Black Tie: Book One of the Sparrow Archives

by Kieran Strange

  “Yep. She even wanted me to come over this week and make signs with her, a real mother-daughter bonding event. Branding innocent people as Hell-spawn and calling for their persecution. Joy of joys.”

  “What do they want this time?” asked Cabe, propping himself up with one elbow and leaning in toward the passenger side door. His nerves were still overly sensitive, twitchy, and the bright, rapid movement of a Seahawks flag in the window of the next car over was distracting him from the conversation.

  “Who knows. Whatever it takes to make them feel safe, I guess. That’s where all the government’s financial support seems to be going, anyway. I still can’t believe the Supreme Court has allowed that whole ‘Anomaly Panic Defense’ crap to continue. It’s unbelievable.”

  “You really can’t believe that?” Cabe asked her with a wry grin, and she groaned again because she knew he was right.

  “You know,” she said, “I used to think Anomalies who hid what they could do were cowards and idiots. Now I’m not really so sure.”

  “And that,” Cabe continued along her same lines of thought, “is probably everyone’s ultimate fear: that because they’ve terrified anyone with a weird talent or ability into hiding what they can do instead of being honest about it, none of the statistics we have about them are probably true. Especially about how many of them there are out there. There’s probably more.”

  “Most of them feel ashamed or afraid, and so yeah... they hide it, and just hope and pray people don’t notice anything is different,” said Ronnie.

  “Except for the ones who decide to do the total opposite and step forward as activists.”

  Ronnie took her eyes off the road for long enough to glance over at her favorite Field Agent. Her serious demeanor softened considerably, and she let her lips split in a smile that was almost cruel.

  “And this month’s activist stealing all the news headlines is gonna spend the next few weeks driving you absolutely insane.”

  “Please. Please, don’t remind me about that during these last few hours of bliss.” Rolling his stormy eyes, Cabe finally reached a hand for the coffee cup nestled in the console. The movement didn’t go unnoticed, although Ronnie didn’t actually say anything about it. He inhaled the caramel and chocolatey scent again before tucking his phone away with a sigh.

  “Well, all I can guess they want me to do is make sure this crap doesn’t blow up anymore than it already has done,” he said, sounding exasperated. He’d booked the upcoming week off on paid vacation, but sadly his schedule was forced to be flexible. His supervisor would no doubt make sure it was made up to him in double, but it still meant he wasn’t going to wind up crawling out of bed at four in the afternoon tomorrow to laze around in his boxers and watch Netflix all day, like he had been looking forward to.

  “In a nutshell, I’m gonna guess that’s it. All I know is it’s undercover, full- to part-time depending.” She shrugged apologetically, and at the edge of her vision, she saw him finally submit to his sweet tooth and take a deep gulp of the expensive beverage he didn’t usually allow himself to splurge on.

  “Oh man, regardless of the cloud, this is a really good silver lining,” Cabe groaned into the plastic lid of his coffee cup. “Best surprise ever. It’s seriously a total wonder you’re still single, Ron’.”

  “It’s no wonder at all,” replied Ronnie coolly. “If anything emitting any sexual vibes whatsoever comes within ten feet of me at any time, you terrify the bejeezus out of them. It really makes dating a bitch, Cabe.”

  She tugged her eyes away from the road for long enough to watch him slurp at his coffee again, smirking quietly to herself. “So does this mean you’re accepting my bribery?”

  Cabe sighed in response, slouching comfortably against the car door as he swirled the lukewarm beverage in his hand. “You know what the cutest thing about you is?” he asked.

  “No? Enlighten me.”

  He slurped his coffee again, amusement and defeat both glittering in his eyes. “It’s when you do that thing where you pretend like I actually have a say in any of this.”

  Two

  The World Anomaly Reconnaissance Division – more commonly referred to as simply W.A.R.D. by those who even knew of its existence – had found a primary home for its North American office several blocks south of SoDo in the industrial district of Seattle. The theory was that if there was ever an Anomaly or anti-Anomaly terrorist attack on America, the likely targets would be New York, Washington D.C., Los Angeles, and much larger, more densely-packed cities. Therefore, the team who were the most adept and practiced at handling Anomalies should be located somewhere outside of those areas.

  W.A.R.D. owned and operated two base locations in Washington state: their main office in industrial Seattle, and a warehouse and scientific research facility out south of Spokane Valley near the Idaho border. The main office teams (Investigative Affairs and Administration) consisted of two Directors, five Supervisory Senior Agents (or S.S.A.s), twenty highly-trained Field Agents, sixteen agent handlers, four everyday security guards, a tech and engineering crew of ten, and several other agents who dealt with more specific things such as bureaucracy, publicity control, and other red tape that needed slicing through. Another team of no less than two-hundred agents, technicians, engineers, and scientists worked out of the warehouse facility and formed the Scientific Research, Detention, Training, and Analysis Departments, as well as several others. Each department’s Director answered directly to the United Nations, and spoke for the entirety of North America.

  Like other Field Agents, Cabe was mandated to visit the Spokane Valley warehouse at least once every three months to check-in with his personal fitness trainer, and he always made sure to take full advantage of their facilities while he was there. It was hard to find a gym that offered the same extensive range of high-end equipment that W.A.R.D. did. But for the most part, he worked out of the location south of SoDo, which was where Ronnie drove him back to today.

  To the unknowing eye, the main office was little more than a Chinese import-export business. It was housed in a huge, old, bleak-looking warehouse, with faded hànzì characters painted on two sides and a small receiving door at the back for ‘shipments’ that was almost always locked. Flipping open the casing for the buzzer revealed a keycard swipe that allowed employees to gain access to a dark and dusty receiving office and front desk, behind which a member of the security team was always stationed.

  During typical business hours, that person was an older gent named Gunther – a man who had no qualms giving the agents shit whenever they came in and out of the building. He had a peculiar sense of humor that not many people were able to digest properly, but he was also damn good at his job. Putting up with his attitude malfunctions was a small price to pay for knowing the main office was in safe hands.

  Behind the front desk was an unremarkable-looking wooden door with a square window that was blacked out. It was always closed, and appeared to be simply an entrance to some sort of storage room or staff facilities. However, what laid beyond the door was the actual entrance to the main office of the North American branch of W.A.R.D.; behind a second, reinforced door were three elevator shafts of various sizes that burrowed down ten storeys below sea level, servicing the needs of the Administration and Investigative Affairs Departments.

  Despite the crude, aged look of the building from the outside, the facility was state-of-the-art. Each S.S.A., each pair of partnered Field Agents, and everyone else who needed their own space was assigned their own small office, sophisticated but practical in its furnishings and arrangement. An entire two floors was dedicated to the holding and storage of paper records, equipment, technology, and other more… interesting things that W.A.R.D. had obtained. Interesting things that weren’t so hazardous or volatile that they needed to be impounded at the Spokane Valley warehouse, anyway. The facility also boasted a gym and training center (not as elaborate or extensive as the Spokane one, but it was good for everyday usage), a recreational ce
nter including a hot tub and sauna, and several conference rooms of various sizes, including a much more extravagant and fanciful chamber that served as a meeting room when V.I.P.s and other esteemed guests and professionals were invited by.

  On a typical day, although the building appeared sleepy and almost abandoned to any passers-by, inside it was bustling with activity. Cabe and Ronnie had stopped by the agent handlers’ surveillance rooms (dark, closed-in little places full of screens and other monitoring equipment) to collect some paperwork for the case, before making it to their eleven o’clock meeting only six minutes late. A new personal best for Agent Sparrow.

  “Did you know that if you Google ‘Elliot Wright’ on a WrightPhone,” Cabe was saying boredly, deciding that the team’s focused silence had outstayed its welcome in the conference room by this point, “the device emits a signal that psychologically brainwashes you into visiting the online store and downloading a bunch of apps?”

  Agent Gabriella Dasilva smirked a little as her partner of just over a year tossed the sarcastic comment over his shoulder at her. Regardless, she didn’t tear her eyes away from the search function she was performing on her phone.

  “He’s doing an A.M.A. as of ten o’clock this morning,” was all she said aloud.

  Directly across the table, their supervisor blinked at them both incredulously. “What the hell is –”

  “Ask Me Anything,” Ronnie chimed in from his left. “It’s basically where you can message him with any questions you have, no rating, and he’ll answer a bunch.”

  S.S.A. James Flint, the Supervisory Senior Agent who was running the case, raised an eyebrow in that I’m-far-too-old-to-know-or-care-what-that-means way he often did and went back to the notes laid out on the mahogany table in front of him. His lengthy years of service to his country were betrayed by flecks of silver in his otherwise dark head of short hair and a receding hairline far above his tawny-brown eyes, which were typically friendly but could easily become hard and cold when necessary. In his four years with W.A.R.D., Cabe had never seen S.S.A. Flint not wear a suit and tie to the office. Not even once.

  “Well, whatever it is, creep seems to be enjoying the attention he’s getting out of this,” said Dasilva, scrolling idly through the news feeds on her phone. “We’re gonna have to do a huge media crackdown on this one.”

  “Already covered,” Flint said coolly. “Publicity’s devising something. He’s an infamous rebel and he’s not going to play nice, so we need to make sure we have several contingency plans for every single step we take.”

  “Good,” muttered Dasilva, “because I’m reading the responses he’s given so far, and I’m telling you… the bastard’s absolutely no holds barred. He’s being far too open.”

  “Is that really such a bad thing though?” asked Ronnie, pushing her thick-rimmed glasses up her nose to the bridge. She was also skimming over the questions and their responses on her cellphone – coincidentally, a top-of-the-range new model WrightPhone she had purchased not three weeks before. “He’s educated, he’s well-spoken… he could actually end up being a decent activist for the Anomaly population.”

  Flint shook his head sternly. “If he comes on too strong and too fast, he could be torn down. As a try-hard prima donna by the reputable, mainstream press, and a diva and media whore by the online gossip columns.”

  “As are all liberally-minded activists who actually get off their asses and do something other than hashtag,” Ronnie interrupted him stubbornly. Cabe raised an eyebrow at her, but there was some sort of spark in her eyes this afternoon, some kinda fire. She was typically an easy-going person, but when there was a bee in her bonnet, she definitely didn’t choose to stay quiet about it. Even still, the way she was acting... it wasn’t like her to be this aggressive without what Cabe would usually agree was just cause.

  Flint, though, was a patient man. He was never the type to brush off a younger or fresher agent who was requesting assistance or had space to learn and grow. Not to mention, Ronnie was one of his favorite young handlers, and specifically for moments like this. Flint relished in her ability and need to constantly question the system; she just needed to learn some tact.

  “Of course,” he answered in a genuine, open tone. “And we always encourage people to speak their minds, especially when they’re doing good works. But it needs to be monitored, guided, by people who understand how the general public and politicians are likely to respond to certain stimuli a well-meaning man might be giving off without even knowing he is. There’s almost an entire planet of people out there with access to the Internet who are both frightened and extremely easily influenced. If someone who is already a celebrity or hero in their eyes says or does something that is misconstrued…” He offered her a sympathetic smile. “Never underestimate the weight of words, Agent Moss. We just need to ensure that nothing Mr. Wright says or does winds up inciting anything. Mass violence, rioting – movements that are meant for the positive but wind up being negative. Great change, sadly, must happen with great caution.”

  “Not to mention this country’s already on the brink of civil war as it is.” Cabe was snapping open the ring-pull on his energy drink; it always baffled his coworkers how he could consume so much sugar and caffeine and never go Krakatoa on their asses. “Gay marriage, hurricanes, solar flares… last thing the right-wing nutjobs in this country need is another sign that ooooh, the end times is a-comin’. Like Anomalies campaigning for equal rights.”

  “Because a group of people wanting the right to be treated as a human being in their state of residence is such a heinous effing crime,” Ronnie spat bitterly under her breath, and when she raised her gaze, Flint was watching her with his eyes slightly squinted and a line etched between his brows.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled into her sleeve.

  “It’s okay,” said Flint evenly. She had her reasons for her rage regarding this subject, and he understood them well. But now was not the time and place. Instead, he turned his eyes to Cabe, who was gulping back a mouthful of his beverage as he went over the paperwork laid out in front of him, which Ronnie had retrieved from her station.

  “Sparrow? You still with us?”

  “Mmmf?” Cabe lifted his flaxen bedhead and met his supervisor’s serious gaze. “Yeah, yeah, just… readin’ up. So I’m gonna be stationed with him then?”

  “Fully undercover, yes.” Flint nodded, pausing to be polite while he sipped from his bottle of orange juice. “When he made his statement this morning, his team scrambled to hire extra and round-the-clock security detail. Of course, you were the man the company Mr. Wright hires from saw most fit to send from their employee pool.” He grinned a bit mischievously. “You’ll act as his chief bodyguard, and in turn you’ll do surveillance and report back to us on Mr. Wright’s movements, plans, and anything else you discover.”

  Flint nodded his head toward Cabe’s partner, sitting next to him at the conference table. “Dasilva will be in and out several times posing as a journalist for TIME magazine. She’ll be doing a profile on Mr. Wright and his most recent announcement. This way, we’ll be able to gain a comprehensive outlook on exactly how Mr. Wright is addressing this situation personally, professionally, and publicly, and from there we can decide on how to handle him.”

  “Damage control?” asked Cabe, slurping at the large can again.

  “Provisory,” the S.S.A. responded. “Agent Moss and I will be on-call for you both twenty-four hours a day. If you sense the proverbial shit is about to hit the proverbial fan, you call in immediately so we can advise you. Understood?”

  “Ten-four,” Cabe said, and slurped his drink again.

  Dasilva wrinkled her nose ever so slightly in response to the noise her partner made, but she kept her response professional and directed at Flint. “Understood.”

  “Here’s a thought, though,” Cabe mused aloud and, from the sound of his voice, the caffeine coupled with his lack of sleep and the uncomfortable flight may have finally caught up with him. “Th
is wanker says he can see the future, right? Well… what if he sees this coming?”

  Flint led the charge with an incredulous, almost exasperated look, as the two women in the room followed suit to turn their heads and stare at him. Cabe scoffed at the three pairs of deeply furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips, and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Just saying, y’know? It’s totally a possibility. He can see the future. Right?”

  With a sigh, Flint stood up at the table. “Sparrow, we’ll be sending a car to grab you from your apartment in exactly –” he checked his watch, “– one hour and seven minutes. Dasilva, we’ve called Mr. Wright’s secretary and scheduled an interview for ten o’clock this evening. You’ll be in prep from three. Sparrow, I’ll be calling you with more information about this job while you’re on the road.”

  “Sir.” Dasilva rose too, nodding at her supervisor smartly before turning to smirk at her partner. As much as he irritated the ever-living merda out of her, it was good to have him back on this side of the country. “Come on, Pigeon. I’ve got time to give you a ride.”

  ◉

  Cabe had spent the first fifteen years of his life growing up in England, and the next three living in rural Midwestern America, before abandoning his small hometown and violent home-life in order to travel. To him, downtown Seattle had a crystalline, futuristic beauty that couldn’t quite be described or conveyed verbally. Living north of the downtown core, he was able to enjoy the view of the snow-capped mountains and towering skyscrapers during his transit ride to and from work each day, which hadn’t gotten old even after years of living in the Pacific Northwest.

  “Bloody… shit.”

  Dasilva, who had nestled herself on the couch in the messy living room and had barely lifted her nose from her phone since she had been there, finally lifted her head. “What?”

  “I forgot we needed to pick up cat food.”