Another 2fer

And I'm almost caught up!

The prompts for this post:

Taking an unfamiliar road

Write about changing clothes
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The seatbelt sign winked off and the cabin was suddenly awash in a din of business and reassurances as cell phones came to life. Claire waited until everyone had filed out until she stood up, massaging her calf muscles and takng her time to ensure that she had packed up everything in the away kit. There was part of her that was trying not to panic about taking a gun through customs. She had decided to omit it on the customs claim form before touchdown. Plausible deniablity had been its own entire course at the academy.

Claire picked her way by the cleaning and flight crews and took a deep breath on the jetway. There was no one holding up a sign for her. No one in a dark suit and sunglasses speaking into their cuff that "the eagle had landed." She was almost disappointed after her sendoff. The air had a weight to it when she breathed. Aside from the tang of jet fuel and carpet cleaners the humidity was almost palpable and the jetway walls were warm to the touch. She had taken off her blazer by the time she reached the top of the ramp.

Again, she had a slight pause to look around the masses. Again she was dissapointed. No one with a sign, no one to greet her. With rising trepidation she headed towards customs. Each step she tried to stand up a little straighter, shoulder a little more back. She was CIA! She had her passport, her conceled weapons permit her clearance credenctials and could probably produce a letter of introduction from the eReader if she really had needed to. She just hoped that customs agents in Europe were more what? Lax wasn't the word. Free? Again she broke out in a cold sweat trying to explain the gun. What did she need a gun for anyway? Forensic accountants rarely, if ever, needed firearms and if they did then the situation had definitely gotten out of her realm of experience.

The line had mostly disappeared by the time she reached customs. She had stopped off at the restroom and grabbed a coffee, her luggange all in an attempt to appear nonchalant. Then, she put on her best smile and most courteous attitude.

"Do you speak English? Sprechen ze Doitch? Parles Vous Francais?"
"English please." Clair replied. The customs agent looked up from his computer monitor, looked at her from head to toe then went back to his monitor.
"Passport and return ticket please. Do you have anything to declare?"
"I don't have a return ticket yet. Here's my passport and no. Nothing to declare." He took the passport and began scanning its bar code.
"Are you here for business or pleasure?" She noticed he looked at her left hand when he asked.
"Business, thank you."
"How long do you expect..." He trailed off and began earnestly reading his monitor. After a second he looked at her and maintained eye contact.
"Ah, Ms. Newton, you are expected. One second." After a quick burst of Dutch into his walkie talkie, a young customs agent came to the podium and there was a brief exchange.
"Ms. Newton, please follow Arnold and he will see you to your rendesvous."
Arnold then said something that sound like "Vol me up."
"I'm sorry Arnold, I don't speak Dutch." She said to him.
"That is all right Ms. Newton, he doesn't speak English so you two should be fast friends. Volgende in de rij, Next in line, Suivant en ligne."

Arnold took hold of Claire's suitcase and began walking at a brisk pace through the airport she followed, her heels clicking on the cement walkways. After a few minutes they arrived at an office, the frosted glass door opened to reveal only one occupant. Claire guessed the woman was in her early fifties. She had shoulder length gray hair, her clothes were muted blacks and charcoals, a pair of ruby stud earrings and a glold chain necklace were the only sources of color in her wardrobe. With flat shoes on, she was still at least 7 inches taller than Claire. She was speaking on her cell phone in bullet fast Dutch and held up a silenceing finger when they came in the room. Arnold pantomied "here you are." and left the suitcase. He spun on his heel and closed the door with a quiet click.

A second later the older woman closed her phone with a snap and spun to fully examine Claire. She looked her from the shoes up a slight scowl creeping across her face. Claire stood up striaght and tried to flush the beginnings of jet lag from her mind.
"Agent Claire Newton? I am Inspector Mariela Hasbrouck with the KLPD, specifically I am one of the KLPD's liasons with Interpol. You may address me as Inspector Hasbrouck."
"Yes ma'am. And you may address me as Agent Newton, CIA forensic Accounting division. A pleasure to meet you." She held out her hand. Inspector Hasbrouck made no move to shake it. Instead she said, "I had imaged you taller." With a sigh she said "Oh well. I am to be your liason during the investigation. I will act as an interpretur and I will be able to make introductions for you, but I am not your chauffeur, or your secretary. Now if we could get you to your hotel I am sure you are tired from your flight and I am sure you have a lot of work to begin on tomorrow." She opened the door and began to walk with long strides down the halway. Quickly Claire grabbed her suitecase and followed after. A minute later they were in an unmarked sedan taking an unfamilier road from the airport towards The Hague.

Claire looked out the car window as they sped through the city then through farm land. She would watch bill boards and street signs zip by with far too many consonents in a row. She could feel herself beginning to drift off.

"So why were you chosen for this assignment?"
"I'm sorry?" Claire quickly snapped out of her daze.
"You're here to investigate the bombings. I didn't realize the CIA would send a forensic accountant to examine a bombing. As far as I can tell you are the only CIA operative on the scene."
"I knew one of the victims. We had worked together once."
"And the CIA flies you halfway around the world for that?"
Claire bit down on her tounge trying to decide how much of Inspector Hasbrouck's personality was lost in translation, how much was European and how much was just her general unpleasentness.
"Well the job needs to get done. You never know where the paper trail leads." She said trying to remain far more chipper than she felt. Mariela sneered.
"Which one of the victims did you know?"
"Andrew Booten. He and I had worked a case together in the Sahara a year or so ago."
"Is that so?" And that was the last Inspector Hasbrouck said for the drive. They arrived at a twenty story high rise hotel not far from the International courthouse.
"I will pick you up at 0700 tomorrow. That is seven AM for you yanks. Please be ready to go. I will take you then to the crime scenes and you can arrange travel from there. You can call me if you need anything else. Here is my card."
"Yes ma'am. I reckon I look forward to it. See y'all tomorrow morning." Claire said puting on as thick and as fake Texas accent as she could and rolling her eyes as she stepped out of the car.

She checked in, went to her room and looked out from her window. The architecture outside seemingly only consisted of acute angles, from ancient castle spires and brick buildings to sleek glass covered rhomboids. Fifteen stories below people walked and rode their bicycles everywhere through the narrow streets. She snapped a quick picture of the Courthouse less than ten blocks away and e-mailed it to her boss. "The eagle has landed" she wrote.
A second later there was a reply. When did he sleep she wondered? It was four AM back home. She opened the e-mail: "LOL, looks hot. Be careful Newton."

Opening the closet she found a terry cloth bathrobe and slippers, she pulled them out and laid them out on the bed. Halfway through unbuttoning her blouse she flipped on the flat pannel TV that hung on the wall and settled for world news on the BBC channel. She set the remote control down, finnished taking off her suit and spent a second luxuriating in the comfort of the bathrobe. She could feel herself getting lost in just rubbing her toes against the fabric of the slippers when she snapped to, picked up the suit and hung it up in the bathroom. She turned on the shower, slipped off the bathrobe and inhaled the steam deeply, feeling the water wash away the grime of travel.

Almost an hour later she still had a towel wrapped around her head, bathrobe cinched at the waist and was trying to decide if she had enough energy to order room service and if so wheather it would be a simple salad or something with herring in it. There was a knock on the door.

She laid the menu on the table and got up quietly. "Just a minute" she said, aiming her voice into the bathroom so she could get a good echo going. She snuck up to the peep hole in the door and stole a quick glance.

There in the hallway stood Andrew Booten.