn't she? The job would get done, the right people would die, and she got free champagne. Almost everyone was happy.

Well, maybe just her.

She quickly checked her watch, smiling when she saw the time. Ten minutes left, then the fun would start. She loved her job sometimes, especially operations like this. Drink champagne, look pretty, blow some holes in people, then go back to the hotel. Usually, counter-espionage only entailed the prevention of intelligence infiltration, but Françoise belonged to the DCRI's Counter-Espionage unit only on paper. It truth, she flitted around most of the eight units that made up the DCRI; Economic Protection, Terrorism, Intelligence Technologies, Violent Subversion, General Administration, Support, Counter-Espionage, and International Affairs. She also collaborated extensively with the The General Directorate for External Security in France for foreign operations, and being a more senior agent, she was well trusted by the agencies with whom she worked. She had started at sixteen, and had never stopped. It was not her choice, she went where they told her, did what they told her, and did it well. It suited her down to a tee. Françoise was not a delicate girl; at the age of ten she could have killed a man with her eyes closed. At fifteen, she had done so; her first successful kill. It had not been particularly traumatic for the young girl, it was the way she had been raised since her father had died. In this world, Françoise had learned, there are good people and bad people. She killed the bad ones. She wasn't sure where that left her in that particular equation, but who was she to question? Orders were orders.

As she looked up from her watch, her eyes fell on a young man walking towards her. She did not know him, but she recognized him immediately from the description she had been given. What sweet irony, he was coming this way, and his eyes were fixed on her. Two drinks were in his hands, one half empty, one full. Françoise gave him her best smile as he handed her the glass to her. The colour of her eyes was a lie, but the intensity of her eyes and the seductive glance she threw his way was certainly no lie.
"Why thank you, sweetheart," she murmured, tilting her head onto her good side. "I did not realize that I was eligible to get drinks from such good looking men..."

[Jones Sparrow]

Jon nodded, his eyes scanning her, again the alarm in the back of his going off. He gave her a smile, looking for any more clues on to what she is. "Well it's only a privilege for women who seem to be the center of attention. I can see why..." He added with a smile, taking a sip of his scotch. She was very attractive, yet there was uncertainty with her... She was a danger, and Jon could always handle dangerous things. She showed dominance, yet flirty characteristics, and her eyes were stone cold one second, then soft and sweet the next.

"You're also the most interesting woman here, and I wouldn't mind giving her a drink to help her become even more interesting."

[Shilo]

Françoise giggled a little playfully, sipping the champagne and keeping her gaze flirtatious. It was a well thought reaction, something that she knew would keep him interested so that she could get him alone in time.
"Sweetheart, I'm interesting without the drinks! And you know what I'm interested in? Your name." She smiled at him over the rim of her glass, her eyes boring into his own invitingly. She needed to know she had the right person. If not, laugh him off, move on. She was very sure though, and she needed to get him away from the crowd.

[Jones Sparrow]

Jon smiled calmly when she asked his name, he wasn't reckless to just wave it around, as he took a sip of scotch he looked he looked at her before responding with a name. "Tom Jones. American." He said, looking at her up and down. "And you seem... French." He raised his eyebrows to see if he was right. "I'm sorry to just impose, you just have that French posture, and gaze... The slight accent gives it away as well."

[Shilo]

She smirked, shrugging her shoulders. "Alright, you got me. I'm part French, on my mother's side. I was schooled there, hence the slight accent, and the traits." Françoise glanced around, then down at her watch. Three minutes. Not much time.
"It's getting pretty crowded in here..." She mused, turning her eyes back to him. The glint in them was inviting, appealing, the scarlet lips forming her words softly with just a hint of the accent he had caught. "Would you like to go somewhere a little more...private, to talk? If that's what you want..." She smiled, her eyes telling him that there would be very little talking involved in what she had planned. Hook, line, and sinker.

[Jones Sparrow]

Jon gave her a smile, very interested, but his job came first. "I would very much like to... But it'll be any minute before mr. Rundi will be showing himself, and I can't miss that opportunity." He gave another smile. "Maybe later tonight I might stumble upon you again... Then we'll get back to that alone time." Him having no idea who she was or why she was here, he took her hand and kissed it lightly, then one more smile before vanishing into the crowd again.

[Shilo]

Françoise smiled demurely, but as soon as he was out of sight she glared daggers. Merde! She had to talk to him, or everything would be put it stake! Quickly she followed him, grabbing his arm and giving another, colder smile.
"It's very rude to walk away when somebody is speaking to you. Mr. Rundi will be a little delayed, and I think you will want to hear what I have to say..."