by Jesse Jordan
“I know, it's why I even asked you to come here,” Nick says softly. “But Stephen... W-W's been going on for a long damn time, and it isn't going to end any time soon. Finch is just the front man on one arm of the fucking octopus, even if he is a nasty character in his own right. From what I could find out before I got scared off the trail, he's been involved in this even before he got into the SAS, all the way back to when he was in Sandhurst. Finch is a nasty piece of work, and he's been able to push his agenda farther and faster than I think anyone expected him to. Some of the people he's gotten to... Chastity Hendricks, she was more than a victim. She was a message, to her father and the White House.”
“About what?” I ask, my stomach turning, thinking about what she went through. “A message for what?”
“That they shouldn't-” Nick says, but his words are cut off as a rifle shot rips through the late afternoon air. Nick's head explodes as the heavy caliber round takes him, and I throw myself to the ground as another shot echoes through the air, crawling desperately for a decent sized rock that's poking up out of the moor. Fuck, whoever did that was good, that was a sniper shot, bad light, at least four hundred yards away.... fuck! And all I've got is my goddamn Glock.
I see a dip in the moor that starts to lead back towards the cars, when suddenly a loud string of shots tears through the air, fully automatic fire ripping through the ground above me before silence. I look, daring a glance up, but there's nothing, and I hurry towards the source of the fire, the last burst told me where it was coming from.
It's nearly full dark by the time I find the sniper's shooting position, a nearby pond that is slightly elevated over where I was shot at. What I find chills me as I find the weapon, an AWC G2. Only about a hundred were ever made, and I know who owns ninety eight of them. I pick up the rifle and I head back to Larissa's Bentley, thankful at least that Nick was shot far enough away from the parking lot that the local cops aren't questioning me when I get in and drive away, the rifle tucked next to me under my jacket in the passenger's seat.
A G2. One hundred built, based around the M14 platform as compact sniper rifles. Ninety nine of them were semi automatic only for the military. Only one was built with automatic fire selection.
And that one is owned by the CIA.
Larissa
It's five in the morning when Stephen gets back to my flat, but I've been up for an hour already, tossing and turning in bed as I worried about him and his meeting with his CIA contact. The news last night had me worried when the BBC led with the shooting of a man at the Culloden Battle Monument, although the authorities didn't release a lot of information. Even a call to my Da with his MI5 connections didn't help, and I haven't called him for help on work in years.
Regardless, I woke up at four this morning for some reason, finally giving up and doing some exercise until Stephen comes up, his eyes rimmed with red from the short nap he took on the drive back. “It's a great drive, terrible sleep,” he mumbles as I help him over to the sofa and down. “Thanks for the keys.”
“What happened?” I ask, and Stephen finds in himself the strength to respond, gathering his wits about him enough that he gives me a full report on what happened, from stepping out near the visitor's centre all the way to finding the rifle. He leads me down to my Bentley, where I find it tucked behind the driver's seat.
“I moved it back here once I stopped for gas,” Stephen says, yawning again. “Just in case someone walked by. I doubt this is the sort of thing you get licenses for around here?”
“Hardly,” I reply, looking over the rifle. It's compact, slightly chunky, and deadly looking. “You sure this is the rifle that shot your contact?”
“Yeah, they made us become quite familiar with different rifle sounds at Langley,” Stephen says. “It took me a little time, but yeah... that's the rifle. Found the casings right by it, too. M14 platform with full auto capability. And the range was right too, about four hundred fifty yards.”
“Good shot,” I note, setting the weapon down. “So what now?”
“Now?” Stephen asks, then laughs bitterly. “First, I'm going to take a nap, so I'm stealing your bed. Or sofa, whichever. Then, once I get up, you and I need to seriously plan. Larissa, this is beyond anything I expected.”
Stephen goes upstairs with me, his eyes closing even before his head finishes settling on the pillow, and I watch him sleep fitfully, his exhaustion overcoming the horror that he just saw. I take it from the way he talked about him that Stephen and this man Hardy had been co-workers at one time, and I wonder how they got along before this last meeting. Knowing Stephen when I first met him, not well, but I give credit where it is deserved, Hardy set aside his personal animosity to deliver the information he had.
What is this W-W? Hardy said that it's been going on for a long time. I go back to my computer, seeing what I can dig up in my files about W-W, if there's any sort of information out there that might help us. Let's see, Wonder Woman... doubtful. William Webster... old man, but again I doubt it. An album from a Danish death metal band... just no.
I'm no closer to figuring out what W-W is when Stephen stirs, sitting up in my bed and wiping at is face. “What time is it?”
“Just after ten in the morning,” I reply, going to the kitchen and pouring him a glass of juice. I bring it over, handing it to him. “Here. How do you feel?”
“Like the whole fucking world is just a light varnish on top of the real world, and I don't like what's beneath it,” Stephen mutters, sipping at the juice. “The whole time I was driving, all I could think of was what the hell we're involved in. A CIA agent killed with a rifle that was created and bought specifically for the CIA. A hit inside a friendly country. What the hell's going on?”
“I don't know,” I reply, sitting down on the bed. “Do you want to walk away? We can, you know. You can file some bullshit report like Hardy mentioned, go back to your job in Langley and nobody's going to bother you about it.”
Stephen shakes his head, draining the juice and handing the glass back to me. “No way in hell. I'm not letting this go so easily. Larissa, until we find Finch and put this fucker in the ground we're not going to have even a hint of peace.”
I don't know what it is about his words, but they touch me, and I find myself taking his hand. “Thank you.”
“Don't thank me yet, we could both get killed doing this,” Stephen says, swinging his legs out and off my bed. “Also, I owe you an apology. When we first met, I thought you were totally wrong, that you were just as evil as the people we're going after. But I was wrong. You're corrupt Larissa, but you're honest about your corruption. That counts for a lot. So what now?”
“Like I said, that depends on you,” I respond, looking up and taking his hand again. “Stephen, you're totally correct, I am corrupt. I've been corrupt since birth I think, you can set all the psychoanalyst bullshit aside. But you're right, I'm honest about my corruption. And I'm aware that there are levels far beyond what I'm involved in. The Network? That's rinky dink shit, to put it mildly.”
“It's hard to think that drugs, weapons and prostitution is rinky dink,” Stephen says, sighing. “But you're right. I read the changes in The Network since you gained your position. Still a lot of human trafficking, but apparently it's voluntary for the most part now.”
“It is. None of my girls, and none of the girls or boys I've sent have been kidnapped,” I admit. “Stephen, it's more than that though. I never told anyone this before but... there is a reason that I'm a bit of a sociopath.”
“What?” he asks, reaching over and taking my hand. “You've said that you stabbed the bastard first. Was that... not true?”
“Oh no, that was true,” I say with a soft, sad laugh. “I lost my cherry when I was sixteen, which is the legal age here in the UK. Some other time I'll tell you just how MI6 trained me in my... my skills, but no, that's not it. I've told everyone that I was kidnapped from my home when I was seven. I even lied to you the same way. But really I... I wasn't. I w
as worth exactly fifty thousand pound sterling.”
I've never told anyone the truth before, not my Mum and Da when I came to the UK, not the recruiters for MI6, and certainly nobody in The Network. I don't really know why I'm telling Stephen this now except... the way he's holding my hand.
“I see,” Stephen says, giving my hand a squeeze. “Larissa, regardless of how, or why you think the way you do, you are a remarkable woman. One of a kind. And I will forever owe you a debt of gratitude for helping me. Not just on this case, but on making me into a better man.”
I chuckle, looking over at him. “You're thanking a woman who literally whipped your ass. Someone who's unwilling to accept society's rules, you know that?”
“I do. So why do you do it?” Stephen asks, his eyes knowing. “I suspect it's the same reason I joined the CIA.”
“Hot chicks and guns?” I joke, and Stephen's eyes narrow. “Sorry. You're right. I do all this because it's my way of making the world just a little bit better. I know I can't take down all the layers of shit, it's like that labor of Hercules, cleaning out the stables. There's so much of it that one person can't clean it out by themselves. But I still try.”
“And whip a few asses in the meantime,” Stephen jokes shakily. “Larissa, I don't want you to ever change, you know that?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “I couldn't even if I wanted to. Still... it's hard taking on the whole fucking world by myself.”
“I bet. So?”
“Well,” I say, not even understanding why I'm saying it, “when this mission is over, I was thinking, I could use a partner. Oh, they'd have to work their way up from the lower levels of my section of The Network... and they'd have to be very strong.”
“Strong, huh?” Stephen says, nodding as he considers what I'm saying. “And be willing to take orders from you. That could be difficult.”
“It could be. But at the same time, there might be some benefits,” I continue. “You know, what happens behind closed doors and what happens in the public eye could be very different.”
Stephen thinks, nodding. “A very interesting possibility. But first, before we go down this path, I think we need to take care of something.”
“What's that?”
Stephen gets to his feet, his face set and his jaw tense. “We find and kill Reginald Finch.”
Stephen
With almost no other traces to follow, Larissa and I decide to start at the beginning. Both Nick and the files on Reginald Finch mention that he's a graduate of the Royal Military Academy at Sandhurst, and that he started to make his 'contacts' even before he joined the SAS while at Sandhurst.
Driving around London to get to the other side is an exercise in patience, and I'm glad I've got Larissa doing the driving, I don't think I could deal with the British system. “I know you guys are used to roundabouts, but this is nuts to me.”
“It's very British,” Larissa agrees, dressed today in a sharp looking women's business suit that both emphasizes and hides her sexiness. There's none of her traditional hints of cleavage on display, in fact her blouse goes all the way up almost to her chin, and her hair's pulled back into a neat bun. She's even wearing a full knee length skirt and conservative three inch heels. At the same time though, there's no way to hide the femininity of her curves or the way the lightly tinted sunglasses she's wearing today highlight the beautiful almond shape of her eyes. “You're staring at me, by the way.”
“Sorry,” I comment, shaking my head and looking out my window towards whatever town it is that we're driving by. “Just... I guess I've gotten used to you looking exotic, sensual, sexy even. But if I can say it, when you're dressed down you're just as pretty. Kinda got that whole 'superheroine's mild mannered alter ego' thing going on.”
“Yeah well, I haven't worn this suit in a year,” Larissa says with a chuckle.
“So what do you think we can accomplish going here?” I ask, catching her drift. “Going to Sandhurst?”
“Well, first off, don't think of Sandhurst like your American military academies,” Larissa says. “It's not a full university, the normal course is only about a year long if you include the holiday breaks. The basic idea is for a person to go and get their degree at a regular university first, or be close to completing their uni courses, and then go through Sandhurst. The whole course is designed around training officers for the military only. But, with courses starting three times a year, a cadet can be exposed to a lot of different people during their time at Sandhurst. Let's figure out who Finch knew, who he may have made connections with.”
“And it's an open campus?” I ask, and Larissa shakes her head. “So how are we going to get access?”
“That's easy,” Larissa says. “Why else to do you think I'm wearing the suit? For the first time since meeting me, say hello to Agent Larissa Wordsworth, Special Division, MI5.”
“Larissa Wordsworth?” I ask as she hands me an ID that backs up what she says. “I thought you were MI6?”
“And MI6, like the CIA, isn't supposed to have investigative powers within our own borders,” Larissa says. “We get around it in that I have a few alternative identities.”
“And how many is a few, Miss Wordsworth?” I ask, handing the ID wallet back to her with a grin. “You wouldn't be Larissa Tudor, Larissa Stuart, Larissa Windsor, and Tiffany Moneypenny too, would you?”
“Tiffany Moneypenny?” Larissa snickers, shaking her head. “No, definitely not Tiffany Moneypenny. Actually, that's an ID that The Network obviously doesn't know about. And, Wordsworth is my adoptive family's name. My Da's MI5, so it was a pretty easy choice.”
“Do you get in contact with them?” I ask, thinking about Victoria. “I mean, I've called my sister a few times, sent a few e-mails over VPNs. What about your family?”
“I talk with them, Mum and Da know that I can't call all the time and there are things that I can't tell them about. Over the New Year's, The Network had me here on business and I took a few days to drive out to see them,” Larissa says. “They can't come to me unfortunately, but I guess that's understandable. What about the rest of your family?”
“My parents died when I was thirteen,” I reply, “and I don't have any aunts or uncles. I was sort of a miracle surprise baby, according to my Mom, she didn't have me until she was already forty five and my Dad was fifty two. Actually Victoria was a surprise too, Mom was forty one when they had her, but I really blew everyone's mind.”
“What happened, if you don't mind?” Larissa asks, and I shrug, it's painful but she's been honest with me.
“My parents were on a second honeymoon, Dad had decided to retire a few months early and they went down to St. Thomas for two weeks, Victoria had landed a good modeling contract and paid for it all. They were on a tandem jetski, Mom always loved that idea of riding behind Dad, I think she had a bit of a biker chick fantasy. Dad had a stroke. The reports say he twisted the throttle as a result, and they went full speed into the side of a cruiseliner. Nobody else died thankfully, but that left just me and Victoria.”
“No family at all?” Larissa asks, and I shake my head.
“The courts were willing to be cool with it since Vic had money, and there was a neighbor who was willing to act as our guardian, even though it was pretty hands-off. Vic was the person who raised me through high school.”
Larissa hums, and I force a grin. “Hey, it's okay. It happens to people, and I've made a good life for myself out of it. And it's getting better all the time. In some ways it feels like I've just started to really become an adult.”
“When's your birthday? Sorry, I forgot from your file,” Larissa asks, and I smirk. “No way.”
“You gave me one heck of a birthday present there on Mykonos,” I reply. “A few days late, but then again, what you've taught me about myself Larissa, you've been giving me gifts from the first day we met.”
Larissa actually blushes slightly, falling silent as we finish the ring around London and drive the fifty kilometers out to Sandhurst. Pa
rking, I follow Larissa's lead as she talks with the security guard, who makes a phone call and we wait. Soon, a petite woman in British Army fatigues comes out, introducing herself. “Leftenant Brenda Giles.”
“A pleasure Leftenant,” Larissa says, offering her hand. “Larissa Wordsworth, and this is my partner...”
“Stephen MacGregor,” I interject, using one of my old aliases that I've used before. The Leftenant shakes my hand as well, giving me an evaluating look that has more to do with how I look than whether I'm a security threat to the her post.
“Is that so? Well then, 'S Rioghal Mo Dhream,” Leftenant Giles says, her voice picking up a burr.
Larissa raises an eyebrow and whispers in my ear when the Leftenant turns and escorts us through the gate. “MacGregor?”
“Old, old family branch,” I whisper back. “I'll tell you about it later.”
“Actually, I want you to keep talking with the Leftenant,” Larissa whispers. “Keep her out of my hair.”
“You won't be upset if she flirts with me?” I joke, and Larissa growls. “What?”
“I've got a crop with your name on it if you push things too far, mister,” Larissa threatens as we cross the parade ground and enter the building. The Leftenant takes us to the admin offices, which except for the fact that almost everyone's in army uniforms looks like any other office in the world. “Leftenant, if it's possible, I'd like to look through your records. Our inquiry is on a graduate of the Academy?”
“Of course, I can get you set up on one of our terminals,” Leftenant Giles says. “Would you like a private cubicle?”
“No, but if you can take Mr. MacGregor and show him around, I'd appreciate it. I hate sharing computers,” Larissa says, giving her most charming smile. Giles looks from Larissa to me, and I smile as well.
“Please? I haven't been in England long, and I'd appreciate it.”
Giles thinks, then nods. “All right. I'll log you on Agent Wordsworth, and then I suppose I can show Mr. MacGregor around some. We just started a new course, you can see some of the newest cadets going through the basics.”
