Chapter 2
"Jacqueline?" He asked, disbelieving.
The lovely woman who'd looked stunning and ethereal in a white Grecian dress only a few nights before looked, well still stunning, but deadly in black jeans and a leather jacket. The 9mm helped her deadly appearance too.
"Lucian, lovely of you to stop by," she greeted almost nonchalantly, despite holding a gun to Birkhoff and him doing the same to her. "What brings you here?"
"What brings me here?" He asked incredulously. "Why are you here?"
"Ah-ah, Lucian, that's deflecting with a question. Doesn't work with me, cher." She shook her head, a small smile curving her lips.
"You never answered my question," Birkhoff replied.
"True. I'm doing my job."
"What job?"
"I told you, I'm a private contractor. I do all sorts of favours for all sorts of people."
"Private contractor seems a bit magnanimous for that outfit."
"Oh, do you like it? I knew I'd be seeing you tonight so I thought, why not?" She smiled teasingly.
"Don't start with that act again." His voice had gone hard; none of his lilting sarcasm was in his voice. "I don't have time for this, so stop dancing around my questions. Who are you?"
Some of the spark in Jacqueline's mischievous green eyes dulled and she sighed, apparently throwing in the proverbial towel. "I'm Jacqueline, but I like to go by Jack. No last name. I am a private contractor, and I kill people for a living. Well, I'm hired to kill people, or do espionage, or other related things. I was hired by the Lord Mayor to stop you from shutting the security system down."
Birkhoff swallowed a hard lump that seemed to form in his throat. He couldn't help the half-hysterical chuckle that escaped him. Michael definitely should have been on this mission! He'd know exactly how to stop her from stopping him and complete the mission. He could always shoot her.
As if reading his mind she said, "This outfit is Kevlar. You shoot me, I'll shoot back and I guarantee that I'm not going to be the one that'll stay down." Her eyes had a steely glint to them that told him she wasn't kidding.
"Why haven't you shot me then?" He asked, keeping the deadpan going. The hurt his heart couldn't help but seep out was shoved down and away. He did allow triumph to stay, the triumph of realizing his words to Alex had come true. The only reason she could've been so charming to him was because she was an enemy.
"Well I wouldn't want to ruin such a good-looking guy." She smiled, and he could almost believe her. "Also that you'll have to tell your boss what's what." She added ruefully.
"And if I try to disable the security system anyway?" Birkhoff asked.
"I'll incapacitate you and cart you back to America." She responded simply and truthfully.
"How do you know I'm American?" Birkhoff asked, mind racing with possibilities.
"Trust me darlin' I know an American when I see one." She dipped into a Louisianan accent. "But I've got too many accents for you to tell where I'm from. You can't, can you?"
Birkhoff frowned in irritation at her. "No," he admitted, "I can't. What's the plan now, then?" He asked her, seeming resigned to the idea that she was in charge now.
"We can lower our guns and put them away, then talk like civilized people." She started to lower hers first and Birkhoff took one of his hands off the handle. "That's good, progress has been made." She teased.
Once his hand was fully lowered, his fingers gripped the sleeve, activating the mechanism that would let the knife slide through the sleeve to be caught and thrown immediately for Jack's head. This happened all in a matter of seconds.
Jack had seen the action and was in motion, dodging the knife, and charging him, catching the wrist with the gun and twisting it painfully, but only enough so Birkhoff's fingers grew slack and the gun dropped to the floor with a clatter. She followed through with an elbow to the face to disorient him. As he reeled, she held his wrist and retrieved a knife from her waist, pressing the blade threateningly against Birkhoff's neck.
"That wasn't civil." She breathed, eyeing him critically. "You're going to have a shiner," she observed, displeasure seeping into her tone. "I'm just glad I didn't have to break your wrist, which would have made your life a lot more difficult."
"Thanks for your consideration," He responded dryly.
"Well now it'll look like you at least tried to fight me." She snapped back. "I'm going to put a letter in your pocket. Then I'm going to knock you out and deliver you back to your hotel room. You'll go back to America in the morning and give your boss that letter." Taking a deep breath she said, "I better not see you in North Ireland again, otherwise I'd likely have to maim you and that'd be a damn shame."
Birkhoff watched her warily, increasingly irritated that she kept saying things that made it seem like she liked him a little. "What does the letter say?"
"Well it's for your boss. So you can know what it says only if he lets you read it, I suppose." She let go of his wrist and pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. It was folded several times, but very clearly just a piece of paper. "No tracking devices or anything. I'm not going to stick anything on you or in you to track you or listen in when you're unconscious. If I need to find you, fate will let me know." She said shortly.
"So your name's really Jack?" He asked. He couldn't help savouring every detail of her.
"Yes, Lucian, it is. Though looking at you, you seem more like a Seymour. Goodnight." Before he could say anything in response, or even fully process her sentence, his world went black.
Birkhoff woke in his hotel room the next day, startled and disoriented. His right eye also hurt like a bitch and was swollen shut. He blinked his left eye blearily and tried to get his bearings. He was in his hotel room... Jacqueline! He'd seen her last night. It all came back to him and a scowl settled on his features. He was going to have a hell of a time explaining this to Percy, Michael and Amanda. As if they didn't have enough problems with Nikita.
A thought fluttered in his memory for a moment, and he knew it was important, from last part of their conversation last night. But the more he tried to catch the memory, the more he couldn't remember it. He sighed and stood, stretching his muscles and making sure everything was in working order. Then he set to making sure everything was the way it had been and remembered to pull the piece of paper from his jacket pocket. His hat was folded neatly on his bedside table and his knives, gun and needle were sitting in a row beside it.
A sardonic smile graced his lips briefly before returning to a scowl. He made sure his room was locked before shedding clothes on the way to the bathroom to wash up. Finished his morning routine, he sat back on his bed, dressed in a pair of jeans and a non-descript white t-shirt. Then he set to packing everything up and left for the pre-determined flight that had been set up for his leaving today.
He'd only had one cup of coffee and was able to drift off on the plane ride; secure in the knowledge that everything incriminating was triply sealed and protected.
Understandably, Percy wasn't entirely pleased with the news. Percy's face was a mottled pink and stiffly, he pulled out the letter. They were in Amanda's office, Michael and Amanda peering over Percy's shoulders to read. Birkhoff surreptitiously read it from his position at Percy's side. The letter said:
To whom it may concern,
By now your operative should have made it back to the country, safe and sound. He will have told you of the events that have unfolded in the past few days and you will know that he has failed in his mission. Please refrain from turning your anger on him, rather stare stonily at this piece of paper and be angry with me instead. I wrote this in advance of meeting him, so I can't very well tell you that he'd gotten injuries in my presence, but if he fought back he very likely did. If he did, I hope I didn't break anything. I'd likely regret that later.
But I've gotten onto a tangent. The point is, your mission failed. And if you send anyone back to North Ireland to attempt again, that person will be returned to you, alive, but likely missing something important. Leave the Lord Mayor alone so we can peacefully enjoy this playground that is our world. Granted, that's not likely to happen, and fate has a tricky way of letting me know that I need to meet you all again, but nonetheless. I strive for momentary peace, no matter how brief it may be. Your operative being alive is proof of that.
So be good for awhile. Don't interfere with any of my contacts. Also, if you try to find me, you'll fail. All you have is my name. I'm not from Paris, or Louisiana or England or anywhere else. You can't locate me. You can't identify me. The only thing you can do is know my name and know that come hell or high water, I will defeat you every time you try to interfere with me. And you can't do a single thing about that.
xoxo,
Jack.
Percy gripped the piece of paper tightly, paper crinkling around his fingers. He didn't throw it and have a fit. The way that he was holding the paper was the equivalent of that. "What can you tell me about her, Amanda?" He asked, steely and commanding.
"She wrote fluidly with no pauses or intents of stopping. This can be a sign of truth, which she didn't have to stop and think of what she was going to say. Yet, she could have just as easily come up with what she was going to say beforehand and then have fluidity. She writes with no discernable slant, which means she could be either right- or left-handed, or ambidextrous. She writes eloquently and with great knowledge but can be casual and apologetic with her words. She's very contradicting, which I suppose is the point. I can't get a true read on her." Amanda's lips turned down a fraction, betraying her calm voice.
"Michael?" Percy prompted.
"From what Birkhoff said, she's likely trained. Military, maybe Black Ops. She's quick to see danger and she's a very quick-thinker. She assesses the situation before she goes into it, and keeps re-evaluating it as it progresses. She thinks four steps ahead and is good with weaponry. She seems to have the ability to detach herself from her emotions and fight tooth and nail for whatever cause she's leading. She could be one of our own." Michael finished speaking with a slightly marvelling tone.
Percy stared at the paper some more, seemingly reading certain phrases over again. "So she's like another Nikita." He murmured. His tone had turned cold and hard, his icy eyes calculating. "But with the potential to work with us instead of against us."
Birkhoff couldn't help but interject. "She said she's a private contractor, she seems pretty independent." He protested.
"Yes, but she might like the money and a stable place to stay. I imagine with all the missions she does, she's a nomad, never settling in one place. She could have a lot of enemies..." He trailed off in thought.
Birkhoff caught Michael's eye with an eyebrow raised. He was sending the look that said Percy probably has the most enemies. He saw Michael's almost imperceptible nod and turned his attention back to his boss. He knew the look on Percy's face as scheming. He also knew that he'd never actually be able to track her. She had laid it out truthfully in the letter, the only thing they possibly had on her was her name. Even if she seemed adamant that was her real name, there was always a possibility that that was also a lie. Everything she did was predicated on the idea that she was untraceable. Before he could voice his opinions, Amanda did it for him.
"Percy, we've no way to track her. Only her name and physical appearance, and the name could have also been a lie and she can change her appearance. What she wrote in her letter is correct. We can't do anything about her." Amanda explained calmly.
Percy's eyes settled on Amanda, softening as they often did when he looked at her. "Then I suppose it would be prudent to keep this to the four of us. If she appears again, we re-evaluate. For now... she's irrelevant." He announced.
Birkhoff met Michael's eyes. They both knew that she was very well relevant, and that Percy wanted her as an asset. They didn't miss the telltale pause Percy perhaps subconsciously let slip. They knew he wouldn't just drop her as a subject in his mind and he'd scheme about it. But they said nothing, because there was nothing they could do. And that was possibly the most frustrating thing of all.
