*X* Marks the Spot

A white-haired old woman sits in a crisp white hospital bed attending to her daily activities, mainly composed of rooting through her purse. (What DOES she carry around in it anyway, I've always wondered??) Lips pursed, she rings for a nurse. When the nurse arrives in a skurry she is directed to fetch one of the dismountees standing just outside of the hospital room door. The nurse leans out and whispers; a tall guard in a white plumed helmet enters the room and stands at rigid attention. The Queen instructs him to hand her the telephone sitting properly on the nightstand next to the bed. She then dials a number and waves both the nurse and the guard back to their posts in the hallway.

"Hello? Where are you Sir Mick? In Paris? And have you found anything of consequence as of yet? Oh? A coffee cup with red lipstick, and a Scrabble tile? With an *X* on it? I see. Well, I will call again in an hour. I hope that you will have more to tell me then. And I'll have no scratches on Aston, so be careful driving while you are chatting".

Replacing the handpiece in the cradle the Queen rings for the nurse. When the nurse appears she requests that her guard be summoned once again. When the guard reappears, the Queen instructs him to place the phone back on the nightstand beside her bed.

Sir Mick flips his cell closed with a smart click and tosses it on the passenger seat. Tooling the Aston Martin through Parisian streets, he keeps an eye peeled for signs of his quarry. If Git had eyes, he'd keep them peeled too, as it is, his headlights will have to do.

Across town a young blonde woman casually drops a small Scrabble tile in front of a hotel whose underground parking lot houses a black Lamborghini.

Meanwhile Austen sits tucked into the corner of the cafe, still typing. The rain has ended, but a dull gray sky hangs listless overhead. As he puts a final touch on his latest blog entry, Austen finishes his late lunch and reaches for his now cold coffee. Downing it he packs up his wireless and heads back to his apartment. Once in it, he shrugs off the dirty shirt he'd slipped on earlier and tosses it to the corner on top of the other dirty shirts. Thinking perhaps his blonde friend may return sometime soon, he decides to tidy up. Opening a closet door, he kicks the whole pile of shirts into it. Turning to the couch he bends and retrieves the Scrabble box from under the coffee table. Sitting on the edge of the scratchy couch, he starts dropping small smooth tiles, one by one, into their silver pouch. Click. Click. As he nearly finishes he frowns. Digging through the small flexible bag he rechecks and frowns deeper.

"Hey. My *X*.. is missing".