Ensuring there was no tail behind them, three commercial vehicles made their way into a sprawling manor. In accordance with their initial agreement, everyone relinquished their mobile phones and electronic devices to a safe, which they'd retrieve when they departed.
Within the manor, three elegant villas stood tall. Martin opted for the easternmost one and ushered Marina, Natalia, Svetlana, and Sasha Ruth inside.
While the Cold War had ended, a more covert battle raged on between the United States and Russia, extending beyond the Middle East and other distant arenas. Tonight's heated encounter was evidence of this ongoing struggle.
The representative of the United States, a bald eagle, found himself bested by the quartet of resolute Russian women, their fiery spirit akin to polar bears.
At nine o'clock in the morning, Martin stirred from a tangle of limbs and discovered that Marina was conspicuously absent from the room, leaving only the other four slumbering figures.
He quietly made his way to the bathroom, paid little heed to the three still entangled in post-exertion slumber, donned his attire, and exited the room.
In the kitchen, subtle movements filled the air. Martin pivoted and found himself standing before a marble countertop, where Marina diligently prepared breakfast.
Leonardo had prearranged all the culinary essentials, leaving Marina to focus on the meal's preparation. She sported casual attire, accentuating her svelte figure, with sculpted buttocks and slender legs, her physique nothing short of impressive.
Martin couldn't help but inwardly marvel at Marina's Venusian grace, a testament to her captivating beauty in her youth.
Sensing his presence, Marina turned, her culinary work momentarily paused. She approached Martin, gently planting a tiptoe kiss on his cheek, her eyes locking onto his. "You expended quite a bit last night. Feeling hungry? Breakfast will be ready shortly."
Martin patted his stomach with a grin. "I could definitely use a bite."
Marina resumed her culinary duties, inquiring, "The other three haven't awakened yet?"
"No need to worry about them; let them enjoy a bit more slumber." Martin pulled out a chair and took a seat at the table. "I can't wait to savor your cooking."
Bringing over their breakfast, Marina settled in across from Martin. Her right hand's five porcelain fingers glided gracefully as she posed a question. "You had a taste of my cooking last night."
Martin, a seasoned connoisseur of life's pleasures, remained unfazed. He lifted a sandwich, took a thoughtful bite, and savored the flavors. "It's truly delicious."
Marina credited the quality of ingredients. "Exceptional ingredients tend to yield exquisite results."
Martin interjected, "Yet, even with the finest ingredients, some can turn them into poison."
Marina picked up on his sentiment. "It seems you've had your share of experiences. If you wish, I can cook for you more often."
Martin, reminiscing about St. Petersburg's frigid climate, responded, "You live in St. Petersburg, where the weather can be quite cold. I've grown accustomed to Los Angeles' sunshine and warmth."
Marina's smile conveyed her own admiration for Los Angeles. "I rather like Los Angeles myself. Anyone in the acting profession dreams of making it in Hollywood."
With his sandwich devoured, Martin reached for a tissue to tidy up his hands.
Marina gracefully extracted her business card and slid it across the table, her voice sincere, "Whenever you wish to savor my cooking, simply give me a call. Regardless of the distance, I'll be there in a hurry."
Martin playfully pressed down on the business card and quipped, "I can't afford to hire you."
"No need for payment." Marina understood that appearing too eager could raise suspicion. She added, "Martin, can you grant me an opportunity? I'm not asking for a leading or supporting role, just a part with some substance."
At this soirée, the host, Leonardo, had promised everyone a chance.
Marina had meticulously assessed the dynamics between Martin and Leonardo. These two were not only best friends but also part of Hollywood's infamous trio. She surmised that if she took the initiative, Martin, known for his loyalty, wouldn't hesitate to assist her, without overstepping Leonardo's territory.
Martin pocketed the business card and agreed, "When the right opportunity arises, I'll have someone reach out to you."
Marina mimed a phone call and teased, "I'll be patiently awaiting your call."
She wasn't in a rush; progress could be made step by step. Despite the possibility that the perfect opportunity might never arrive, Marina exuded confidence in her allure.
As they chatted, the other three descended from upstairs.
Martin's trustworthiness made the process of obtaining the contact information of the trio smooth. Natalia and Sasha Ruth, aspiring supermodels, received instructions to reach out to KK or Angela Lindewald for further arrangements.
Svetlana, now an actress, had no agent in the United States. Martin recommended she contact Thomas, assuring her that securing a suitable supporting role through WMA would not be an arduous task.
By noon, Bruce arrived in a car. Martin bid farewell to Leonardo and Nicholson, ushered the four ladies into the vehicle, and then returned to the hotel to rejoin the film crew, commencing preparations for the next leg of their promotional and distribution journey.
Upon returning to the hotel, Martin and Bruce initiated their packing, only to be interrupted by a message from Nolan and Emma Thomas, conveying that they wouldn't be departing as planned.
Martin found this development perplexing. He stepped outside to investigate and encountered Ellen Page, whom he questioned, "What's happening? We already booked the flight tickets. Why the sudden change?"
Ellen Page had remained at the hotel to stay informed about the crew's updates. She explained, "Tom Hardy is missing. He wasn't present this morning, and it was assumed he ventured out alone. An hour ago, Michael Caine realized he hadn't returned, so he tried calling him, but his phone went unanswered. He then contacted Director Nolan."
Martin, as he walked toward the elevator, asked, "You haven't reached him yet?"
Ellen Page provided further insight, "No, his phone remains unreachable. Hotel surveillance confirmed that Tom Hardy left the premises yesterday and hasn't returned."
She mentioned another concern, "Tom Hardy also had a companion. Michael Caine has his number, but even the companion isn't responding."
Together, they descended in the elevator and arrived at the hotel where the film crew had established temporary offices and meeting rooms.
Emma Thomas and Michael Caine were engrossed in phone conversations.
Nolan paced restlessly, a hint of frustration creeping into his demeanor.
Most of the crew wisely kept their distance, wary of disturbing the director.
Approaching the scene, Martin inquired urgently, "Chris, have there been any leads?"
Nolan, looking distressed, gestured to the two engrossed on their phones. "I've exhausted every attempt to reach Tom Hardy. Neither he nor his agent has been responsive."
Puzzled, Martin probed, "How can someone just vanish without a trace?"
Nolan, an Englishman with certain English sensibilities, conceded, "Security in Paris is rather poor, rife with petty crime. I fear Tom Hardy might have encountered some misfortune."
Martin concurred, "It's a reasonable concern. Have you contacted the authorities?"
Nolan reported with a hint of frustration, "The police have been notified, but the Paris police have not yet arrived." As he spoke, the hotel's security director knocked and entered the room. He made his way to Nolan and relayed, "We've questioned several employees on duty last night, and we can now confirm that Tom Hardy left the hotel in the afternoon. He was accompanied by a British man named Rogers, and they departed in a silver-gray Citroen."
The mention of the silver-gray Citroen instantly jogged Martin's memory back to the car from the previous night.
Nolan inquired, "Do you have the license plate number?"
The security supervisor provided a series of license plate numbers.
Martin struggled to recall the plate number from the previous night. His memory had been hazy due to the events of the night, and he glanced at Bruce, seeking his assistance.
Bruce blinked rapidly, confirming that it was indeed the car that had trailed them.
Just then, the officers from the Paris Police Department arrived, prompting Nolan and the hotel's security director to greet them and brief them on the situation.
With no one else around, Martin asked Bruce, "Tom Hardy was following us, likely with malicious intent. Did you engage that car in any way?"
Bruce responded confidently, "No, we shook it off right after leaving the parking lot."
Leaving the conference room, the two found a secluded spot to converse.
"Why did they disappear?" Martin pondered, his confusion evident. "Could they really have encountered a robber?"
Bruce offered an alternative perspective, "The bodyguard confirmed their car entering the parking lot, but he didn't enter and instead followed us."
Martin reasoned, "Considering our route through well-secured areas in Paris, it's improbable that a mere robber would risk so much. Robberies are typically motivated by monetary gain, not harm to life."
Bruce added, "Tom Hardy is still a prominent actor."
Martin pointed out, "His presence poses a threat to the party."
He dialed Leonardo and Nicholson, but they were unaware of Tom Hardy's situation.
Bruce had an inkling, "Given your theory that Tom Hardy might be a threat to the party, could someone have decided to eliminate him in advance?"
Martin remembered, "I did mention a silver-gray Citroën sedan in the car."
At this point, an outlandish yet plausible idea crossed his mind, and he exchanged knowing glances with Bruce.
The situation seemed incredulous.
Martin ran a hand through his hair, his voice wavering, "Could there really have been a spy in that car last night?"
Bruce shared the sentiment, "It sounds bizarre, but I can't rule it out."
Once the idea took root, it festered.
Martin, already grappling with paranoia and the feeling of being pursued, couldn't shake the notion. He inquired, "Bruce, among the women last night, who do you think might fit the profile of a spy?"
Bruce shook his head, "I've never encountered a female russian operatives before, so I can't discern their traits. I merely glimpsed them briefly last night and couldn't discern much."
He cautioned, "If they're highly trained operatives, it's exceedingly challenging to identify them. I once identified Anna Chapman, who was apprehended by the FBI last month, but only because the FBI monitored her meticulously for six months and she made a single mistake. If not for that, they'd still be in the dark."
Martin furrowed his brow, "Do we have surveillance footage from the bus?" He slapped his forehead, "I instructed you to disable all the surveillance cameras."