Operation Urban Blade

Scott sat patiently at the café on the side street of Rue du Chopin, near the heart of Paris. He nursed his coffee and watched the crowd.

Scott was waiting for a young woman named Chloë.

Her pattern of life, gathered by the analysts within his organization, described a routine that would bring her past Scott's position within the next half-hour. She would be walking from her job at a government office to the nearby shops before heading to her one-bedroom apartment. Chloë lived with her cat, Henri, and a goldfish named Tuna. While Scott knew most of the details of her life, he didn't know her personally. His job is to fill in the details that can not be gathered from online profiles and public records and collect as much intelligence about this young lady as possible.

Scott attended a briefing two days prior. His superiors explained the whys and "who cares" in meticulous detail, six hours of detail, to be exact. A mere six minutes into the briefing and Scott knew the mission was justified and necessary. This young woman would save the world.

Scott had memorized most of the pertinent facts. She was five foot, six inches tall, and weighed one hundred and five pounds. Chloë had green eyes and brown shoulder-length hair. She had a very athletic build, which she maintained with a disciplined running and weight program. The result was that Chloë had a very firm, round ass and a great set of legs. Her arms were toned as well.

Scott was professional enough not to stare too much at a photo of Chloë at a topless beach from last summer. Nevertheless, the image managed to sear itself into his mind. On that summer day, Chloë had worn a black string bikini. Well, at the least, the bottom was a string bikini. There wasn't a top anywhere in the photo. Chloë had nice C-cup breasts with small, pink nipples. Scott noticed the prominent camel toe in the image. It appeared to Scott that Chloë shaved.

Scott would have to send the recon team a nice bottle of Scotch for these photos. They could have just snapped a few images of her as she walked onto the beach. Apparently, they had spent some time enjoying her time at the beach, too.

At 4:17 PM, Chloë rounded the corner exactly where Scott was told she would appear. She was even prettier than her photos.

Today, she wore her brown hair pulled into a bun behind her head. She wore thin black-framed glasses and small single-pearl earrings. Her clothing was typical of many Parisian office workers: a blue pinstriped suit with a tight skirt, a white blouse open to the third button, and matching shoes with a four-inch heel. She carried a brown leather case over her left shoulder.

Scott felt his attraction rise. He already knew he would be attracted to her based on the photographs provided by his team. However, it was one thing to see a person in a photo. It was another altogether to see her gliding down the street looking as sexy as Chloë.

Scott willed his arousal into submission as he left his seat and began to walk down the street. He heard his security team in his earpiece.

"Allons-y! Elle promenés plus rapidement que toi."

Let's go. She walks faster than you.

Scott didn't respond. He never does. Oddly, talking to yourself isn't always as socially acceptable as movies make it out to be. He also did not quicken his pace. What is the point of having multiple observers if you never use them?

Scott knew Chloë would go to the patisserie first. Then she would walk to the Carrefour to pick up a few things for dinner and breakfast. So he walked to the Carrefour, grabbed a trolley, and started his grocery shopping. Scott stayed near the front of the store for two reasons. First, she might skip the grocery shopping and walk home. In that case, Scott would abandon his cart and try to make contact elsewhere. Secondly, being at the front of the store would allow him to resume following her when she entered the store.

Just as Scott began to examine some bananas, his conscience spoke into his earpiece.

"Elle est la en trois, deux, un."

She's there in three, two, one.

As expected, the entry doors of the Carrefour slide open, and Chloë walked inside. Scott tossed the bananas into his trolley and fell in behind Chloë.

"God, she smells amazing. Why do French women smell so sexy?" Scott thought. It was true in Scott's experience. Most, if not all, of the French women he had encountered, had a scent that turned him on. Chloë was no different. Still, she could smell like the ass-end of a dead Rhino, and Scott would still do everything he needed to do.

Fortunately for Scott, Chloë wore a floral scent, with undertones of vanilla and cherry. It wasn't overwhelming. Scott found it very subtle, almost like a tease of a woman's silhouette through a sundress on a sunny day.

Scott and Chloë crisscrossed through the store, never coming more than ten feet within each other for twenty-five minutes. As Chloë rounded the corner of aisle 12, Scott ran into her with his trolley.

"Pardon! Je suis vraiment désolé. Je suis comme un idiot. Ça va bien?"

Pardon me! I'm so sorry. I'm such an idiot. Are you ok?

"Oui, je vais bien. C'est bon."

Yes, I'm fine. It's ok.

Chloë looked Scott up and down quickly. Then replied again in English, "You're American?" Scott smiled. He had done this little dance six times in the last year.

"Is my accent that bad?"

Chloë returned his smile. "Yes, but it's kind of cute."

"I'm Scott Cormier." Scott extended his hand.

"Chloë Moreau. Ravi du vous rencontre, Scott Cormier." Chloë took Scott's hand. He noticed that her eyes had brown flecks in them, something his analysts had failed to mention in the briefing. Chloë blushed under his gaze.

Chloë looked at Scott. He was slightly taller than her, even in her heels. He had broad shoulders and a slim waist. She guessed he was about five foot, ten inches, and one hundred eighty pounds of well-defined muscle. Scott had short brown hair and brown eyes. He wore a black shirt, dark brown chinos, and gray hiking boots. Scott had a small tan canvas bag slung diagonally from his left shoulder to his right hip. Chloë thought he looked like the typical sexy American.

"Let me make it up to you by making you dinner. Despite being American, I am an excellent cook."

Chloë laughed. "I'm sure you are. I cannot accept your offer tonight. Perhaps another time?"

"Any time you wish. I don't often get to cook for a beautiful woman."

Scott knew she would not accept the first offer. The analysis team believed she would take his offer of a raincheck and give him her phone number. Of course, Scott already had her phone number, but that wouldn't play well if she didn't give it to him herself.

Chloë took his phone and entered her number. She pressed the call button. Her phone rang inside her bag. She ended the call.

"Now, we have each other's mobile. Call me when you are ready to cook."

Chloë walked toward the registers. She looked back over her shoulder as she approached the cashier and smiled at Scott. He waited for her to turn back to the cashier and then went back to his shopping.

Mission accomplished. Scott didn't need to report back to his team. His observer had overheard his entire conversation via a small microphone in his collar.

"Bon travail, patron. Elle tremblait pour toi. Nommerez-vous votre premier-né après moi?"

Good job, boss. She was all quivery for you. Name your firstborn after me?

Scott suppressed his smile. He would have a word with Josette, his conscience, when he returned to his apartment. Scott liked her spunky attitude, but she knows to keep communications sterile and to the point during missions.

"Elle passe la porte."

She is walking out the door.

That was Scott's signal that he could finish up and leave. He gathered the last two things he would need and went to the cashier.

Scott continued working his way back toward his apartment. He opened the building door with his key while glancing up to the camera mounted inside the outer door. A security routine would recognize his face and disarm most of the alarms in his apartment. In the hallway, Scott pressed his right thumb to a plain metal plate on the side of the door jamb of his apartment door. He counted to ten and opened the door with his key. As he stepped inside, Scott entered a stand-down code for the interior of his apartment and let the door close behind him. He could now relax.

Scott pulled out his phone and dialed Josette.

"What was with the running commentary?"

"She's cute. It was cute. You're getting good at this, Scott."

"Thank you. She is. And you know the danger of making me react to something your whispering into my ear during the middle of a mission. So don't let it happen again, ok?"

"Yes, boss. I won't let it happen again." Josette paused for a moment.

"Is there something you wanted to ask, Josette?"

"Yes. Are you going to fuck her? You need to get laid soon, boss."

"Good night, Josette."

Scott ended the call and tossed his phone onto the counter of his kitchen. He smiled as he thought about seducing Chloë.

Scott fell into his favorite chair, an overstuffed leather armchair that looked very worn, despite not being more than four months old.

He imagined Chloë straddling him in the chair. In his fantasy, she would just wear that white dress shirt, now unbuttoned to the very last button. The shirt opened slightly to reveal a sexy black bra, enclosing her perky breasts. The top of her matching panties could be seen above the bottom button. Scott thought about her toned body and how it would peak at him from behind that shirt.

He put his hands on her hips and pulled her tight to his body. Her hands wrapped around his head and dragged him to her face for a deep kiss. Their tongues danced before Chloë pulled back to suck on Scott's lower lip as she broke off the kiss.

Chloë arched her back and brought Scott's face to her chest. He kissed the skin just below her collarbone and worked his way into her cleavage. Her soft moans turned him on. Her breathing accelerated as he kissed his way back to her neck and up to her jaw. His hands slid down to her hips, and he kneaded her butt, feeling the lacy material of her panties.

Scott slid his hands beneath the material and cupped her ass. He continued to kiss her chest and neck as his hands moved under her panties.

Chloë raised onto her knees and looked into Scott's eyes. She moved her hands from behind his head and to the bottom button of her shirt. She unbuttoned the final token on her shirt and let it fall to the floor behind her. Then she unclasped the front of her bra, and it joined her shirt on the floor. Her hands fell to her hips, where she hooked her thumbs into the top of her panties.

Scott continued to stare into her eyes as she slowly stood and lowered her panties. Chloë bent at the waist as she slipped her panties down. Her face was just an inch above Scott's tented trousers. He could feel her breath on his erection, even through the material. Her gaze never left his.

Chloë unzipped Scott's trousers. Her hand reached inside to retrieve his hard dick. Her breath teased the tip of his cock. She smiled at Scott and then leaned forward to take him into her mouth.

Scott snapped awake. His phone was ringing. Josette. Fuck. First, she's trying to get him laid. Now, she's cock-blocking him in his sleep.

"Yes?"

"Hey, boss. Sorry to bother you during your downtime. New info coming in from the team. The timeline has shifted to the left. The new target date is only four days away."

"Fuck."

"Yep. Chief is calling for a meeting in the morning. Can you come to the office? I'll notify the rest of the team."

"I'll be there at 9."

"See you then, boss. Good night."

"Goodnight, Josette."

Scott cleared the call and set his phone down on the counter. He leaned against the counter with both arms extended and hung his head. So the entire project was pushed forward so that he only has four days? That's impossible.

Scott went to bed. The last thing he thought about before turning out the light was the scent from Chloë.