The Model Spy

Chapter 20 - Underground Paris

Within twenty minutes, we pulled up in front of the Moulin Rouge. Zach parked the car illegally before displaying his government pass on the front dash. The streets were nearly deserted, though the few "adult" establishments that lined the streets were overflowing with drunks.

The large pink windmill continued to spin, though the lights inside the establishment were off. How was I going to get in?

"How are you going to get in?" Zach echoed my thoughts.

Thinking hard, I brought my hand to my head. Suddenly I froze and slid my hand over the lavish twist I had pinned atop my head, keeping my brunette curls out of my eyes. I smiled to myself and pulled the several bobby pins out of the bun. My curls fell down my back and I shook them out of my face. I showed the little black pins to Zach, whose eyebrows were raised so high they had disappeared into his dark hairline.

"You really think those are going to work?" he scoffed.

I closed them into my fist. "Sometimes I think the CIA makes things too hard on themselves," I joked. "They pay millions for all of these fancy gadgets."

With that I undid my seatbelt and slid out of the car. Zach began to undo his seatbelt as well.

"I'll be out in two minutes. Stay here." I pointed a finger to the car and stared at him intently. We didn't need anybody stealing that car as well. I was sure Fred was still filling out paperwork pertaining to the stolen moped. "I'll be fine."

He opened and closed his mouth several times, on the verge of protesting though not quite sure of what to exactly say.

I slammed the door and stuck my head through the car's opened window. "I'll be careful," I promised.

Zach nodded. "Please," he murmured.

I quickly made my way to the front door of the building. Bending down, I stuck a bobby pin into the door's lock and wiggled it around. It clicked and made noises, but the door didn't budge.

Someone laughed behind me and the bobby pin fell from my grip, my body having jumped nearly a foot in the air.

I spun around and sighed in relief. A group of men, staggering and flailing wildly, was attempting to cross the street. One man still held a mug of beer. It spilled onto his shoes with every step he took, or tried to take. Walking didn't appear to be a talent of his at the moment.

I started back on the door with a new pin, wiggling it every which way in the lock. Finally the lock clicked and the door swung opened. I turned back to Zach who was watching me intently from the driver's seat. I flashed him a thumbs-up and entered the building.

The restaurant and theater, lively and chaotic only a few hours before, was now dark and dead. Without the lights and the splendor, it looked more like any other old dinner theater. The smell of food still wafted throughout the room even though the kitchens were closed.

Where was the alarm? I had to disable it. The last thing I needed was for the police to show up to the restaurant for the second time that night.

I saw its keypad plastered to the wall next to the door, but it was already off. Perhaps the workers forgot to set it after the chaos earlier in the night?

Casting it from my mind, I caught a glimpse of my clutch sitting on top of the table, which was still sticky with spilled wine. I grabbed it and quickly checked to make sure everything was there. Satisfied, I tied the clutch around my wrist with the small strap tucked inside its pocket. I was not losing that again.

I turned to leave. Two minutes, just as I had promised Zach.

As I made my way back to the door, I lost my footing. My heels slipped in something, causing me to latch onto the edge of a table to stop me from falling. I attempted to steady myself, but once more my feet slid in a strange liquid.