2012-07-27 The Mating Dance of the Spy

Terminal 5, where Bethany said she'd meet her potential hire, is big for a New York Venue. The main floor is all open space, clear sight lines, with a forty-foot ceiling that gives the room needed for two wrap-around mezzannaine floors above ground level. There's a few thousand people in here on a busy night.

The rooftop lounge is the only place you can hear yourself think or have a smoke, and there's another bar out here. Clean sight lines again, unless you get yourself comfortable in a corner back by a pillar.

That's where Beth is. She's got a table for two, the other chair pulled around beside hers like she's planning on some people watching. This early in the night, she's drinking mineral water with ice but she did bum a cigarette from a kid with PVC pipe in his earlobes. If there are any other CMS agents up here, they're not immediately apparent.

Meeting under clandestine conditions always takes planning. If you're given a time and a place, arrive early. Scout out exit routes, map out traffic patterns, and look for choke points, ambush spots and sniper perches. This is all on top of doing your homework on who you're meeting to the best of your ability, and making small preparations that make the big differences in case things go south.

Someone went through a lot of trouble to find Dru and to dance the mating dance of the spy in order to get a meet. She was curious enough (and eventually convinced it wasn't a trap), so finally agreed.

If there -are- any other CMS personnel around, they'll be looking for an everywoman with long, dark hair - and she comes out of nowhere. Seriously. She didn't take the stairs or the elevator, but she's spotted on the parameter running a damn good counter surveillance.

There aren't any other agents on the roof, much to everyone's annoyance back in the Fish Tank. Someone's probably muttering incriminations while they have to multi-task by keeping an eye on the feeds from cameras at Terminal 5 and their usual screens, not that Beth's in camera shot right now. Bethany's a handful--and some of them still think of her as though she was still eighteen.

When Bethany finally catches sight of someone she's pretty sure is Drusilla, she smiles. She wouldn't have taken the stairs or elevators herself, she's not surprised she didn't get a report of anyone with potential coming in that way. There's benefit in public places... and drawbacks. She waits until it looks like Drusilla has done her sweep and looking somewhere near her, then raises a finger to say hello.

Ballsy, direct, and... almost expected. Yes, eventually Dru will make her way to Bethany, but this is part of her job application. Kind of. Alright, she's just being paranoid. So now comes the charm - the friendly smile of a girl next door type, the light step, and a flutter of fingers. She strolls up to Bethany's table, and places her hands on the back of the empty chair. "Is this seat taken?"

"Seat's free, but my heart isn't." Bethany gives Drusilla a grin and pats the chair. "If that's okay with you, you're welcome to join me."

"That's a shame. You're cute." The smile comes easy. "Mind if I smoke?" Two things are happening at this moment. The first is she's already slipping her hand into her back pocket to withdraw a chromatic zippo and a black box o' smokes. The second is that Dru is gauging the mystery woman that is seated, but Dru has yet to partake of the chair offered. Keep watching that lighter. The mirrored surface is turned with a deft motion, which allowed the scanning of underneath the table. Anyone of lesser perception wouldn't have seen the subterfuge. "You got a name?"

"You're welcome to smoke, that's why I picked this lounge. It's getting hard to find a place you can light up in this world anymore. I'm Bethany Cabe." She offers her hand to Drusilla. "I can get out my ID if you'd like, but we all know what that's worth."

"CMS big-wig herself? My, what did I do to earn the attention of such prestigious persons?" Dru flicks open the lid to the zippo after extracting one of the sweet-smelling Clove cigarettes - as an afterthought, she offers Cabe one of the smokes.

"Thanks." Bethany takes a cigarette and lets Drusilla light it for her. "And I'm sure you know what you did, young lady. Besides, if I spend as much money on something as I just did, I want to be first to open the package."

It's only now that Drusilla takes the seat, and then she leans forward to first light Bethany's cigarette with the tough of blue tongued flame. "Refresh my memory." There's that easy, casual smile that opens doors. "You went to a lot of trouble to find someone who isn't keen on being found. Least you can do is kiss and tell how I popped onto your radar." Now Dru lights her own. Mm. Clove.

"Purely accidental. You picked up odd jobs from a friend, bits and pieces I outsourced. I liked the results... the lack of results." Bethany puts her chin in her hand. "I pay attention. Not to the ripples but to the empty spaces. There are always ripples. Noise. The silence is more interesting. So, I made some enquiries. And--apologies--manufactured some work."

I thought some of it was a little _too_ convenient," Dru muses though a haze of blue gray smoke. She doesn't look in the least bit bothered by this - covert ops are rarely shown the big picture. They have to put it together themselves. "I'm glad you liked what you saw. Now, what do you want?"

"World peace. Rechargeable batteries that last as long as the disposable kind. A teleporter. No, a time machine. Both." Bethany flashes her a smile. "Your attention. Maybe a more convenient way to contact you. What can I do for you?"

"I can help you with three on that wish list." Odd answer, eh? Dru sits back and plucks the cigarette from her lips to tap the ash into the tray.

"Excellent. I'm looking for people with skills and talents I can't find in the usual pool of former Rangers and disaffected spooks." Bethany leans back in her chair. The smile fades from her face and she frowns. From the smoothness of her skin, it's a rare expression for her.

"The world is dipping swiftly into dark places, places conventional training hasn't prepared us to go. I'm seeing a time looming when squabbles over mundane WMD and nuclear proliferation will be wistful memories. When we'll -wish- we had that back. I want to be ready to play on that field. I love what we do," Beth says, looking over at Drusilla. "I know it sounds corny but I believe in it, in getting between those who can do to much harm and those who can't stop them. I don't want to be made redundant before I'm thirty. And I need people who think they can hang on for the ride."

"...I think you might be barking up the wrong tree here, Ms. Cabe. Sounds like you want someone who needs a cause." Dru looks at Bethany evenly. "I presume you've done your homework, and I presume that you want to keep us on amicable terms. And in doing your homework, I figure you may have realized that the person you're looking for died a very long time ago. You're looking for a patriot. What did you read that lead you to believe that person you seek is still alive?"

"Did I say I had a cause, other than doing what we do--providing security?" Bethany laughs and shakes her head. "I'm not looking for a patriot, just warning you that I take my company and its goals seriously. I'm looking for someone who can do the jobs that my company takes on. That does include believing in protecting the people who need us, whoever they are. I really like that about this work. I've never cared about nations, one way or another. They're artificial entities. The people who over-invest in them are often the real problem. I don't want to hire some patriot who supposedly died for her country. I want to hire the person who's managed to stay alive and well, under the radar, all this time."

Dru takes one last drag of what remains of the Clove, and snubs it out in the ashtray on the table. "Once upon a time, I believed in the cause. I still do, to an extent. That whole not-caring about nations deal, it might be a sticking point to some of my sensibilities." Which explains why she's not going around the world just killing people for money, right? We hope? She studies Bethany in some long moment of thought, and recites a telephone number. Which, "That number goes to a burn phone. Use it when you need me, and I'll give you a new number when I make contact." The smile returns. "As for your batteries, check out what the military is doing with the M13 virus. It's fascinating." So what was the third thing?

"I'm afraid my feelings about nations are similar to my feelings about sausage--too much familiarity with how they're made to enjoy them. After all, I do have a front row seat. I prefer to focus on people who, after all, are the stuff of nations anyway." Bethany takes the number. "I promise you'll find me easy to work for when you do. I don't ask people to compromise themselves, just as I won't compromise myself for anyone. I appreciate your time, and I apologize for being so rude as to put you through your paces at a distance." She slowly draws an envelope from the front pocket of her hoodie and puts it on the table. "Our direct number for independents is in there. Consider the rest the manifestation of my appreciation for your willingness to show up tonight. I know you value your privacy and I certainly value your time."

Dru casually draws the envelope over to her side, and gives the contents a quick but calculated glance. The envelope ends up going down the front of her shirt, as sign that the amount was respectfully adequate compensation. "Give me a call sometime." The woman smiles that genuine, easy smile, and scoops her cigarette box and lighter from the table. "Do take care." And with that, she'll walk away.

She takes an unusual route, one that she planned out hours before making the meeting, one that confounds the cameras and casual observers up to until she reaches the side of the terrace where she seemingly appeared. She walks behind an obstruction, and then...

...she's gone.