Chapter One: The Boss to Die For
Summary - Alex' last run in with Scorpia nearly left him dead. And now MI:6 needs him to take part in the most dangerous mission he'll ever face. A mission that he might not come home from…a mission a loved one will die from.
A private jet carrying twelve of the 'Founding Fathers' of Scorpia soared high above the clouds.
Inside the plane, the twelve people sat on either side in leather comfort chairs. None of them said a word for they had just faced an awful defeat in Australia. The tension was extremely high in the relatively small space…duh.
Dr. Three appeared from the cockpit of the plane, face showing almost no emotion what so ever. The others seemed to turn towards him expecting him to speak. And indeed he did:
"Ladies and gentlemen, I think we all know why we are meeting here of all places. It is a very dangerous world today, and with MI:6 onto us, I had no choice but to hold a conference here," he announced to them.
"Spare us the speech, Dr. Three. We all know the reason for being here. We all want to know the same thing -" a grumpy man named Steinberg spoke.
"Ah, indeed. You all should find a file underneath your chairs. If you will," he said demonstrating. He pulled out a silver folder with Scorpia ensign on the front.
They followed and found a brand new plan waiting for them inside the folder.
"As you can see, I have already made plans with my new partner to get the company off the ground again. We have all suffered huge financial losses to the stocks invested in Scorpia. This new plan is exactly what the company's about," Dr. Three said.
"And what exactly is that plan?" asked a woman named Helen sitting before Dr. Three.
"I'm only here to give the introduction. I'll leave the rest to my partner…" Dr. Three smirked, and sat down in his chair.
"What partner?" Helen asked.
"Good evening," said a British voice from the cockpit. A woman emerged, yet she most of been in her late teens. Her hair was long, and brown with green eyes. She was dressed in black business cloths, and had a deadly appeal to her.
"Allow me to introduce my new partner," Dr. Three now said with a grin. "Irina Rothman."
There were a few gasps throughout the plane. Was this the true daughter of Julia Rothman? Many wondered.
"I trust you all have had a decent flight so far -" she started.
"Excuse me, just a moment! Is this truly the daughter of Julia Rothman?" one man asked Dr. Three.
"This girl's isn't even of age!" shouted another. They was a decent amount of argument on the plane.
"I can assure you all that your questions will be answered," Dr. Three said, trying to wave his hands in protest.
"You'll have to excuse me," Irina began. "I thought this was a professional criminal organization. I suppose I must've mistaken it for a court room."
There was a cold, deadly touch to the way she spoke. It was plain to everyone aboard of this.
"As I started, I trust you have all had a decent flight. Unfortunately, there are more pressing obligations to tend to-" she started but was once again cut off.
"Pardon, ma'am. There are only twelve spots on the board of directors for Scorpia. Even if you were a Rothman, you wouldn't be able to change the rule your supposed mother created," Steingberg rudely stated.
"Mmm, yes I see. Perhaps we should talk business later. I'm quite parched, would you care to join me for a drink?" she asked him. He couldn't refuse a drink if he tried, and Irina knew this.
She poured two glasses of some vodka, and added an olive to one. She took a seat next to Steinberg, and handed him his drink.
"Thank you, Ms. Rothman," Steinberg said. "Cheers!" They clanked glasses,
"To what did you have in mind?" she asked after taking a sip.
"Pardon?" he asked her.
"A toast to what?"
"Your arrival to the company," he said taking in some more vodka.
"Were you not the one to say that I wouldn't be able to join?" she asked, grinning. He felt more comfortable around her when she smiled. Just like her mother.
"Perhaps we got off to the wrong start," he smiled. He slightly brushed against her leg with his own.
"Hmm, yes well. I wouldn't go as far as to call you a cold-hearted bastard," she muttered taking in another sip.
"Sorry?"
"I've read through your file, Mr. Steinberg. I know you take pleasure in seducing women like myself into your bed," she said coolly.
He looked at her for a moment, and saw something in her eyes that made them both sort of chuckle. "Yes, well. We all have faults," he said.
He coughed for a few moments after that. She eyed his glass without the olive in it. He was getting a bit intoxicated.
"Yes, I suppose we do," she said again coolly. There was a hint of darkness in her voice this time though.
He kept on coughing. "You see Mr. Steinberg. Men like you make this world what it is. It is men like you who bring about its untimely demise," she started.
He coughed up what looked like a bit of blood, and looked at her after - confused. She in turn looked at him, and admired the fact that the olive was gone.
"You may not know all about me, but that doesn't mean I don't know all about you. I know your fond of women, as much as you are olives," she smiled again.
His eyes widened. He coughed up more blood into a napkin. The other members of Scorpia now looked over to Steinberg who was one lurch away from rolling around on the ground.
"How was your drink?" she asked coolly.
He didn't respond. It was as if he was choking on something. He spit out larger amounts of blood onto the floor.
"It is quite ironic," she said, standing above a now half-dead Steinberg, "that out of all the ways you would die, you die by a poisoned olive. I suppose this really is a back-stabbing business," she said again.
After one final cough, Steinberg stopped moving. Dr. Three had seen the whole account, and was grinning widely. Everyone else in the plane was shocked.
She reached into her purse on the table, and pulled out a Silenced pistol. "Anyone else who objects to my being here, speak now," she said cocking her pistol. "Or forever hold your peace."
She grabbed her glass of vodka, and put her heel on Steinbergs head. "Cheers," she said coldly.