“Hey, what's the status?” Tal asked, moving to lean against the front of his Range Rover.
“The mark is leaving the country. Intel says we have about a week, then we're back on,” Ruiz prattled off. Tal nodded.
“Alright. What are we supposed to do during the interim?”
“We're getting pulled out.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. We gotta take all the reports and pictures to HQ for a debriefing, they want to take this break as an opportunity to catch up, so everything will be ready when shit goes to trial,” Ruiz explained.
Of course, Tal should've known this info first, but he'd been avoiding his e-mail updates. Making excuses, so he could stretch out his time with Mischa for as long as possible. He was the senior person on this mission, he was in charge, he'd been in the business a lot longer than Ruiz. Usually, he reveled in that information, took advantage of it to always be in charge. Now, he just wanted to defer everything to the other man.
Not enough time. Not enough time. Need more time with her. She's almost gone, why am I here?
“Fine,” Tal sighed. Ruiz glared.
“You sure about that?”
“Did I fucking stutter?”
“Alright, man, just be at the chopper by 0600 hours,” his partner snapped.
“I'll be there.”
“You better.”
Ruiz glared one more time, then stomped back to his car. Peeled out of the field.
Tal understood. It'd been just the two of them for a long time. Long winters in Moscow, quick fire fights in Rio, dangerous hidey-holes in Kuwait. Ruiz was jealous; his partner had found a new partner.
Lucky for him, it was a partnership that couldn't last.
Tal didn't want to go to HQ. He didn't want to go anywhere. He wanted to drive back to Rome as fast as possible. Kneel at the feet of a beautiful dancer and beg for forgiveness. Beg for mercy. Share all his secrets and lies, and see if she really meant it, when she said she felt the same way about him, as he felt about her. Of course, it was easy for him to think like that – he already knew everything about her.
She knew so little about him.
Lying normally came easy to Tal. It was part of his job, almost part of his being, at that point in life. He didn't think twice about it, used it to get what he wanted, to learn what he wanted. He virtually never took the time to wonder how it made him feel, to see if he felt any guilt or remorse. In fact, he usually made it a point to feel as little as possible.
Mrs. Rapaport had cured him of that, had given him a very healthy reminder of what both guilt and remorse felt like.
Maybe this is how it needs to be, Misch. For what it's worth, you were the best mission I ever had.
~The Amalfi Coast~
God, Positano was beautiful.
Mischa soaked it in. Dropped her luggage off at the hotel and immediately went down to the beach. Buried her feet in the sand right at the water's edge and just stood there. Let the waves crash against her legs while she looked off into the horizon.
Tal had left her in that hotel room in Rome, though not on the floor – he'd helped her into bed, first. Gave her a slow kiss goodbye. So sad. He hadn't said what his phone call had been about, but based on his kiss, she'd guessed it. He had to go. Possibly for a couple days.
Mischa would be in Positano in a few days.
It was goodbye, without actually saying the words. Enough words had been said. Too many words, and they would break all the way. Misch was already cracked down the middle, she couldn't stand the thought of saying goodbye.
He didn't come back. She received a phone call, but she was packing when it came in, holding the picture of her and Mike. She let the call go, didn't answer. It was for the best.
Too many words. Don't let them in.
The night before she left Rome, she listened to his voicemail – two days after he'd left.
“Hey, dancer lady. I wanted to say this in person, but it just wasn't possible. I won't be back before you leave. I hate that, not getting to say goodbye for real. Not getting to see you one more time. Just … don't forget me. Don't forget us. Don't forget who you are, not who you think you need to be when you're with him. Be nice to him, but don't be weak. You owe it to him. And don't be scared. You're strong, Misch. And stop thinking you're a horrible person. You're not. He's not. You're just not in love. That's not horrible. It's just sad. Don't confuse the two. Take care of you, take care of your heart. And just … please don't forget us.”
It had been very, very, very hard not to call him back. To not beg him to take her away from everything. She didn't care what his job was, or where he was going, she just wanted to be with him. Just wanted to be lost with him.
Come find me.
She took a train to Naples, then a driver took her to her hotel in Positano. She was supposed to be traveling with her boss, but he'd had to fly back to the U.S. to organize some other permits and licenses. He would meet her in Turkey. She was thankful for the time alone, even if it was only a couple days. Also, she was upgraded from her boring room to his two bedroom suite.
Made feeling like shit a little less horrible.
She was on her way back up to her hotel when her phone rang. It hadn't rung since Tal had called. She practically ripped her back pocket off trying to get it out. But it wasn't him.
“Are you excited!?” Mike's voice chirped down the line.
“Tired would be a closer approximation to how I'm feeling,” Mischa sighed.