Black Tie: Book One of the Sparrow Archives

by Kieran Strange

  “Marco,” came the greeting, not six inches from his ear. The woman’s quiet voice was a cool and blunt as the weapon currently sitting against his spine.

  Because he was a boob.

  He was such a goddamn knob-tossing boob, and this entire floor was protected and secured and adequately -trapped against boobs like him. Because Elliot Wright was a smart, smart, smart man.

  The thirty-third floor had a capable security presence.

  Its capable security presence was wrapped up nice and neat in a small, curt, unassuming bundle of tight dark hair and petite pantsuits, who already didn’t seem to like him very much, and probably had even less of a reason to like him now she had found him snooping through her boss’ private research.

  “Polo,” he finally ground out, both hands coming up as his arms spread in submission and surrender at his sides.

  Eleven

  “Sorry, love... is this your brain?”

  Externally, he was all mouth, but internally, he was kicking himself. Of course the short, spindly secretary was Elliot Wright’s last line of defense, of course. It was so obvious in hindsight that he was almost tempted to tell her to just shoot him for his ignorance. His hands hovered at shoulder-height either side of his torso, the left one spread around the flashlight, the right still gripping the corner of Emiko’s C.T. scan, and they would remain there until he could figure out how the hell he wanted to deal with this situation.

  “Cut the crap, Cooper. If that’s even your name.” Emiko’s voice was even icier than he’d heard before, and had dropped in pitch several tones a cold and cruel shadow of its former rude self. “You’re going to tell me who sent you and what you want with Elliot Wright, or I’m going to ensure there’s nothing left of your brain worth scanning.”

  “If I told you it wasn’t Patriot Security, would you be at all surprised?”

  He wasn’t sure why he said that. Maybe because he just didn’t fucking like her very much. Whatever the reason, he completely deserved the way the front sight and muzzle of her gun dug excruciatingly deep into the small hollow at top of his spine.

  “All right, help me out, are you trying to get me to move forward, or are you just trying to be a bitch?”

  “I’m not sure. Right now, I think I just want to hurt you.”

  “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t blame you.”

  “Okay, then. So why don’t you help me out.” Emiko jabbed him again with the pistol. “Let’s start with something that isn’t too taxing for you. How about your real name?”

  “Look, it’s nothing personal or sexist, but I’d really rather discuss things with your boss.”

  Emiko’s voice dropped another semitone. “He’s indisposed. He’s a busy man. You’ll have to discuss it with me.”

  Her free hand reached out in the peripheral of his vision for the scan, and became what he presumed would be the only opportunity he would get to obtain some leverage here. He dropped like a stone to the ground and snatched her wrist in both hands, yanking her fully over the bulk of his body to flip and disorientate her, and give himself maybe a half second to get the gun out of her grip. It clattered to the floor and slid to a stop against one of the cabinets, but it wasn’t of his doing, it was hers.

  Oh, crap –

  Emiko tucked into the roll and looped her own hand around one of Cabe’s, interlocking their fingers, and with a snarl of effort and burst of unbridled strength that was in no way human whatsoever, used his own momentum to rip him from his position on the ground and fling him mercilessly into the side of the C.T. scanner with an unholy clanging crunch. He crumpled to a heap against it, dazed and grunting.

  In a heartbeat, his neck was on fire, and he was terrified that he may have done some sort of permanent damage as he stiffly tried to move it. He had no time to react, because in the next heartbeat, he was on the defensive as Emiko’s hand found the crew neck of his shirt and he was airborne again. There was nothing else he could do but brace for impact, and wait for gravity to tell him where the ground was.

  Ugh... she’s... she’s so strong...!

  His cheek peeled up from the floor as his eyes darted around the imaging room, desperate to locate her. But she was already coming down on top of him, one tiny yet terrifying fist drawn all the way back to her shoulder.

  Oh crap, this is really, really, really going to –

  ◉

  Cabe could smell sandalwood and hear a very, very faint piece of classical music he was fairly sure for some reason was composed by Beethoven. Maybe Flint had told him once. He wasn’t sure where he was, or why, but he was fairly sure it wasn’t the couch of his apartment, and it wasn’t his bedroom. Nor was it the bedroom of some cute sexual conquest he’d allowed himself to be dragged home by from the pub. Most of the time, in those situations, he didn’t wake up in bondage.

  Not often enough for it to be a pattern, anyway.

  He’d mercifully been left clothed, his calf muscles hooked around the singular telescoping leg of what appeared to be a chrome barstool and secured tightly at the ankles behind it with zip ties. It left his body at an awkward and uncomfortable angle, no doubt deliberately, his hips and chest jutting up more than was agreeable to him. His wrists were bound together behind and beneath him, presumably in the same manner given how numb and tingly his hands were, working in tandem with the belt (his own damn belt) around his chest to effectively pin him against – something – which was in turn wedged against the leather cushioned back of the stool.

  As discourteous as the vase or bottle that was poking him in his kidneys was, he’d woken up in much less comfortable positions in his time as both a W.A.R.D. Field Agent and as a beat cop for the Seattle Police Department. He’d give it a solid six out of ten.

  Inhaling several times before committing to properly opening his eyes, Cabe already had a fairly good idea where he was being housed, and what he would see when he opened his eyes. In a way, he actually felt a little better.

  “How... the hell did I stay upright while I was unconscious...?”

  It was Elliot’s chuckle that greeted him first, which he was actually anticipating. “You have the balance of a cat apparently. One of the many, many skills listed or not listed on your body-guarding resume.”

  His tone wasn’t exactly menacing. But then again, that wasn’t exactly comforting, considering Elliot had already shown he was the type of man to very tightly control how his emotions came across. Daring to gingerly blink his eyes open, he winced as the light hit his retinas, a heavy throbbing above his left eye reminding him of how he got here in the first place.

  “Sorry about the face. I specifically told her not to go for the face.”

  Cabe groaned, every joint in his body protesting at the position it was in. “You couldn’t have put me in the jacuzzi?”

  “I didn’t want to risk you drowning. Or Emiko here trying to drown you. What did you do to her that pissed her off so badly?”

  As his eyes adjusted to the light, and the headache began to dull to a low roar that was only mildly distracting, Cabe took a few moments to sweep his vision across his surroundings. He could see the curved hexagonal panes of glass that constructed the outer shell of the WrightTech tower, jet-black at this time of night with the sparkle of the city’s lights making it difficult to tell where the stars ended or began. Behind him too his left, the carpeted stairs led the way to the thirty-ninth (ahem, fortieth) level, and behind him to his right, he could see the leather sectional couches flickering with light from the muted television.

  “I was just asking her about that before you joined us,” Elliot was saying, nursing an iced beverage in his hand as he spoke. He was sat directly in front of Cabe on a matching chrome stool, leaning on the bar countertop with one elbow. His tie was removed but his vest remained, hanging unbuttoned and open over his slightly wrinkled crimson shirt. “Wasn’t I, Ms. Bell? Wasn’t I literally just asking you what the hell do you have against this poor man?”

  “Other than the fact t
hat he used our confidential client-company relationship with Patriot Security to gain almost unlimited access to our company?”

  Cabe could hear her, but he couldn’t see her from where he was currently sitting. Of course she was a bloody Anomaly. There were probably more Anomalies working in this company than he’d first presumed. A man this brazen about his own fate would obviously offer Anomalies a safe haven to work under his own roof.

  In here? Smiley Sally’s words repeated in his sore, aching brain. We’re like a family. He keeps us safe, he gives us good benefits and a good wage, he donates to all these charities and does all these cool things...

  Bloody fuck.

  “Well, other than that.”

  “And the fact that he compromised your personal elevator in order to gain access to an area of the building he had specifically not been cleared to enter?”

  “And that.”

  “And the fact that we’ve both known there was something strange about him from the second Jeremy e-mailed over his file?”

  Elliot grinned and sipped his drink. “And that.”

  “You know,” Cabe took the opportunity to interject, shifting awkwardly in an attempt to take some of the pressure and weight off of his back, “every now and then I get a client with the diligence and tenacity to actually notice something’s really really fucking wrong, and I tell you, those are the rewarding ones. The ones who usually stay in touch.”

  “You want to start talking, Ringo –” Emiko came sharply into view, stepping out from behind the bar and circling around Elliot to come within striking distance of the captured undercover agent. “I’ve heard once you’re in double digits teeth don’t grow back anymore.”

  “Hey, um, look, I really don’t want to piss on anybody’s parade or anything...” Cabe offered her an apologetic look, for some reason even less restrained now that he was, well, entirely restrained. He wasn’t entirely certain that this wasn’t their first time doing this, and he wanted to try and retain whatever control over the situation that he could. “But this isn’t the first time I’ve been tied to a piece of furniture and promised pain.”

  Emiko drew herself up slightly, slender arms crossing over her white designer blouse. She glanced sideways at Elliot, who didn’t meet her eyes at all but simply smirked around the rim of his glass as he continued to watch Cabe.

  Placing one hand on the back of Cabe’s stool, Emiko rotated it ever so slightly, leaning in so that she could speak directly into his ear at a volume her boss actually probably wouldn’t be able to hear.

  “You’ve got ten fingers and ten fingernails, pretty boy. I’ll bet all my bonuses for next year that I can make you talk with only two of each.”

  “Thankfully, I’m gonna save you the time and effort,” Cabe answered almost immediately, mostly to distract them both from the way his body shuddered in response to the icy threat – which he one hundred and ten per cent believed, by the way. “Now, I’m gonna explain something to you, here. But that means you’re actually gonna have to listen to somebody else talk for more than thirteen seconds. Can you do that?”

  Emiko cocked her head to the side and muttered a question in Japanese. Elliot laughed, shaking his head.

  “No, Emi, don’t hit him again... I’m actually interested to hear this. Especially considering he didn’t bury a bullet in my skull in the Rockies today.”

  “I appreciate you remembering that when you jammed whatever the fuck this is into my kidney,” grumbled Cabe.

  To his surprise, Elliot reached over Cabe’s exposed stomach and hips, curling a hand beneath him to remove the corked red wine bottle that was wedged there, and place it on the counter beside his ‘bodyguard’. “Talk,” was the simple command, with no room left for any further argument or procrastination.

  Wriggling as much as he dared to readjust his position without tipping over the barstool, Cabe decided to start with quelling everybody’s fears. “The first thing you need to know is that we’re on the same side.”

  “We hear that a lot,” Emiko interrupted, quiet but resentful. “That doesn’t always end so well for us.”

  “I’m sure it doesn’t, and I guess technically we aren’t properly acquainted, but I’m not here to steal anything or hurt anybody – believe it or not, I want to do the opposite.”

  Emiko raised one thin eyebrow. “You’re... a vigilante fanboy?”

  “Nice guess, Velma, but I’m not here by choice. It’s my job. My department opened a case file on Mr. Wright the second we heard about his announcement this week.”

  “Your department?”

  “The World Anomaly Reconnaissance Division. We usually just go by W.A.R.D., time is quite often a factor when we’re at work.”

  “World Anomaly Reconnaissance Division?” Emiko echoed without giving him time to explain further, her brows furrowing in a way that either said she didn’t believe him or at least wasn’t amused by it. “So... a group of vigilante fanboys who spy on Anomalies?”

  “Not exactly.” It was Elliot who had spoken, which caused the other two to whip their heads around to face him in surprise. The young C.E.O. had drained his glass and reached for the bottle of aged scotch beside him to refill it without changing the ice.

  “If my hunch is correct, and I’m making all the right assumptions here, they work directly for the United Nations, under no particular country’s jurisdiction,” Elliot was saying, not bothering to make eye contact with either his interrogator or his interrogatee. “Apparently that was the simplest way to set it up Anomaly protections back then, something to do with diplomatic immunity or... yadda yadda, some legal technical jargon.” Elliot drained at least half the serving of scotch in one gulp, barely even reacting to the taste as he finally glanced over.

  The fact that both of them were staring back at him with expressions of total and utter disbelief on their faces only seemed to serve his ego more, and his mouth quirked up at the corners into a self-amused smirk.

  “Eighty-five per cent of our board were against WrightTech investing publicly in programs the U.N. was putting in place to aid the Anomaly crisis,” he said slowly, leaning one arm on the bar so that he could cradle his chin in his hand. “Eighty-five per cent – that’s seventeen people with power over my company who didn’t want to use our money and influence to actually help humankind. That was a sad day for me.”

  “When was this?” Emiko asked, her voice dark and unsure.

  “Right after the first Anomalies started appearing in the U.S. and Russia, and those twins in Japan. I received the message through a do-gooder contact of mine, real friend of the environment. I used to pass him fifty-K here and there for his causes. But this one really caught my attention, so I made some calls.”

  “Some calls?” pressed Cabe.

  “Yeah. I met with the Security Council, they told me they were funneling money into the protection and defense of Anomalies... asked me if I would be on board with providing financial support when required. The board obviously weren’t going to play ball, so I made some... personal investments.” Elliot’s unblinking eyes studied Cabe hard. “What’s your supervisor’s name?”

  “S.S.A. James Flint,” he responded without hesitation. Elliot chuckled and shook his head, grinning broadly at the restrained man in front of him for a while before turning his attention to his P.A., who was still staring at him in shock.

  “Jesus Christ. It’s taken four years, but all that good karma’s finally come back to kiss my ass,” he announced brightly. His fingers snapped and he slid off of his barstool, shrugging out of his smart suit vest.

  “Untie the agent, why don’t you, and let’s get that White Gold bottle of Dom Perignon we were saving for New Year’s put on ice. I’ll be back in two shakes, after I make a quick call to an old friend. We’ve got some catching up to do.”

  Twelve

  “And then you all just... sat there and drank thirty-thousand dollar champagne?”

  Cabe carefully lowered the plasma screen onto its mount atop
the huge boardroom table, and as he did so, he could see the totally and utterly indignant look all over his agent handler’s face. If it hadn’t been for the fact his back and neck were stiff as concrete today and he still had to help move the surveillance equipment from the hotel suite to the smallest of WrightTech’s boardrooms, he would’ve felt sorry for Ronnie; unfortunately he was too busy feeling sorry for himself.

  “I swear to you, without a word of a lie, that’s exactly how it all went down.” He rested both hands on his hips and used his few free moments to stretch out his lower back muscles. “He ordered us all steak dinners at four A.M.. Where the fuck that isn’t Denny’s do you get a steak at four A.M.?”

  Ronnie sulked a little as she dropped off her own box of files on the table next to the stack of equipment they’d loaded in from the last flatbed. They loaded it in, and Faraj got to set it up – which all three of them seemed to have unanimously agreed was fair. “I guess it makes sense. I remember Flint taking a call around three, saying something about fucking sparrows, grabbing his coat, and leaving.”

  “Yeah, he made me take a shower and called down for one of my suits. Flint was just getting there as I was coming outta the bathroom.”

  “You got to bathe in Elliot Wright’s shower?”

  Cabe winced. “How much do you want to kill me right now? Is it... can I come back from this?”

  Ronnie narrowed her eyes at him as the tiny little jury in her head left the room, quickly debated, and returned with their verdict. “You get to unload the rest yourself,” was all she said, as she went to work starting to pull keyboards and other wired accessories out of a cardboard box.

  “Ugh, this sucks! Hakeem was up all night yelling at Smash Bros. on and off while trying to configure this program that really didn’t wanna be configured. I didn’t sleep a wink all night, even when I eventually gave up and used Flint’s empty bed. I swear, as soon as this case is closed, I’m putting in my application to be a Field Agent.”