When you're special to a cat, you're special indeed, she brings to you the gift of her preference of you, the sight of you, the sound of your voice, the touch of your hand.
-Lester B. Pearson
The 'textile' firm was one of dozens of buildings in an average business park, and even among these it was conspicuous.
"You need signage," I offered.
"What?," Mr. Jones replied. She was now fully dressed and reading correspondence or somesuch on her terminal.
"You need signage for your 'textile' firm. It is too nondescript, like this car. You are trying to avoid notice and yet you are the only building here without significant signage. Every other business is fighting for space to display their corporate identity. You are not. It makes people wonder what you are up to."
"There are no customers here, it is a business park. There are only other companies here."
"That is precisely who they are trying to impress. Each other. Stealth is accomplished by misdirection. You provide no direction. You are a vacuum of meaning here, and that vacuum draws into it the attention of the surrounding companies. Take the cat, for example."
Having finished his meal, Darwin appeared to be sleeping on the seat across from me, oblivious to everything happening. The truth was different, of course.
"He is the master of misdirection. He is aware of his environment at all times. He chooses the pose and attitude that will put him in the best position to act."
"But he's asleep," she countered. "That is not a very strategic position."
I signaled her to try it. She smiled, and reached out her right hand to pet him.
His body slowly leaned away from her approaching hand. Mr. Jones either didn't notice or ignored the signal and continue to slowly reach out. He opened one eye to stare at her. He was looking at her face and not her hand. She was looking away, pretending interest in her terminal and was missing all of the warning signs.
Both is eyes opened and he looked at me. I smiled sweetly at him. He knew I could see what she was trying to do, and that I was going to let her try anyhow. His expression turned to one of disgust and then he surprised me. He loves doing that.
He stood up. Mr. Jones' hand froze. I think she may have forgotten how big he was. Her head had turned to him now, and she was watching intently, probably calculating how fast she could pull her hand away.
He yawned, revealing his canines, sharp and white. She paused for a second, not sure of how to react. Then he leaned into her hand, purring, rubbing himself against her. She sat for a moment, unmoving, then with a delighted look on her face, started participating the in exercise. Darwin then surprised me again, crawling over to her side of the car and resting half on her lap.
Her sigh of pleasure was of pure bliss. She was doing all she could to resist wrapping her arms around him and burying face in his glossy black fur. Instead, she pet and scratched him all the more vigorously, now fully committed and using both her hands.
He was equally engaged as he nuzzled her hand, licking it gently, butting his head against her stomach and thighs. What was the little traitor up to, I wondered.
He was purring contentedly while the scratching and petting continued, then he did what all cats immemorial have done. Having decided that he had been sufficiently petted, he pulled away and started to retreat to his seat again.
She reached for him, but he responded by batting away her hand with a paw.
"He want's to play!" Mr. Jones said, still in the throes of cat worship.
"No, he doesn't," I warned. "He is done and wants peace. He is simply trying to be polite about it."
She hesitated again, then put her hand back to her keyboard, a smile still playing on her lips.
I looked over at Darwin. What was THAT all about? He sat there staring at me. The he slowly raised the paw that he had used to bat away her hand. Still watching me, he sniffed it, and licked it once.
Stealth. He now had her scent and her taste. He could find her in a crowd, and note where she had passed, even if it had been days ago. Clever. Now it was my turn to smile.
Roman, our silent driver, bypassed the entrance to the building, and swung around the back, driving through the doors of what appeared to be a loading dock. We parked inside and waited for the massive doors to close behind us, then got out. Mr. Jones' exit elicited no response, but mine produced a series a nearly imperceptible series of clicks and shuffling. Though I couldn't see anything change, I now knew that I had several weapons trained on me.
Darwin was nowhere to be seen. There were stacks of crate's on scattered about in an attempt to disguise this building as an actual shipping and receiving of textiles, but they hadn't been moved since they were first placed here, judging by the lack of scuff marks on the floor.
Darwin always left a faintly golden causal trail when I tried to sense his passing. It was unusual, because it was the only bit of color that the universal flow displayed to me. I had tried to puzzle out what that meant, but nothing had come so I had just come to accept it.
Looking back into the car, I could see his trail trickle out of the back seat and under the vehicle. I scanned the room and could see a few places where he might go, the trails leading to various hiding places, but they were all faint, not having been affected by other events.
I pretended not have heard the settling of the weapons, nor to have noticed Darwin's absence.
"Is this where you work, sweetheart?" I said looking over the roof of the car to Mr. Jones. "It's not very exciting." I slung my bag over my shoulders and closed the car door. My voice was tinged with playfulness and mock disappointment.
Mr. Jones, for her part, was good. She wasn't great, but damned near good enough. The surprise of my statement registered in the stiffness of her body, though not her face.
"Just hold on, dear. You're not even inside... yet." She leveled a sultry look at me, daring me to miss the double-entendre. Well, that statement spoke volumes. I had rightly guessed that she had brought her interests here before, likely to maintain her position of power over them. Also, the bold way in which she had approached me in the car was not a private affectation. She was used to being the one who gave chase.
I giggled. I bet you didn't know I could do that, but when the occasion calls for it, I can perform. Her smile increased, the she turned away and looked towards one of the half-dozen doors on the platform above the dock.
Her future path solidified as a trail of grey smoke and led up the stairs and straight to that door. Immediately, four other paths appeared to me, trailing out that same door to locations around the loading dock, each with a constant view of her entire path, and of mine as well. I now knew where security was stationed, and had calculated which boxes would shield me from which position if it came to a fire fight. There wasn't a single place in the dock that would shield me from more than two of the gunmen.
I was hoping I wouldn't have to take a defensive posture here though, because in this case I was hopelessly out-gunned, and I had just closed the door to the only safe place in this room.
I kept the smile on my face as I moved around the back of the car to where Mr. Jones was waiting for me. I slipped my left hand into her right one and whispered in her ear.
"Lay on, Macduff, and damn'd be him who first cries 'Hold! enough!'" She looked at me questioningly. I was furious, but was careful to let it show in my eyes only.
She could have warned me about the guns, but didn't. She had withheld this information. Perhaps she didn't think it was important, but more likely, she was making yet another play for power over the situation. She wanted my help, but wanted to control the way I helped her. She was also making it known that if I failed, she would be the first to pull the trigger. Quoting the ancient poet, I was letting her know that I was ready for a fight, and would not go down easily.
I looked for Darwin again, and this time I could see his path lead to the same door Mr. Jones was looking at. He was tracking her path by scent now, and would likely make a break for the door at the last moment. He was unsure of the situation and had placed himself where he could see the most and be of the greatest benefit. I glanced around the dock, and located a spot in the rafters where he could be perched. He was always ready.
Still holding my hand, she pulled me along towards the stairs. "Wait until you see what I have to show you!" she said slyly, still playing to balcony.
We walked up the stairs and I could see her scanning around, looking for Darwin. I squeezed her hand gently, trying to warn her to be casual. She led me to the door without any further interruptions then passed her left hand over the sensor. The ordinary looking door had a number of locks, and when they had all clicked open, a seal broke and the pressure difference hissed itself out. As the door opened, I could see that it was much thicker that it's face indicated.
We stepped in and just as the door was closing, Darwin slunk through the crack. The door sealed, the locks reset and and pressure equalized.
"Darwin!" She said affectionately, reaching down to pet him. He ignored her and moved to position himself on my other side, interposing my body between them.
"Cats," I said in an attempt to explain his rudeness.
She looked a little disappointed. Another flash of insight. She was used to getting sex and attention whenever she desired it, whenever she demanded it. But not affection. Darwin may have been the first living creature in a long time to have shown her any kind of tenderness without expecting a favor or reward. She believed that Darwin really liked her.
I should have felt sorry for her, this beauty who had known nothing of gentleness. I should have felt bad that Darwin, like all the others with whom she had shared her body, was in it for something. I should have felt pity, loathing, caring, anything. But I didn't. I did, however, have a job to do.
She moved around the only desk in the room and sat down. Across from it were two other chairs, hard backed with green leather seats. She punched in a code to her console, and sat back. Darwin leapt onto one of the seats and sank his claws into it, for some reason gripping the solid piece of furniture.
I sat in the other chair and looked across Mr. Jones' clean desk.
"So is there another door or an elevator we are supposed to go to?"
"Elevator," she replied curtly, still staring at Darwin with a slightly hurt expression.
"And..."
"What?" she broke her train of thought, and looked at me. "Oh, right. You're in it. We should be at level in about 30 seconds