SIX DEGREES

A Gunslinger Girl fanfiction, based on works by Yu Aida.


Prologue

Spring in the tropics, a first taste of summer's wet bringing with it promise of rain and dank humidity to come, turning winter's dry heat into a muggy sauna; one only to be broken by thundering storms. For now, however, those had yet to eventuate, and evening instead offered a welcome respite for the inhabitants of Panama City. A light breeze, mingling with the song of cicadas, carried sweet jungle scents down from darkened hills above, cooling sun-baked streets and drawing people back onto their pavements in the wake of afternoon's sullen torridity.

Feeling the air's cool touch, Sir Algernon Herbert shifted a red telephone handset to his other palm, chair swivelling to let it wash over him, wafting through tall French doors and into the darkened office, mixing with lazily turning fans in the gloom high above. Saving one ear for arguing voices emanating from the secure line's far end, he tapped idly at a thick, hide-bound diary, placed open on his desk blotter, with the blunt end of a fountain pen, engraved gold nib glinting under the desk lamp's warm glow. Late though it may be, if Her Majesty's Secret Intelligence Service wanted its head of station available, then he made himself available, surrounded by deep wood panelling, vaulted ceilings, leather chair and all... which at least made the wait slightly more pleasant. The other consolation of course was that, if it was late for him here, someone must have made it into Vauxhall Cross very early indeed, assuming they had even gone home in the first place.

Part of him still wished they would get to the point a mite quicker though.

And if wishes were horses then beggars would ride. Patience my lad, M will get there soon enough, once everyone has had a chance to vent.

From below the terrace onto which his office fronted came the churn of an engine starting, diesel clatter resonating around courtyard walls of this Spanish-Colonial villa. As if aware of its need to compete for his attention, the conversation on the line's other end ratcheted up a notch. Seemingly discussions were coming to a head, which meant it was also probably approaching about the time where making some input may actually be worthwhile.

"If I may intercede for a moment, gentlemen..." for a second there was no change, then M's calm tones, halting the conversation, "...thank you. Algernon Herbert, Central American Station. I would suggest that sending another agent eastwards may not be the best course of action. The Chinese tolerate us in and around Hong Kong to an extent, but if their Ministry of State Security decides we're getting too heavy handed, they are likely to cause more problems than are solved... especially as we were supposed to have given the place back to them."

Another pause while the conference sorted itself back into some semblance of order, and once more to let it begin making headway again, an irritated voice announced as hailing from the Far East Station bullying its way to the front.

That should give them something else to bicker over for awhile longer, but eventually the callers would wind up somewhere sensible again.

Eventually.

It was just the waiting for them to do so which caused vexation.

The heavy Bakelite handset was shifted to his other ear again.

Another puff of cool breeze, another whiff of jungle... the sounds of a city night starting to mix with those of nature carried on the wind, faint in the background. Taking a remote station posting had its perks: a certain autonomy and freedom to run things as one saw fit, which was why, perhaps, calls such as this tended to drag on so.

Tap, tap, tap, went the pen.

Heads of station conference: too many kings, used to ruling their own little kingdoms.

The Far East station head was talking again, and Algy let him get to the end of his sentence before interjecting once more.

"We're all under-resourced Charlie, you know that. I'm only saying if you've already one agent with their back against a wall, it might not hurt to display a tot extra of discretion..." He paused again, allowing the irritated retort die down. "...I wasn't suggesting any lack of discretion to begin with. However, as a whole, our little circus needs to exercise caution: Hong Kong is no longer our own backyard. If we are caught playing the Game too hard the Chinese may just start to push back more, which could make life around Asia very difficult indeed. Ideally someone more deniable would suit any intervention, someone we've got evidence on to say 'not ours' if things go awry, and with some recourse to proof beyond our own simple denials..." He paused, letting the words hang as another thought occurred, "...someone who doesn't work for us anymore... in fact, I think I may know just the chap. Though finding him is going to be a challenge."