Catch a Tiger by its Toe

I. THE ITINERARY

The woman seated across from Felicity never committed her gaze. She slid an envelope between the two warm cups of tea. Fingers pressed.

"Your itinerary."

Felicity watched the rain collect itself on the glass window. "Changes?"

"One."

The woman released the envelope.

MRS. MONROE.

Felicity opened it with the butter knife next to the sugar bowl.

A single cream card...

The Network

SEPTEMBER 6 - CASABLANCA

Wedding

Husband: Jack Monroe

Attire: Ivory

Duration: Four hours

SEPTEMBER 9 - GENEVA

Funeral

Deceased: Jack Monroe

Attire: Black

Identification required

SEPTEMBER 12 - OSLO

Anniversary

Husband: Jack Monroe

Attire: Personal Selection

Duration: Three hours

SEPTEMBER 15 - NEW YORK

Asset Review

Account holder: Jack Monroe

Spousal authorization required

Felicity read it twice. Her finger stroked the nape of her neck. "Funeral."

The woman sipped her tea.

"Which one?"

The woman's smirk was contained within the rim of her cup. "The only one."

Felicity looked again at Geneva. Two tiny dots above a crescent had been drawn. "Who prepared this?"

"Your travel office."

"Who specifically?"

A server approached. The woman stood.

Before leaving, she placed cash beneath her saucer and nodded toward the itinerary.

"Please don't fold your husband."

II. THE WEDDING

The Casablanca Jack Monroe looked a bit younger than the photograph attached to his file. He stood beneath an arch of white bougainvillea, adjusting the cufflinks engraved with initials that now belonged to him.

J.M.

When he saw Felicity, the relief smoothed his features.

"You came."

She half-turned toward him. "It's my wedding."

"That doesn't always mean the bride shows."

His accent placed his childhood somewhere in London. His paperwork placed it in Connecticut. Felicity straightened his tie. "You're nervous."

"I've never been married."

Photographer: "Closer."

He waved his hand.

Jack placed one hand timidly against Felicity's waist.

Photographer: "Lower."

Felicity leaned into Jack. The camera flashed. Jack whispered between his smile.

"Have you done this before?"

The camera flashed again.

On the marriage certificate, he signed Jack Monroe without hesitation.

Felicity watched the pen move.

The signature was flawless.

III. THE HOURS

At the reception, Jack's mother cried whenever anyone looked at her.

She was not his mother.

Felicity could tell by the way the woman touched him, confidently in public, hesitant when no one seemed to be watching.

Families came courtesy of the Network when necessary. Connected dots are easier to snatch. Able to move directives with calculable precision. A Lethal mosaic.

At 6:43pm, Felicity and Jack cut the cake. At 7:15, they danced. At 7:55, he removed a crumb from the corner of her mouth with his thumb.

At 8:00pm a black SUV arrived. Jack followed Felicity to the courtyard.

"What happens now?"

"To you?"

"To us."

She handed him the wedding ring he had placed on her finger three hours earlier.

"Keep it," he said.

"I already have one."

"You weren't wearing it."

"I don't wear jewelry through customs."

Jack looked behind him. "Is there a teleprompter somewhere around?"

The driver opened the door. Jack caught Felicity's hand, with instinct. As if falling.

"When will I see you again?"

She looked at his hand on hers. His wedding ring still warm. "When they need my signature." She withdrew her hand and entered the vehicle. As they pulled away, she looked back once.

Jack remained beneath the flowering arch, surrounded by people hired to remember his wedding.

IV. GENEVA

Three days later, Felicity stood before a closed coffin. The funeral director addressed her in French until she answered in English.

"Mrs. Monroe?"

"Yes."

"On behalf of the establishment, please accept our condolences."

"Thank you."

"Your husband arrived in difficult condition."

"From where?"

The director glanced toward the man beside the door. Dark suit. Silver tie. No lines suggesting a smile ever graced his visage.

"Mrs. Monroe, I believe the circumstances were explained in yesterday's identification."

"I arrived in Geneva this morning."

The funeral director's brow collapsed inward. His practiced sorrow paused. He opened the folder in his hands and removed a document. At the bottom was Felicity's signature.

Above it:

I, Felicity Monroe, confirm that the deceased is my lawful husband, Jack Monroe.

The signature was flawless.

Felicity looked at the man beside the door. He adjusted one cuff. The smallest possible warning.

She returned the document. "I was tired yesterday."

"Of course."

"I would like to see my husband again."

The director hesitated.

"The coffin has been sealed."

"Then unseal it."

"I'm afraid--"

Felicity turned toward the man in the silver tie.

"Is the Network afraid of inconveniencing the dead?"

The funeral director went pale.

After a long silence, silver tie gave a nod.

The latches were released. The lid rose. Felicity looked down at Jack Monroe. It wasn't the man she had married in Casablanca. It wasn't any Jack she had suspected at all. This one was older. Gray at the temples. A thin scar crossed his upper lip.

She knew the scar.

Seven years earlier, in Prague, she had touched it with her fingertip and asked him how he got it. He told her:

"Before I was Jack."

Felicity placed a hand against the coffin to steady herself. Something had been tucked beneath Jack's folded fingers. A narrow strip of cream paper. She waited until the funeral director looked away then slipped it free.

Out with the old, in with the new.

The masks are off...it's out of our hands now.

From somewhere beyond the chapel walls came the sound of children playing. Their voices rose through the rain.

"Eeny, meeny, miny, moe..."