Chapter 1

"I'll have a sirloin, medium rare, with pepper sauce. And a wine of your choice."

The waiter bowed, and stalked off towards the twin metal doors with their perfectly round windows that allowed vision into the kitchen.

Maleagant turned her head towards the table where a balding, pudgy man was sitting with his much younger, much slimmer wife. He raised the glass of wine to his mouth and took a little sip, before setting it down and standing up.

She glanced one, briefly, at the kitchen doors again, then stood up as well, striding ahead to the door to the bathrooms.

The pudgy man arrived at approximately at the same time as she did, his fat fingers wrapping around the handle of the men's toilet.

Maleagant raised her left wrist, and spun one of the dials on the side. A small dart flew out of the other end, implanting itself into the bulging flesh of the man's neck. She put a hand on the man's back, and pushed him through the men's bathroom door, where he slumped limply to the floor.

The man washing his hands stared at her and frowned.

She fired another amnesia dart from her watch, hitting him in a similar position as the fat man, and he collapsed over the running faucet.

Maleagant bent over the fat man's body, and pulled the pen from inside her jacket, unscrewing it in half and opening a small lid within the tip half. With one hand, she held the man's mouth open, and allowed a few drops of a clear liquid to fall into his gaping, stenchful maw. Grimacing, she tipped his chin upwards so that the liquid slid down his throat, and screwed the pen back together.

She was at the door, about to exit, when a reflex kicked in, and she went back to both the fat man and the witness, pulling out the twin darts embedded in their necks.

The trip back to her table was uneventful, and the steak was waiting for her on a clean, round white plate. She sat down, placed the napkin on her lap and picked up her utensils. Although the steak tasted as it should and wasn't chewy at all, she didn't enjoy it, and her eyes were locked onto the fat man's wife, who was repeatedly looking over her shoulder at the bathroom doors.

In five minutes, the entire streak was gone, and she down the entire glass of red wine that had been set on the table. She wiped her mouth with the napkin, and waved to a waiter, slipping him her fee and tip in cash, before standing up and heading straight for the door.

"Miss!"

Maleagant went rigid, and slowly turned around.

A well-dressed man with greying hair was holding her mobile phone. "I believe this is yours."

She cracked a smile and peeled it from his hand. "Thank you. I wouldn't know what to do without it."

He bowed and turned, heading back to his seat.

Amsterdam was cold as ever, and the breeze that blew past the front of the shop made the hairs on her arms and her back stand up. Ahead of her, a limousine was parked, the chauffeur holding the door open for her.

She slipped into the back seat, right next to Jonas.

"Another achievement by you?" he asked, nudging her with his shoulder.

"He should wake up in a moment," she said, looking out through the tinted windows as their driver took off.

"And where to next?"

"That was the last one. Tonight anyway." She bent down and twisted the stiletto heels off both her feet. "Gosh, hate these things…"

"Why isn't Val the one doing this?"

"Because she's on a date with Dirk. Did you bring the sneakers?"

Jonas picked up the pair of red-and-white shoes from under his seat and handed it to her. "You'll look silly in these and that."

"That's why I told you to bring the clothes. And that's implying I don't look silly in a dress anyway."

"Honestly, Holly? You look absolutely beautiful in that dress."

She chuckled as he slipped both feet inside their respective shoes and tied the laces. "I told you I'm not into guys."

"Well, have you tried?" Jonas smirked.

"I had a boyfriend in high school. He was just...bleh."

"We're not all like that, you know. As in, who doesn't like a rugged ex-soldier with years of combat experience?"

"Self praise is no praise." She turned her back to him. "A little help with the zip?"

"What's the magic word?"

"How old are you?"

Laughing, Jonas pulled the lip on the back of her black dress down, relieving the pressure it exerted on her back. "The last time Dirk asked you that, you punched him."

"That's different. Give me the clothes and turn around. If I catch you peeking, I'll punch you as well."

"Alright, punchy girl." Jonas reached over to the seats behind them and passed her a t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

She frowned and hit him lightly on the shoulder. Maleagant pulled the dress down her body and slipped it off via her legs, quickly grabbing the t-shirt and putting it over her head. Once her arms were through, she pulled on the jeans and buttoned them up.

"Done?"

"You can turn around now." She tossed the dress behind her, over to the other seats.

Jonas turned to her once again. "Actually, I think I like you better like this."

"I'm not into guys."

"Don't have to say it twice." Jonas looked over his shoulder and out the rear window. "Busy night, eh?"

"It's busy for me every night. You still competing?"

"For the position? Yeah, but the other guy isn't a sniper with an inhumanly fast reaction time, so I think I'll get it."

"I was surprised, actually, when she chose you. You did almost kill her with your 'inhumanly fast reaction time'."

"The past is the past. Speaking of that, though, she's talking me to the tailor's tomorrow to get my suit fitted. Do you think I should get a black one or a cream one?"

"Black is good. Standard. Unless you wanna stand out."

"Yeah, I saw Lancelot - the old one, not Roxy - wearing a light-coloured suit in one of his pictures. And looked what happened to him."

"That was all Gazelle," she said. "You can't blame the suit for not being able to resist tearing by a diamond-edged blade."

Jonas said nothing, looking over his shoulder.

"Get a black suit. It'll make us look more like a team."

"That guy turned six corners with us."

Holly turned as well, to look through the darkened rear window, straight into the headlights of a car whose make she couldn't identify in the glare. "We're being tailed?"

"Looks like it." Jonas pulled his TT-30 out. "Should I give him a reason not to?"

She pushed his gun down. "We're in a metropolitan area."

"I was kidding."

"Don't kid now. This is serious." Maleagant tapped the driver on the shoulder. "Turn us into the first alley you see."

"Yes, ma'am."

The limousine made a sudden turned into a narrow space between two buildings, almost scraping the corner with its long profile, and stopped halfway in. Their headlights switched off.

Maleagant opened the door on her side, being careful not to make contact with the alley wall, and stepped out, her pistol behind her back.

The Porsche turned into the alley with them, stopping just a metre short of the back of the limousine. The driver's door opened, and a woman with auburn hair, wearing a biker's jacket stepped out, her arms raised above her head. "You got me."

"You look familiar," Holly said. "Have we met?"

"No," the woman said, giving her a thoughtful look. "But I think you've seen at least one photo of me. Oh, and, good job with Senator Harrison, by the way."

"Who the hell are you?"

"That's easy. I'm Diana Vex, and I surrender."

Marcel sat on the soft, luxury mattress inside his spartan, yet comfortable room, staring at the television screen on the wall opposite him. There was a news report on, cursoring a failed terrorist attack in Arkansas.

With a frown, he pressed a button on the remote, changing the channel to an old James Bond movie. He laid back on his pillow, his head turned to the side to watch The Man with the Golden Gun.

Three quick raps on the heavy metal door to his cell later, and the television switched itself off. The door swung open slowly, and in stepped a blonde woman in a business suit and heels.

Marcel tossed the remote onto his bunk. "And I thought this morning I requested to not be disturbed."

"There's someone here to see you."

"I don't wanna see them. James Bond was on."

"I'm afraid this is non-negotiable." She turned to the door. "Send him in."

"Thank you, Miss Valix," Michael Bishop said, taking a step into the room. He glanced at the TV screen and the luxury bed and then at Marcel. "I'm going to need some privacy, which means you turn off all the recording devices."

"Oh, of course," she said. The door closed behind her just as she exited, and they were alone.

"Do I know you?" Marcel asked.

"No, but I know you. Or more specifically, my friend knows you. And he wants you out of this place."

"To work for him?"

"No, actually."

"...are you with Kingsman?"

"Don't be so negative. Of course I'm not with Kingsman. I'm with a larger group."

"Did Diana send you?"

"I'm not Cabal, either, if you're wondering."

"Just tell me what you want."

Bishop sat down on the bed next to Marcel, who inched away. "I want you to join the group I mentioned."

"Fuck off."

"Even if one of the perks is having your criminal records wiped and free access to any country you desire?"

Marcel bit his lip. "You do a really good job selling this. And I'd happily buy into it if there wasn't a catch."

"There's always one, isn't there?" Bishop smiled. "We're going to be working against both Kingsman and your old friends."

"Thanks," he said with a grimace. "But no thanks. I'm done with that life."

"You'll have a chance to redeem yourself. Maybe Miss Beckett might even forgive you for what you did to her hand."

"Who are you?"

"I'm the guy who crashed your Eurocopter with a single shot from a sniper rifle."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you're getting until you accept my offer."

Marcel pursed his lips. "Say I go with you. Can you guarantee my safety? Because the Cabal couldn't."

"The Cabal's greatest weakness is its own nature. The world would implode if people knew who was in it. That severely limits their operations. Us? We're a bunch of nobodies. And as nobodies, we can do a hell of a lot more."

"I'm in," Marcel said, standing up. "But promise me one thing."

"Just say it."

"I want to be the one to kill Garth Hendricksen."

"Done." Bishop stood up and extended a hand. "Shake my hand and you're out of here. Trust me."

Slowly, Marcel reached up to grab Bishop's hand in his own, and shook it firmly. "I'm afraid I still don't know you."

"Oh, I'm Michael Bishop. We can talk all about me later."

"Can we leave now?" Marcel retracted his hand. "I'm itching to meet this friend of yours."

"You won't be meeting him. And let's wait a moment before we leave."

"Why?" Marcel sat back down.

"No no no, don't sit down." Bishop pulled him to his feet. "We've still got to wait for the plane to get get here?"

"The plane?"

A deafening boom made Marcel instinctively dive to the ground, holding his head down. The lights flickered and the room shook.

Bishop laughed. "That plane!"