As good as Martin was at drawing attention to himself he was also able to make himself invisible, and that is what he did as he made his way through the crowd to a private hallway just off the ballroom. With a quick glance to ensure that nobody noticed his departure, he disappeared into the shadows and groped through the darkness to the third door on the left (the briefing was quite clear on this point), pushing it open just enough to slip through and latching it shut silently behind him. He rested his glass on a bookshelf, and withdrew a small pen light from an inner pocket of his tuxedo jacket. Clasping it in his teeth and bathing the area just in front of him in a red LED glow, he reached again into his jacket and pulled out a handful of small objects. He worked his way through the room slowly to avoid bumping into anything, making his way around the desk set in front of two glass-filled french doors.
He paused behind the desk and lit a cigar from a box resting next to the computer keyboard, dropping the glowing match into an ashtray and resting a small metal object on top of the computer monitor in front of him. The screen glowed faintly, a generic screensaver casting a dull and shifting light on his face. He tapped the keyboard, bringing forth a sharp white light that made him blink several times - his eyes already adjusted to the dark.
Entering the password that had been given to him in the mission briefing gave him access to the computer's desktop, and a few mouse clicks brought up the documemts he had been sent for. He scrolled through each quickly, letting the device he attached to the monitor record the images by reading the electro magnetic stream emitted through the monitor's case. Satisfied that he had accessed all of the documents outlined in the briefing, he logged off the computer and pocketed the device, taking a long drag from his cigar and exhaling a cloud of smoke into the screensaver's glow.
The door opened slightly before closing again and he stood straight in response, cigar clamped between his teeth. He could barely make out a human form resting against the closed door, a metallic glint unmistakenly giving away the pistol pointed at his temple. He could make out the faint scent of perfume.
"I was right not to trust you," he said, and took another drag on the cigar.
"This has nothing to do with trust, Martin," she responded in a whisper, "In this business you should never trust anyone."
Martin rested both hands on the desk and the tip of his cigar glowed a bright orange in the dark. His dance partner moved towards him slowly through the shadows, the rustle of her dress filling the silence in the room.
"In fact," he said, taking the cigar from his mouth, "I never trust any woman. And you should have known that, having full access to my file."
"You're right," she whispered, moving into the edge of the glow cast from the monitor, "I have read your file. And I happen to know that women are your weakness. "
"Well played my dear, except for one thing." Martin took another drag from his cigar and exhaled towards her face, illuminating the laser light drawing a perfect red line between her pistol and his forehead. "You have underestimated my ability to adapt."
The orange head of his cuban descended rapidly towards the ashtry, orange sparks combining with hot white ones on impact with the still-glowing ember of the match he has used to light it. A sizzling sound shattered the silence in the room, and neon blue smoke erupted from the desk in a minature mushroom cloud between the two of them. She crossed both of her hands in front of her face, a protective reflex that gave Martin all the time he needed to leap across the desk and grab her pistol - pushing her back several steps towards the door. He pinned her against the wall, pushing the business end of her weapon up against the bottom of her chin.
