Jeopardizing the Mission

by ink'n'imp

Major Eberbach tried to console herself with the knowledge that shooting him would only cause a rather messy international incident.

"Beautiful, like an Amazonian queen, a German Valkyrie," he continued.

They were waiting in a safe room, waiting for the last of the mission instructions to be sent to them. There was no knowing how long they would have to wait. The lights were cut to give the appearance that the room was empty, the street lights outside instead casting harsh lines and shadows. She was sitting on a chair, him on the sofa. She sat ramrod straight in the chair, arms crossed, staring at a particularly entrancing nail in the wall. Lawrence was lounging, staring at her in a way she was certain he thought was seductive. That only infuriated her.

They were suppose to maintain total silence. That only infuriated her as well.

"I didn't see it at first, you know. At first I thought you just a machine, all action, no passion." He leaned forward, eyes glimmering in the low light. "You are dangerous woman, Eberbach. I'm afraid it's too easy to lose oneself in your harsh beauty, and forget about your claws. Like meeting a tigress in the wild."

She could stand it no more. "Boar."

This interrupted his monologue. The attempt at a smoldering, seductive stare disappeared with a blink. "Pardon?"

"Eber. It means 'boar'. You've got the wrong animal," she said, still staring at that fascinating nail in the wall before her.

"You? A Boar? That's casting pearls before swine," Lawrence chuckled. The man thought himself clever. That only infuriated her more.

She finally looked away from the nail, and at him. "Are you daring to insult my family, Mr. Lawrence," she asked, trying to keep a level tone and her hands from clenching into fists. Shooting him would only lead to paperwork and apologies, to both NATO and the SIS. He was NOT worth the paperwork.

The man finally sensed he had chosen a poor response. He leaned toward her, trying a new tactic. "The Iron Maiden, they call you. But you don't have to be a ice maiden to me, Klara."

She leaned forward in her chair.

"We could make something of this night, you and--"

She hadn't put much behind the punch. But the way it connected with Lawrence's jaw, and the way he fell back onto the couch was highly satisfying.

She heard the soft hiss of papers being slid under the door. The last of the mission instructions.

She looked at Lawrence, out cold on the couch.

"…Verdammt." She sighed.