partnership.
CHAPTER 15
Rick and Madeline didn’t know exactly how long they had stayed in each other’s arms –Madeline lying with her head on his chest, Rick with one hand entangled in her hair, the other drawing lazy circles on her back - talking, but judging by the sunlight that filtered through the small window, and into the bedroom, they guessed about five hours. The phone on their communications unit disturbed the peace. Madeline went to rise, to answer the phone, but Rick, stopped her, telling her he’d do it as, after all, like she'd said in the alley, it was his fault that Teslovich had got away. Madeline smiled slightly, knowing he was teasing her. Rick winked as he left the room, and went into the lounge. The next few minutes were spent in silence, as Madeline waited for the news. She heard the call end and saw Rick turn to face her, as she stood in the open doorway, wrapped in the sheet.
‘Good news, we're going to Venice.’ he said, ‘Oh do you know how to get to the heliport in this town?’ Rick laughed as she shrugged. ‘Oh good,’ he commented, yanking the sheet out of her hands, and away from her. ‘We have to be there in twenty minutes.’ Dressing quickly, they gathered the equipment together and headed down to the street, with the intention of hailing another taxi.
After waiting a few minutes, Madeline decided to take matters into her own hands. Rick watched as his beautiful partner casually stopped a passer-by and asked for directions. ‘Mi scusi, Signor, ma dove L' aeroporto per gli ellicotteri?’ she asked him.
Rick watched with admiration as Madeline followed the conversation and listened attentively to the older gentleman's directions. Catching only a few phrases, here and there, Rick wondered how Madeline didn't flinch when the older man brushed her breast as he reached to indicate directions. Not knowing what she meant, when she asked ‘E' lontano da qui?’ Rick felt a pang of jealousy at this stranger's touch.
Madeline thanked the man, and turned to face Rick. She called to him, first in Italian, forgetting for a moment that her partner was ignorant to any foreign language, other than Russian. ‘Abbiamo buona fortuna!’
‘What?’ Rick raised his eyebrows and Madeline laughed.
‘I said, we're in luck! The heliport is five minutes from here, on foot. Straight down that way.’ She pointed down a side road, to the left. ‘We have ten minutes, lets go’ she said, but Rick was already on the move.
* * * * *
Teslovich sat in a nearly deserted café in one of the side streets of Venice, nursing a bottle of Johnny Walker brand scotch. He glanced around the room, taking in the bored expressions of the people. Through the smoke he could see the waitress cleaning tables with a damp tea towel. Of course its damp, he thought, everything in this godforsaken city is damp. The plaza is flooded, it rains all the time, the people are arrogant and rude. Only this morning he’d been thrown out of three shops by Venetians who didn’t realise his importance, Venetians who were tired of tourists using their shops as a place to escape the weather. Why of all places did Kellerin pick this place? He thought. There is nothing nice, nothing romantic about this sess-pit of sewerage and mould. It rains eleven months out of the year and you have to put used toilet paper into a garbage bin next to the bowl, what sort of backward living is that? And the world thinks Russia is oppressed and poor. At least there are flushing toilets and a fully working sewerage system in Russia, even in the poorest, most remote parts of the country. Everything in Venice is wet and overcrowded,
CHAPTER 15
Rick and Madeline didn’t know exactly how long they had stayed in each other’s arms –Madeline lying with her head on his chest, Rick with one hand entangled in her hair, the other drawing lazy circles on her back - talking, but judging by the sunlight that filtered through the small window, and into the bedroom, they guessed about five hours. The phone on their communications unit disturbed the peace. Madeline went to rise, to answer the phone, but Rick, stopped her, telling her he’d do it as, after all, like she'd said in the alley, it was his fault that Teslovich had got away. Madeline smiled slightly, knowing he was teasing her. Rick winked as he left the room, and went into the lounge. The next few minutes were spent in silence, as Madeline waited for the news. She heard the call end and saw Rick turn to face her, as she stood in the open doorway, wrapped in the sheet.
‘Good news, we're going to Venice.’ he said, ‘Oh do you know how to get to the heliport in this town?’ Rick laughed as she shrugged. ‘Oh good,’ he commented, yanking the sheet out of her hands, and away from her. ‘We have to be there in twenty minutes.’ Dressing quickly, they gathered the equipment together and headed down to the street, with the intention of hailing another taxi.
After waiting a few minutes, Madeline decided to take matters into her own hands. Rick watched as his beautiful partner casually stopped a passer-by and asked for directions. ‘Mi scusi, Signor, ma dove L' aeroporto per gli ellicotteri?’ she asked him.
Rick watched with admiration as Madeline followed the conversation and listened attentively to the older gentleman's directions. Catching only a few phrases, here and there, Rick wondered how Madeline didn't flinch when the older man brushed her breast as he reached to indicate directions. Not knowing what she meant, when she asked ‘E' lontano da qui?’ Rick felt a pang of jealousy at this stranger's touch.
Madeline thanked the man, and turned to face Rick. She called to him, first in Italian, forgetting for a moment that her partner was ignorant to any foreign language, other than Russian. ‘Abbiamo buona fortuna!’
‘What?’ Rick raised his eyebrows and Madeline laughed.
‘I said, we're in luck! The heliport is five minutes from here, on foot. Straight down that way.’ She pointed down a side road, to the left. ‘We have ten minutes, lets go’ she said, but Rick was already on the move.
* * * * *
Teslovich sat in a nearly deserted café in one of the side streets of Venice, nursing a bottle of Johnny Walker brand scotch. He glanced around the room, taking in the bored expressions of the people. Through the smoke he could see the waitress cleaning tables with a damp tea towel. Of course its damp, he thought, everything in this godforsaken city is damp. The plaza is flooded, it rains all the time, the people are arrogant and rude. Only this morning he’d been thrown out of three shops by Venetians who didn’t realise his importance, Venetians who were tired of tourists using their shops as a place to escape the weather. Why of all places did Kellerin pick this place? He thought. There is nothing nice, nothing romantic about this sess-pit of sewerage and mould. It rains eleven months out of the year and you have to put used toilet paper into a garbage bin next to the bowl, what sort of backward living is that? And the world thinks Russia is oppressed and poor. At least there are flushing toilets and a fully working sewerage system in Russia, even in the poorest, most remote parts of the country. Everything in Venice is wet and overcrowded,
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