moments.
“There’s no such thing,” replied Shawn.
“Huh?”
“Nine is a decoy for field ops. If you’re not certain about your contact you
class yourself as a Nine. If they don’t question it, then….” Shawn trailed off and looked at Remy and Thiago cautiously.
“Then what?” Nikolaus asked.
“You kill them and abort the mission as blown,” Remy answered bluntly.
Nikolaus’s eyes widened, but Remy winked at him and twirled the ring on his finger absently.
Straightforward and almost nonchalant about death and destruction. Brandt
liked Remy. A lot.
Shawn and Thiago continued to explain the different classes to Nikolaus, and
Brandt listened with interest. He’d never paid much attention to the other designators.
They didn’t get to blow shit up and therefore were of little consequence in Brandt’s world.
“Eight is strategy,” Shawn went on.
“Non-mobile operatives who like to tell the rest of us how to do our jobs,”
Thiago clarified.
Blunt with a little bitty chip on his shoulder. Brandt hadn’t made up his mind
about Thiago yet. He had potential, though.
“Seven is… obviously….” Shawn trailed off again and looked at Brandt,
who still gazed at Thiago thoughtfully.
“We blow shit up,” Brandt provided without removing his gaze from
Thiago’s handsome face. Thiago gave him a small, amused twitch of his lips.
“Right,” Shawn said uneasily as he watched Brandt. Finally he shook his
head and continued the lecture. “The Six designator provides field intelligence when the agent in the field can’t obtain it himself.”
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“That’s usually where the women in skimpy red dresses come in,” Carl
added with a smirk, “sent to seduce the bigwigs when they won’t go for a bloke.”
Brandt couldn’t quite get a read on this one. He liked Carl regardless, and
even the fact he was a Kiwi and quite possibly straight didn’t dampen the growing fondness.
Carl raised an inquiring eyebrow as Brandt’s gaze transferred to him.
“Have a lot of experience with Sixes, do you, Trigger?” Brandt asked the
man.
“Not as such, no,” Carl responded with a grin. Brandt smiled back at him and
winked. Maybe not straight. Even better.
“Five,” Shawn said loudly, trying to inject some semblance of order back
into the discussion. “Provides transportation. Planes, trains, and the like.”
All eyes turned to Remy as he began to snicker. Brandt saw Shawn glare at
the younger man, but Remy was oblivious and continued to try ineffectively not to laugh.
“And the like,” he said in a deep voice, a fair mimicry of Shawn’s delivery.
“Do you remember,” he stuttered, trying to catch his breath as his eyes began to tear up, “that motorbike? When you were caught that one time… and I had to come rescue you… called in transport for two… the… the motorbike with… with the sidecar?”
Brandt smiled at the vague image Remy’s nearly incoherent laughter painted.
“Shawn… with the….” Remy put his fingers into circles and placed them around his
eyes to illustrate. “Goggles,” he snickered and finally lost it, falling against Thiago in a fit of raucous laughter.
“Bloody sidecar,” Shawn grumbled.
“I saved ton tcheue with that sidecar,” Remy laughed.
“Aye. Destroyed me dignity though,” Shawn muttered.
Stoic, kind of grumpy, and obviously able to give as good as he got. Brandt
thought maybe he liked Shawn most of all.
“Fours,” Shawn said with a gesture toward Carl. Carl simply nodded, and
Shawn continued, “Four is the weapons specialty. They’re also used as specialized assassins, as I think we’ve established.”
“I could kill you with a pinecone,” Carl told Nikolaus seriously. Brandt was
quite pleased to see the man’s eyes twinkle with amusement, and for the first time in years he felt like he could fit in with a group of people. They were all slightly mad–
Brandt reasoned that you had to be in this business– but unlike other coverts with whom he’d worked, these blokes had a good time of it.
“The three is cleanup,” Thiago continued the lecture with a hint of
amusement as he glanced sideways at Carl. “Basically, if someone fucks up, cogidas,
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they’re sent in to fix the mess.”
Nikolaus nodded and looked around at the group. When no one continued
with the lecture he asked, “What about the Two designator?”
Brandt sat back and watched the other men carefully. This was one of the
moments he’d been waiting for. This was a very telling moment.
Remy cleared his throat and Thiago examined the ground between his feet
carefully. Carl appeared to be clueless as to the cause of their discomfort, and Shawn, well, his was the most interesting reaction of all. He simply didn’t have one. Not a tic or flash of movement or worried sound. Nothing. Brandt was impressed.
“Has anyone ever dealt with a Two?” Nikolaus asked again innocently.
“No,” Shawn finally responded with confidence.
“How do you know?”
“The Two designator is the one given to agents who have turned. Or are
known to be moles,” Thiago answered. Carl shot a slightly confused glance at Brandt, and Brandt shrugged in return. Carl apparently didn’t know about the Two designator either, but then, usually only Class One coverts did.
“So then, why would no one have dealt with one?” Nikolaus asked
persistently. “There are obviously moles around.”
“They don’t live long after they’re given the designation,” Shawn answered
quietly. The soft tone of his voice gave the conversation a grim tone Brandt found unsettling.
Nikolaus nodded in understanding, and the conversation died away. Remy
rolled his head from side to side and his neck emitted several popping sounds that made the hair on the back of Brandt’s neck stand up.
“So the Archer… he’s a Two then?” Nikolaus asked after a long silence.
“That’s right,” Shawn answered as Remy began to mutter and grumble in
that odd French that wasn’t quite really French.
“It is a death sentence,” the Cajun hissed, sounding as if he didn’t agree with
the Organization’s methods where Two designators were concerned. Brandt could see that. If you were labeled a traitor there was no trial to prove your innocence. It was indeed a death sentence.
“And we are meant to kill him?” Nikolaus asked in an oddly innocent voice
Brandt watched Shawn closely for his reaction to the query. Shawn pressed
his lips together and slapped his hands against his thighs before standing up.
“We’ll deal with that first thing in the morning,” he declared. Everyone
mumbled their agreement and began to stand and stretch. “Brandt? You’ve got first watch,” Shawn informed him as the others began to drift toward the bedrooms,
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muttering wishes for a good night and other, less civil things. “No playing in the fire,”
Shawn ordered with a smile.
“Right. No worries,” Brandt said as he glanced once more at the flames.
Shawn stood there looking at him for a long moment, and Brandt could tell that he wanted to say more. These field agents were all the same. So very predictable in the way they handled an apparent roadblo
ck like Brandt. The older man looked back at
the bedrooms and the retreating forms of their comrades briefly before turning and opening his mouth to speak. “Hey, Beignet?” Brandt said quietly before he could do so. “I’ll be here when you need me,” he said simply.
Shawn snorted in amusement, not at all bothered by the use of the nickname
Remy had used earlier. “0400,” he informed Brandt softly. “Just the two of us. I have a proposition.”
Brandt nodded and watched Shawn walk away. The fire spoke to him with a
hiss that sounded like laughter in Brandt’s head, and he smiled happily at his
flickering companion.
Several quiet and uneventful hours later Brandt looked at his watch and
stretched. He stood up slowly and cracked his back and neck, and then squinted to look down the dark hallway.
He’d been instructed to let the fire die down– to make them look like a group
of hunters with no concern for keeping watch– and he’d let it though it had pained him not to play in it. Now it simply smoldered as he made his way on the creaking floorboards to the first room on the left.
He scratched lightly at the heavy wooden door, and it opened almost
immediately. Shawn stood there in a worn pair of gray sweatpants and nothing else.
His hair told of the few hours of sleep he had managed.
Before Shawn could open his mouth in greeting, Brandt pinned him neatly
against the wall beside the doorway and nudged the door gently closed with his foot.
Shawn hadn’t made a sound, even though his striking green eyes registered alarm,
and Brandt grinned at him. This bloke was a real pro.
“You have an offer to make me?” Brandt asked in a barely audible voice.
“I do,” Shawn said softly.
“You seem fairly certain that I’ll accept it,” Brandt observed in amusement.
“Call it hope,” Shawn answered easily, not attempting to free himself from
Brandt’s grasp.
“And just what exactly are you hoping to get?” Brandt asked as he held
Shawn pinned against the wall.
“Some peace of mind,” Shawn whispered in answer.
“And what piece is mine?” Brandt inquired with a slowly spreading grin.
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“You tell me what it’ll take,” Shawn murmured as his eyes took in Brandt’s
features in the low light.
“Oh?” said Brandt absentmindedly, becoming distracted by the way Shawn’s
accent deepened when he was in a slightly heightened state of awareness.
Shawn nodded then said, “I was actually going to offer you Remy.”
Brandt’s eyes flashed in interest, but he pressed his body closer to Shawn’s
to let him know that what he had here might just be better. “Why does Remy call you Beignet?” Brandt asked instead of responding to the statement.
Shawn snorted in consternation and amusement. “I think it started because it
sounded like my name and he knew it annoyed me,” he answered with a shrug of one
shoulder. Brandt’s grip tightened. “He would tell you it’s because I remind him of a doughnut. Whatever the hell that means,” Shawn grumbled as he rested his head
against the wall.
“Well, you don’t look like a doughnut,” Brandt murmured with a tilt of his
head as he examined Shawn critically. “You don’t feel like one either,” he added as his fingers dug into the hard muscles of Shawn’s arms. “I think you’ll do, just the same,” he decided as he tilted his head and slowly ran his tongue along the line of Shawn’s jaw. “I could see the resemblance,” he purred low in his throat, “if we had some powdered sugar.”
“Well, then,” Shawn whispered distractedly, at a loss for the first time that
Brandt had seen. Brandt smiled and tightened his grip on Shawn’s biceps. “How did you know what I planned to offer?” Shawn asked curiously as he shifted and slowly tried to twist away from Brandt’s grasp.
“I always get bribes from you field people if I’ll leave the fire alone,” Brandt
answered as he raised his head again. “Sexual bribe, though, that’s a new one. Do I look that desperate?” he asked curiously.
“It’s not for your benefit that I’m bribing,” Shawn said as his eyes came back
into focus. “If we can keep you centered long enough to keep you from blowing us all to Hell then I’ll be happy.”
“Ah, so you’re a distraction. A replacement for my other interests.”
“I am,” Shawn answered in a low voice. “Every day you go without blowing
something up– something that doesn’t deserve it anyway– you’ll get a treat,” Shawn propositioned, and Brandt found himself loosening his grip and staring as if
mesmerized by the prospect.
Brandt had never encountered someone so commanding as this man, and it
fascinated him. Even standing there pinned against the wall by a larger man and
offering his body as a bribe for good behavior, Shawn’s manner demanded both
respect and obedience.
Brandt was simply fascinated.
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“Treat,” he repeated quietly.
“That’s right,” Shawn nodded. Brandt licked his lips. “Now you’ve not been
behaving yourself, but I’m going to show you what you’ll get if you do, understand?”
“Yes,” Brandt breathed. Before he could try to capture Shawn’s mouth in the
brutal kiss he wanted so badly to take, he found himself hitting the floor with a muffled thud.
Shawn hovered over him and held him down quite easily, and Brandt
wondered if he could have even gotten free if he really tried.
He didn’t want to get free, though.
“What do you want?” Shawn asked in barely a whisper.
“You,” Brandt responded readily. “Right now.”
“You want to take me?” Shawn asked with what could have been wariness.
Brandt’s cock twitched at the thought, but that wasn’t what he wanted
tonight. He enjoyed being in charge and having power. Power to destroy. Power to
create. Power to make another man scream in pleasure or pain.
But right now he wanted to be overpowered, and this was just the man to do
it.
“No,” he said.
Before Brandt really registered what was happening, Shawn had him on his
feet once more and simultaneously pushed him toward the bed and patted him down
skillfully.
“I’ve never had to strip search someone for explosives before fucking them,”
Shawn whispered in irritation. “You’re not packing any C4 or some shit, are you?”
“Not tonight,” Brandt responded distractedly as Shawn deftly pushed his
briefs to the ground and shoved him at the bed.
“Stay quiet, understood? Get on your knees,” Shawn ordered gruffly, and
Brandt hurried to obey.
He buried his face in Shawn’s pillow to keep from crying out as Shawn
prepared him roughly. How the man knew he liked it hard and fast Brandt didn’t
know, but he was grateful all the same.
Brandt liked the burn.
He enjoyed experiencing the pain along with the pleasure. It was like braving
the heat of the flames in order to witness the beauty of the destruction. Although Brandt expected a lot of pain, he was sadly disappointed. Shawn was very good at
what he did in all aspects of his life, and the brief flash of pain Brandt craved was soon replaced with immense pleasure.
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Brandt found he didn’t mind the loss of the burn
so much.
VI.
THE Archer was restless tonight. He itched to make a move. To strike before they
had the chance to do so.
That was the last thing he should do, though. To start being impulsive now
would be the death of him. He’d known they put a team together to sniff him out, but he hadn’t expected it to be so skilled or varied a group. And he hadn’t expected them to mobilize so quickly. He’d barely had time to reposition himself before they were meant to rendezvous.
They had the best agents in the Business after him, and he had to admit he
was a little scared. He was walking a tight rope without a net, so to speak, and he was completely off the map now. No real allies in sight.
He did have one advantage. More than one, really. He knew who they were,
while they grasped at straws as to his identity. He knew where they were, while they were having their ‘getting to know you’ sessions. And he knew how they would go
about finding him, because the same people who had trained him had trained all of them.
He had time to plan.
He would leave them just enough of a trail to make them overconfident. To
make them feel as if they were on the right track and that he wasn’t quite as crafty as they thought. He would lull them into a sense of false security and success and then he would strike hard and fast. He would leave such a mess that the Organization
would never know what hit them
His biggest advantage? These men were accustomed to working alone. All
he had to do was stir them up a bit and make them suspect one another. Pit them
against each other.
With any luck, they would take care of each other before he even had to lift a
finger.
VII.
THE early morning proved to be unusual in that Remy Bergeron wasn’t awakened by
an explosion. He wasn’t particularly alarmed by this. He also wasn’t unduly
concerned when he padded into the main room at first light to find nothing but embers in the fireplace and Brandt nowhere in sight.
Despite Shawn’s hopes for stealth, Remy had heard almost every move the
two men had made in the early hours of the morning from the top bunk of the room he shared with Carl. As soon as the noises coming from Shawn’s room started, Remy