The Unforeseen Mission

By R.J. Eisenhuth

The woman, cool and elegant, wore red lace and sat cross-legged at the bar. She was smoking a thin cigarette, the tip tinged with cherry-colored lipstick, and appeared somewhat removed from her surroundings. She gazed about the room thoughtfully and slowly drank her martini. Taking time off between assignments, she was attending a party but knew only a few of the guests casually. The venue was mod but charming, at an old fashion tavern in the middle of Los Angeles, yet sporting colorful banners and the latest in contemporary music.

"Times have changed," she chuckled to herself, "But not really." The antics going on about her were typical. Certainly, there were some intelligent conversations being exchanged, but just as many men and women were attempting to make lucrative connections or attempting to find intimate partners for the evening.

One might ask why, as beautiful and sophisticated as Cinnamon Carter obviously appeared, she was sitting alone. She had a few men offer to buy her drinks, which she politely refused, for she was not looking for that type of entertainment tonight. Truthfully, she was waiting for someone. She had heard he was coming to the party. Sylvia had told her as much and Cinnamon thought it might be amusing to have him spot her in the middle of the pub.

The party was an hour and a half in, couples were dancing, but he hadn't shown yet. Disappointed, Cinnamon was ready to call it a night, having plans for the following day, when Rollin Hand entered. "So like an actor." She murmured quietly and watched as he rather dramatically tossed his coat at a cloak-girl and made his way to the bar, as she knew he would. Cinnamon smiled when he approached and spotted her.

"Scotch and water." He told the bartender as he leaned on the counter next to the beautiful blond. "Alone?" he asked, trying to appear nonchalant.

"Had a date but he was called away." She spoke in her familiar, throaty voice. "An obstetrician. Babies do not wait for a party." She then looked from the crowd to Rollin, "You?"

"Was called at the last minute about this shin-dig. Just thought I'd step in." His eyes rested on a sight across the room, on a voluptuous brunette in a short dress. "I'm glad I did."

Cinnamon took a puff on her cigarette and followed his gaze. She blew smoke and chuckled slightly, despite a slight nudge of jealousy. "Her name is Samantha. I can introduce you if you'd like." She offered.

"A model?" he asked.

"No. A party girl." Cinnamon paused, "But I've heard she has talents."

They watched as the woman, rather shrill and obvious, laughed at what was probably an unfunny joke told by one of the men surrounding her. She then took a deep drink from the glass in her hand.

"Yeah, I bet she has." Rollin turned to look at Cinnamon as she smiled gently at him. "Not tonight. I don't think I could keep up with her."

"Long day?" Cinnamon asked and puffed gently. She watched as Rollin lit his own cigarette.

"Talking to investors. There is a new nightclub act that I think will be a smash if the performer gets a chance to show his stuff."

"Ventriloquist or magic?"

"A singer and a comedian."

"Nice combination." Cinnamon ousted her cigarette in an ashtray and drank the rest of her martini.

Rollin knocked back his own glass of courage and slid it on the counter, along with payment for both his and Cinnamon's drink. He then lifted a finger to indicate to the bartender that they had enough. "Would you like to dance?"

Again, Cinnamon smiled and looked Rollin in the eye. "I thought you'd never ask."

He returned her smile, left his cigarette in an ashtray, and took Cinnamon's hand as she slid off the stool. The music, which had been loud and enthusiastic, suddenly softened and The Girl From Ipanema played. The couple danced close and spoke quietly to one another.

It was wrong and they both knew it. Dancing was an innocent enough activity but, as IMF agents, they had been told long ago during orientation that they should never be seen together outside of their jobs. It made sense. They worked all kinds of missions together here and abroad and if, for some reason, they or any of the others were to be caught together in a photograph, one of their marks might make a connection, jeopardizing future assignments.

Still, they were men and women accustomed to taking risks. Rollin thought seriously about such a dilemma as he held her in his arms, covertly sniffing her fragrant hair, with a hand on her back as he and Cinnamon moved to the music.

His thought then shifted and he thought of the woman in his arms. It might have simply been ordinary paranoia, something he naturally acquired while becoming an actor then a spy, but he often wondered how anyone could know when Cinnamon Carter was seriously interested in a man. On his part, the lack of confidence came because the woman was too good at her job. How often had Cinnamon been required to flutter her eyelashes, cross her sexy legs, and make a man – whether he was desirable or not - believe she wanted him with her heart and soul? And how many of those men, confident in their seductive skills, had fallen for her act? Many.

And here he was, holding her and experiencing the same kind if desire all those others had felt, thinking he might have a chance with the beautiful spy, but knowing he was probably just as deluded. Still, she wasn't working now, was she? And Cinnamon seemed to be having a good time with him, her smile appearing genuine as she pulled gently away from him. Cinnamon was talking about the new play at the Baxtern Theater and how there was a part that she thought he'd be perfect for … Yet, Rollin barely heard her. He was becoming lost in those stormy green eyes and that rose-colored mouth. How he wanted to kiss those lips – but he knew he could not. He would not allow himself to fall under the spell of a woman who, even now, tossed out her magical allure even when she was not trying.

Then, he felt her tense in his arms, looking over his shoulder. "Rollin." she whispered, indicating with her eyes that trouble was afoot.

He turned and looked.

Two men, brandishing weapons, suddenly walked into the tavern. They wore masks and it was obvious they were up to no good. Others had noticed, the music screeching to an end, and a female cry was heard. One of the men jumped behind the bar and struck the bartender before he could make a move for a weapon. He fell to the floor, unconscious.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," the other man, with a gruff but not uneducated voice, called. "We know there are many well-heeled people in this room and we have come to liberate some cash and a few bobbles. If you do as we ask you will collect some nice insurance money. However, if you make a stink …" He cocked the rifle in his arms, " … we may be forced to discipline you, your dates, and maybe a few others that look at us funny. Do I make myself clear?"

A murmur of understanding came from the party guests as the man behind the counter started to clean out the register.

A portly man beside Rollin spoke into his ear, "We could take them, you and I." he said.

Out of the side of his mouth Rollin spoke urgently, "Don't even think about it."

Cinnamon, holding Rollin's arm, was not merely worried about the potential damage the men could cause, hurting the tavern patrons and stealing their weekly earnings, but she suddenly wondered if this wasn't something involving a past assignment, perhaps something she and Rollin had worked on together. Her mind raced but, in the end, Cinnamon knew being inconspicuous and cooperating was their best chance at getting away alive.

Soon, the men were working the room, urging the ladies to give them their jewels and telling the men to be generous with the bills in their wallets. The well-spoken man came up to Samantha, lifted her left wrist, and admired her obviously expensive bracelet. "We will take that." He told her.

"Oh please," she pleaded, a bit shaky on her feet from drink and pharmaceuticals. "It's the only thing I have that is nice."

"Hand it over." He noted her short dress and big hair. "Keep doing what you're doing, honey, and you'll get another soon enough."

Samantha pouted as she snapped the bangle off and slid it into the bag.

By the time they got to Rollin and Cinnamon, the actor already had eighty dollars from his wallet out and Cinnamon was removing the diamond drop necklace from around her throat. Rollin eyed the masked man, strangely aware of something familiar.

"Very sweet." he said.

Rollin was certain he was talking about more than her jewelry. It was hard for someone as beautiful as Cinnamon Carter, even when she tried, to look like just another face in the crowd.

They put it all in his bag.

The ring-leader paused for a moment, looking at both of them, resting his brown eyes on Rollin for a few moments. He only started to move when his partner tapped him on the shoulder and indicated it was time to leave. Addressing the crowd, the men backed up to the door, training their rifles on the tavern guests the entire time. The lead bandit then said: "Thank you very much. You've been a good crowd and I hope we can do this all again sometime soon. Maybe we'll see you all in Ontario some day!"

Cinnamon felt Rollin stiffen beside her and watched as his eyes narrowed.

When the men were gone a relieved sigh was heard from all.

"Someone check on the bartender!" a voice of reason called.

"Call the police!" said another.

Rollin touched Cinnamon's shoulder and spoke quietly, "Are you all right?"

"Yes, of course. Are you?"

He nodded but could not help the disappointment in his voice as he said, "Do you remember that act I told you about at the bar, the one I wanted to get investors interested in, that I thought might be a sensation?"

"You mean the singer-comedian?"

"Yes." Rollin was hesitant to mention it, "He always signs his act off with the line: 'Maybe we'll see you in Ontario someday.'"

Cinnamon's eyes widened, "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, he just walked out that door."

They waited for the police and ambulance. The bartender was not hurt badly but he did require a few stitches. Statements were needed from everyone who hadn't rushed out as soon as it was safe. Cinnamon and Rollin deliberated skipping out themselves, their secret government jobs potentially putting them in peril. But Rollin was interested in what the police had to say when he mentioned the odd last comment by the thieves.

"Yeah," Officer Jekyll, a square-jawed policeman, spoke while writing in his note pad, "Second time in three weeks. They seem to really like this area."

Pensively, Rollin drove Cinnamon home but did not say two words to her during the entire ride.

They parked in front of her apartment building and simply sat together silently for a few minutes. Cinnamon then turned to look at him as he stared out of the driver-side window. "I'm sorry, Rollin. I know you had plans."

He shook his head back forth, a clear sign of regret, and the brooding expression softened. "I think I'm more upset that I was so easily deceived." He said, "A common masked bandit. How could I have not seen what he was?"

"Sometimes, when we want to see something bad enough, have high hopes, we wear blinders. It's not your fault." She spoke softly.

"In a way I am at fault. He mocked me. Dom… That's his stage name. He knew how much I wanted that contract for him, how hard I was shopping around nightclubs and television stations, how set I was on getting that lucrative commission on his performances." He glanced at Cinnamon, at her enquiring gaze, and explained: "I know we don't really need the money. Especially when our day jobs pay so well – but I was doing all of this with a sense of pride. Maybe too much pride." Rollin gulped ever so slightly. "I was arrogant and looking out for the future. He was my discovery and I wanted to prove how well I recognized talent when I saw it. Then, when he gave that sign off in the tavern, knowing it was me standing in front of him, Dom was saying: "Yeah, ole Rollin Hand isn't going to turn me in because he has too much invested in my success!" The bastard." Rollin gulped again and sighed ever so slightly.

She was stunned. Never had Rollin reveal something so confidential to any of his team members. His pain and sorrow touched her heart. "Rollin, you did do right." Cinnamon reminded, "You did tell the police your suspicions."

"Yeah, I did my duty." He then looked from the car window to Cinnamon, "But that's not really what is bothering me. Cinnamon, I'm losing my edge. I pride myself on the men and women I read, as you do, and if that punk was able to pull the wool over my eyes what makes me think the desperate and evil Czar of Castetonia can't do the same thing?"

"You're over-thinking this, Rollin."

"I don't think so. It might be time for me to leave the IMF."

"What?" Cinnamon held back a form of panic, "You don't mean that! That was just a hiccup, Rollin."

"And what if I have the same hiccup during a mission, putting Jim, Barney, Willie or you in jeopardy? I couldn't take that, Cinnamon. Especially if you were …" He allowed the thought to trail off, "Pretty pathetic, hunh?"

Cinnamon could only stare at his profile, watch as his eyes closed, still trying to get over his miscalculation. She wanted to tell him so much, including that he was worthy and she had never had a date to the party, that she was waiting for him the entire time … Yet, how much of the confession would confirm that he was, indeed, losing his touch? Shouldn't he have known she never had a date and that Cinnamon's feelings for him had moved from "charmed by a workmate" to potentially wanting something more? And even as she thought this, Cinnamon could not believe what she was pondering. Until now, she had not thought about the two of them exploring a future together, although she had always been attracted to Rollin Hand.

"I went to that party knowing you were going to be there." Rollin suddenly blurted, "Samantha told me."

"You know Samantha?" Cinnamon's eyes widened.

"She is, as you said, a party girl and would-be actress. She's taking classes at the The Studio downtown. I teach there sometimes as a part of my cover. She mentioned "that model from Lady Beautiful" was attending and I should come too. Didn't take too much research for me to discover it was you."

"Wh…why would you care that I was attending?" Cinnamon said with a little less of the familiar self-assurance she often conveyed, "I mean …" Cinnamon snapped herself out of the haze that overcame her. She shifted the slant of their conversation. "Well then, that should prove to you that you are as competent as ever. I had no idea, Rollin. I really did believe you just happened by and that look you gave Samantha was of a man who had never seen the sexpot before." She chuckled gently. Cinnamon knew part of what she said was a fib. She did know he was coming but the Samantha angle never occurred to her.

"Maybe. But it's something I'll have to watch in the future. We can't stay in this business forever. My end might come sooner than later." He reminded.

"I understand." Cinnamon confessed, "After all, one day my looks will go and my mind will fade. The sad ending of all fem fatales."

"You are much more than that." he asserted.

The couple looked at one another.

"And you are more than what you think too, Rollin. Don't doubt yourself." Then she said, "At least, not until you see that first grey hair."

Now, they both laughed.

Rollin walked Cinnamon to her apartment door, opened it with her key, then gently kissed her on the cheek before saying goodbye. "Unforeseen Mission: Accomplished." he said.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her hand on the doorknob.

"Your mission, if you decided to accept it, Miss Carter, was to make a co-worker feel his worth. I think you succeeded."

She blushed through her quiet laughter. "I'm glad, Rollin." She hesitated at the door, wondering if she should ask him in but - the mood as it was - that was probably not a good idea. "Goodnight, Rollin."

It was genuine, he thought as the door closed behind her. No woman could hide a blush and Rollin was inwardly delighted that he could see a side of Cinnamon others might not ever witness. She was smitten with him, he was sure, and his edge was as sharp as ever. Maybe this was the start of something special.

Rollin Hand, actor and spy, walked down to his car with confidence.

A few days later Rollin would learn that Dom and his co-hart were arrested in Orange County. He was never called in to identify the man and he was grateful. Even with the long hours he had put in on the Dom's potential career, this was a chapter of his own life Rollin was happy to close.

Still, if anything good came out of the experience, it was that he got to know Cinnamon a little better and they had formed a connection neither would ever have with the other IMF team members.

In a year, as he expected, Rollin would leave the IMF. Shortly after, Cinnamon would follow.

They would live a good life together.

THE END

June 2018.

(yes, ever the romantic ….)