It had been over a year since the woman had last climbed the rickety wooden steps to the terrace on the roof of the taverna. The tiles were still chipped, and one had shattered, sending small pieces scattering over the terrace. The same cracked terracotta pots held still wilting plants, and the same painted wrought iron furniture waited for customers. The paint was still peeling, and idly the woman reached out, and pulled a piece away, rubbing it between her fingers thoughtfully.
'For you,' a voice grunted in heavily accented English behind her.
She wasn't startled, having heard the heavy footsteps of the owner as he had grudgingly climbed the steps behind her. A carafe of wine was placed on the peeling table, along with two glasses. M frowned with distaste at the thought of the sweet, thick, sickly liquid on such a hot day, and wished she could have asked for something else, but the taverna owner had already left, and she doubted he would have complied with her request anyway.
It was hot. Compared to the damp, and chilled London she had left behind, this city was simply steaming. Smog hung over the crowded streets in a thick, grimy layer, traffic crowded below, with every vehicle fighting for precedence in the chaos. It was a bustling, busy city, but with a dark side just waiting to erupt into violence at the slightest provocation.
It suited the man she waited for.
There was a creak from below as someone began to climb the stairs. Quickly M crossed the terrace, and took a seat, composing herself for what she felt could inevitably only be a confrontation.
For a man who had been hiding underground for the last few months, he looked disturbingly well. The sun had caught his skin, the suit was, as always, impeccably tailored, and he carried himself with his usual languid confidence. A pair of expensive sunglasses were thrown with deceptive casualness onto the table, leaning over, he reached for the wine.
'I wouldn't. It's warm.'
'It's been many years since you were in a position to tell me what and what not to do.'
M simply raised her shoulders in a dismissive shrug.
He grimaced. The wine was indeed overly warm, tepid in his mouth, and sickly sweet. He quickly put the glass back down and pushed it away.
'I did warn you.'
Alec Trevelyan glared at the woman who had once been his superior. Who calmly stared back at him. The city might have been stifling hot, but M showed no outward sign that it was effecting her. Her pale blue eyes were as cool as ever. Alec on the other hand felt the sun bearing down upon him, and loosened his tie with a vicious jerk.
'You're here then.'
'You ordered it. And I obeyed. Like I always do.'
'I thought I wasn't in a position to tell you what to do.'
'Must you manipulate everything?'
M drummed her fingers lightly on the table. 'If I have to manipulate to gain control, then so be it. Control is everything in this line of work. Every eventuality must be considered, calculated. However it's impossible to predict every outcome. Variables become erratic, and suddenly, there's a rogue element in the equation. That's the moment when the entire structure becomes unstable. Control is lost.'
A muscle ticked in Alec's smooth left cheek. 'You're telling me this why?'
She shot him a look that told him he knew exactly why. 'I had considered every possible outcome. Success. Failure. Life, or death. The mission to retrieve Hermes should have been a roaring success. Except, I didn't allow for that rogue element.'
