by O. J. Lowe
“Nobody takes a weapon into the presence of Master Frewster,” she said. Again, her voice was neutral but forceful. It wasn’t an order, it was a suggestion. It was a suggestion that didn’t impress him but a suggestion regardless. “Unisco or not.”
“And yet, it’s Unisco he asked for,” Nick said. He wasn’t surrendering his weapon. That was a big no-no as far as the agency was concerned. The only time you give up your weapon is if it is taken from you by force or at by request of a superior agent. You don’t give it up to servants who want to throw their authority around. “It’s Unisco he wants. And he should know exactly what sort of people they tend to employ.”
She inclined her head, not unlike a large bird. Her eyes gave nothing away. It was like trying to stare out a stone statue, just as unreadable in her appearance, her eyes expressionless. “Therefore, if he expects me to give it up before walking into his office, he can wait until they send another agent. Don’t expect it to be quickly. Unisco was a bush he burned a long time ago, he doesn’t have the damn right to whistle someone up whenever he wants some help.” He turned, made to go for the door handle. “I’m sure he’ll be pleased at having to…”
“You pass.”
She said it without blinking, he felt he did a good job of managing to hide his surprise. Another test? He remembered his previous thoughts about underestimating Frewster. They’d been more apt than he’d thought.
He’d tried small talk as they walked through the mansion, following her at a respectful distance. Talk had never come easily between him and the help, especially not ones that looked to be as loyal as Frewster’s butler. She gave the impression that she’d fight to the end to ensure that his wishes were carried out, his privacy prioritised, and his life secured. An interesting scenario. To devote your whole existence to someone, not even someone you loved in the traditional sense, was something he couldn’t entirely get his head around.
“Worked here long?” He never liked that, the words sounded hollow in the corridor. The home was a lot less opulent than he’d expected from a man like Frewster. Given the exaggerations of the outside of the house, he’d expected the inside to look like a pauper’s wet dream, gold to line the walls and silver across the floors. In that, he’d been sorely disappointed. Frewster’s taste in décor extended more to the sentimental than the valuable, the walls covered in various pictures and news reports about what he’d done in the public eye. There were articles about him winning tournaments, meeting royalty, presenting awards as well as accepting them. A life well lived, Nick had to say.
“Long enough,” she said. Didn’t offer more. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go inquiring. Already his mind was wandering about what Frewster might want to see him about, none of the possibilities were good. He’d heard the message that had been recorded when the old man had called the director’s office direct. Word had it that Arnholt, back in the office and resuming his duties, had not been impressed. Out of respect though, he’d seen that it had been passed down and down until it had wound up at Nick’s feet. He didn’t have anyone to pass it along to, he’d had to deal with it. He’d thought about that conversation several times already, anything to avoid dwelling on the painful silence that pervaded the corridor.
“Hello there, my dear. Can you put me through to the director…?” Amicable. Polite. A voice that made sure the listener knew that the speaker had absolutely nothing to hide. They knew that they belonged where they were.
“Can I take your name please?” Arnholt’s secretary didn’t miss a beat. He’d met Ms Luccisantini before, it was the sort of experience you didn’t forget. She looked adorable, at least until you remembered that a lifetime at Unisco had knocked most of the kindness out of her. The favourite office rumour about her was that she’d skinned the flesh from a man’s hand after he’d pinched her ass, a rumour never proven.
“Certainly, darling, certainly. Name is Brennan, that’s four N’s, not in a row, make sure you spell it right, Francis Charles, Frewster. If you want to do a background search on me, make sure that you…” Frewster sounded more amused than anything. He’d probably been through the dance before, knew enough of the processes to make an educated guess at what would be going on. Anyone who’d been at Unisco for as long as he had, kept their mind whittled sharp to a point.
“Mr Frewster!” Lola Luccisantini’s voice took on an indignant tone here in the conversation. When her voice rose several octaves, it was time to worry. “Background check is not necessary, we all know who you are. What we do not know is why you feel the need to assume that your celebrity is enough to gain you direct access to the director of Unisco. We have proper channels for this, you know.”
“I’m all too aware of that, my dear lady. I set most of them up after all. Now, what was the code I believe I’m supposed to give you… You’ll have to forgive an old man, especially one whose memory isn’t what it once was… Six-six-one-four.” Agent requesting assistance. That had been one of the first directives they learned, never forgotten, never taken out of fashion. There was a reason for that. Unisco or not, sometimes someone needed some help.
“Mister Frewster, I’ll put you through.” Luccisantini wasn’t hesitating now, Nick could imagine her moving into action to ensure that the call was put through quickly. Sometimes everyone needed reminding of their history, even if forgetting who Frewster was and what he’d done for Unisco was close to a cardinal sin. A brief pause as the call was put through before he heard the mildly surprised voice of Terrence Arnholt.
“This is Director Arnholt. Hello Brennan.” Again, polite. Amicable. Not even close to being mistaken for friendly.
“Heh, heh, heh. Little Terry Arnholt now in the top job, how about that. Would not have seen that coming twenty years ago.” Frewster sounded amused. Probably not the best way to go about getting help, Nick thought. When you had an insider knowledge into something growing up, he supposed it was easy to comment on what it had become.
“Yes well, we all change and sometimes not for the better, Brennan. We grow, we evolve, I think you’ll find.” Cheap shot from the director but by the same token, one probably deserved. He could give out the sarcasm just as well as any performing showman.
“Indeed, you are right, of course. Director. Wise beyond your years, it would seem.” It sounded like Frewster had decided not to let him get away with what he was saying.
“What do you want, Brennan? You left the agency, you said you’d had enough of what it had brought to your life. I remember that all too well.” Nick could well sympathise there. He’d had enough of that himself. Sometimes getting away from Unisco seemed like a great idea not just for your health but your sanity as well. Frewster hadn’t done too badly out of the experience.
“We sometimes say things that in the cold light of day we’d like to partly take back.” At least there was some hint of apology there in Frewster’s voice, even if the words weren’t uttered. He gave the impression he knew that the verbal sparring couldn’t continue like this. Even if Arnholt’s next response sounded like he wasn’t entirely finished with the former agent.
“You can’t partly take something back, Brennan. Either you take it all back or you own it. There’s no standing with your feet in two worlds.”
“I’m calling with some vital information and a request for aid. I still have some eyes and ears in places…” That had been it then. The real reason that he’d chosen to call in. He needed help and it had sounded like he didn’t know where to turn.
“You’re a game show host!” No mistaking the sound of incredulity in Arnholt’s voice. Nick couldn’t blame him. It sounded like the sort of thing Frewster might have called in thirty years ago. And even then, not to the director of Unisco.
“Which doesn’t mean that I forgot everything that I learned. I’ve forgotten more than most of your agents today will ever know, Director. Believe me on that.” Probably just about cryptically mysterious enough to get Arnholt’s attention.
“What sort of information?�
� Now the intrigue was there, the director had found his curiosity to go with it and he could hear the glee in Frewster’s voice as he spoke next.
“Ah uh, I’m afraid that’s Unisco’s favourite word, my friend. Classified. Need to know. You will want it though. They’ll go to any length to ensure that I don’t share it out. It’s a real game changer.”
“Brennan go to your nearest Unisco office and…” He could hear the urgency in Arnholt’s voice, it was the tone he used when he was about to give an order he expected to be obeyed and quickly.
“I’m going to have to decline there, Director. There’s something I need to do first. Something I can’t do alone. I’ll need help. Specifically, the kind that you’re able to have one of your agents provide. You know where I am. I’m sure you’ll do the right thing. Ta-ra.”
“Damnit Brennan wait!” At that point, the line had gone dead, the recording had cut out before Arnholt could complete his sounds of exasperation. Nick had a feeling they’d been quite explicit.
He would have laughed at the sheer absurdity of it, if it didn’t have the potential to reflect badly on him. What was it that Icardi had said to him? An annoyed Frewster had the presence in the media to make things uncomfortable for Unisco, especially given the way the war with the Coppingers was faring currently. Avoidable negative publicity would do them no favours. It might not be fatal, but it would be a wound they could do without. Those were the worst type of wounds in his experience. The type that were self-inflicted due to lack of care.
The order had come. Go see him. Find out what he wants. Assist him. Get what he needs. Four orders made simple. If only the mission was as simple as it sounded. Frewster had six decades of operational knowledge behind him, he knew what he was doing, and on top of that, he had the credits to hire in any help he needed. What he might need Unisco for didn’t bear thinking about.
Maybe it was a simple matter, but he didn’t want to pay for it. That information he claimed to have for them best be worth it.
“Nice place,” he said aloud. He’d been thinking it; didn’t realise he’d spoken until the butler gave a look at him. “Not at all what I’d expected.” He’d already started to put together a plan of how he’d deal with Frewster when they came face to face and this had thrown him. He’d expected him to be some sort of egotistical arsehole, the taste in his décor didn’t point to that. What people surrounded themselves with, it usually said a lot about them in his experience. All the pictures and the articles, they said that he had an ego about him, just that he didn’t necessarily place a value on things that other people considered important. Maybe his memory was going, he was an old man after all, and he wanted to remember the past for as long as he could.
“Master Frewster likes to surprise people and challenge their expectations,” she said. “He’s a remarkable man, one must say.”
“I’ve heard,” Nick said. “Is he like he appears on screen?”
She gave him a withering look. By looking at her, he’d apparently crossed some sort of line, but he found it hard to care entirely. He’d faced down worse. The hired help wasn’t on the top ten of scary things he’d faced down. Wasn’t even in the top ten of things he’d seen this year given he’d faced down Claudia Coppinger and Wim Carson and survived them both. Even on a smaller level, it had barely been twelve months since he’d faced the deadly Lucas Hobb in combat and walked away from it. He was still here. Hobb had been a world class assassin and he wasn’t with them any longer.
“Let me get one thing straight with you before you go in there, Roper.” Not even the Agent now. He bit his tongue. They’d come to a halt outside a grand-looking door, the inlays gilded and a plaque bearing Frewster’s name stamped to the top of it. She jabbed a bony finger at him. “I have a great deal of respect for the master. I’ve devoted the rest of my days to ensuring he lives out what time he has left in peace. Because he doesn’t have long.” She leaned her head in close, lowering her voice. He noticed an air of sadness in her eyes. “He’s not long for this world. He’s an elderly man. His heart isn’t what it used to be. He can’t last forever, unfortunately. You know what he used to do. Every year he’s had has been one blessed with time he might not have had.”
He nodded his head. “I understand that.”
“You cause him undue distress and you should prepare for the worst. Because you wouldn’t be the first Unisco agent to come foul of me. You don’t scare me in the slightest.”
Nick made a mental note to look up who Frewster’s butler had been before she’d come to work for him. He had a feeling that it might make interesting reading. Sounded like she’d led an interesting life, unless she was full of bluster which somehow, he doubted. She didn’t give the impression she was a fantasist. Nobody was that scary unless they had the ability to back it up.
“I’m not here to cause him distress,” he said. “I’m here to see what he wants. I’m here to help him with it. Nothing more. If everyone leaves happy, I’d consider it a job well done.”
She relaxed, just an inch but noticeably. With it, he let himself relax. If she wasn’t tense, she wasn’t going to be an immediate threat. He got the impression that she’d at least let the meeting go ahead now.
“I’ll be happy when you’re gone,” she said eventually. “I think what he’s doing is a mistake. I’ve offered him that opinion but he’s a prideful old man. He thinks he knows best.”
“If we all didn’t think we knew best,” Nick said. “None of us would do anything ever. It’s probably not a helpful view but I think it’s a necessary one. Self-belief is a marvellous thing.”
“Except when it gets you killed,” she said. She raised a hand, rapped on the door three times, paused and then twice more. Some sort of code, he wondered. A sign that things were okay? Interesting.
“Enter, dear.”
She gripped the handle, twisted and Nick caught his first glimpse of Frewster’s inner sanctum as the door swung open. He blinked several times, allowed a few moments to take it all in. He wondered how many people had seen this room over the years. Any sort of wealth that had been devoid of shown in the corridors was present here, all sorts of trinkets and trophies that Frewster had accumulated over the years present here. When he’d had the house in Belderhampton, he’d had a room just like this. The house had had to be gotten rid of. He hadn’t wanted to live alone in it, not without Sharon. He’d had all the stuff packed into storage, all the Unisco equipment that had been there sent back to the closest office. Even that had been tainted, it brought back memories of Alvin Noorland, the man who’d designed most of it. He missed Noorland. He’d been a good guy. A little strange, rough around the edges but a good guy regardless. The sort of person you could rely on when things got tough.
Some of the trophies were from competitions that didn’t even run any longer, their value alone had to be immense. Back in the day, they had been solid gold, rather than gold plated lead. He almost felt the urge to shield his eyes from their radiance, they’d been polished frequently and recently, judging from the gleam.
“Come in, come in, son,” the weary voice said from somewhere about the centre of the room. He dragged his attention away from the contents of the room, focused it on Frewster who’d risen to his feet, one hand resting on a cane and the other on a rather new-looking X7. He wondered how long he’d had it and how he’d come by it. The old man stood by a pair of plush couches in the centre of the room, a fire roaring away at the far wall. He’d smelled the burning the second he’d walked in, the warmth a pleasant respite from the chills outside.
“Mister Frewster,” Nick said. He covered the distance, offered him a hand which the old man studied for a moment before inclining his eyes towards his own hands. One with the cane. One with the blaster.
“You’ll have to excuse my rudeness, but I’m afraid my hands are rather occupied right now, you see.”
He had to smile. He’d heard Frewster say that on a Winterheight special episode of Face Your Ruin some years ago. He�
�d loved that show, where they made famous spirit callers who hated each other play Ruin against each other for charity. Frewster had been immense on the show, frequently baiting the contestants against each other until the atmosphere had reached a fever pitch. Mistakes were made, errors were ensured, and everyone went home happy bar the loser.
“You could put the blaster down,” Nick suggested. “I’m not here to harm you. Unisco sent me. Agent…”
“Nicholas Roper, I know,” Frewster said. He gestured with the blaster, Nick glanced around and winced a little at the surveillance feeds he could see on the monitors. Every room of the house by the looks of it. He’d passed most of them on the way here. That was interesting. Frewster was clearly worried about something. “We all have our little eccentricities. Mine is paranoia.”
Nick said nothing. Just let him continue.
“You’re keeping quiet.” Frewster holstered the weapon inside the silken robe he wore above a faded suit, time tearing most of the colour away from the grey. “That’s smart.” Now he shook Nick’s hand, pumping it with a vigour that belied his age. “Not many do that these days. Just hear them talk and talk and talk and they never say anything, they just want to hear what they’ve got to say and if others hear them, then well that’s just a big bonus for everyone.” He smiled, reached up and patted Nick’s cheek. It was a strangely paternal gesture he wasn’t sure he was comfortable with. He tried to recall Frewster’s file, particularly his personal life. Widowed twice, five children and eight grandchildren. One hells of a life he’d led.
Frewster glanced behind Nick, nodded to his butler. “You can leave us now, Helga. I’m sure that Agent Roper wishes me no harm. Not yet anyway. He might when he’s heard what I have to say, but that aside…” That roguish grin had filled viewing screens for years, Nick recognised it for what it was and had to smile himself. “We have important business to discuss.”
