A/N: Wow, it's been a while! Sorry for the long wait, classes and midterms have both been occupying the majority of my time, as well as a couple of group projects and out of town visits. But enough excuses, here's chapter 2!
Paris always seemed like a ghost town this time of year. The usually crowded streets bustling with tourists and residents were now empty, blanketed by a thick sheet of snow from the previous morning. Frosty shop windows mocked those unfortunate enough to deal with the cold, tempting them with the prospect of a warm bed and a fire. Those fortunate enough were oblivious to the tundra-like atmosphere right outside their homes, nestled in their blankets of warmth and security. Inspector Carmelita Fox had been asleep in her apartment that night when her cell phone rang. She shot upright in the kitchen chair she had drifted off in, a plethora of documents and folders spread across the table in front of her like some unruly battle to hold her attention. She glanced over to see the dull green digits on her oven read a quarter past three. She made a motion to carry herself to her bedroom when she heard the phone a second time, the light vibrations causing her car keys to chime in tune on the coffee table. Stumbling across the carpet on what felt like stilts, she grabbed for the device and roughly pressed it against her ear.
"Sí?" There was a pause on the other end before someone spoke.
"Carmelita?" It was Amber Volk, the local Constable at the Interpol Office in Paris and her current partner. The two had been working cases for the past year under Barkley. Carmelita had initially expressed doubts due to past performances with her last two partners, but Volk's reputation of a fast riser in the ranks soon held weight in Paris, and she was now considered one of the top agents in this region.
"Do you know what time it is?" Carmelita replied bluntly, annoyed at the idea of being denied a hot shower and clean sheets.
"I know, but..." Amber sounded nervous, slightly on edge. Carmelita picked up on the hesitation almost immediately.
"What's wrong?" She hesitated again before speaking in defeat.
"It's your dad." Those three words had been enough for Carmelita to throw on a pair of boots, shorts, a tank top, and her jacket and be down to her garage within minutes, taking the stairs two at a time. The metal door of the building's garage moaned as it parted the snow that had built up in front of the cave-like entrance, but she floored the gas on her old Ferrari as soon as the dank, humid darkness gave way to a landscape blanketed by glowing frost. The tires of the car squealed as they struggled to grip the icy surface, but caught traction and caused Carmelita to be pushed back into her seat. She thought about her father as she weaved back and forth through twisting streets with a white-knuckle grip on the wheel, wondering how something like this could happen. She knew that him coming back had been a bad idea, after the career that he had led. The only reason he had moved back to Paris after his retirement was that he was suffering from what most would call being stir crazy. Le Paradox's threat to the city and the rather lackluster response by Interpol officials did little to convince Rodrigo that Interpol was well off, as well as the rising frequency of attacks on this scale growing. Rodrigo had fought his way up the chain enough to know that the people in charge would be willing to prevent a crisis like that ever happening again. In order to fix this problem, Interpol signed him on as an advisor for case management and crime prevention within the Paris office under Barkley. With little results after six months, he pitched a solution that he had orchestrated over the past few weeks with the aid of friends he had met over the years. He had developed the concept of a task force to deal with these larger threats that would allow regular field agents to continue on investigations while the situation was dealt with. He called it the "Interpol Criminal Activities Research and Suppression Divison." While Carmelita had been wary of an international, militarized police force, Interpol picked up on the idea and ran with it, placing Rodrigo Fox in charge of the now dubbed ICARUS Group as it's Director of Operations. In the past two years, the division had eliminated large-scale crime in Western Europe with frightening effectiveness, and had become recognized around the world as an elite counter-criminal and counter-terrorism unit. Her father had initially turned down the responsibility of running the group, but took the director position with some coaxing by Barkley and others. Now, that same director was struggling to stay alive in the ICU. Amber had given the address of the hospital to Carmelita as she had left. A normal trip from her apartment to the hospital would usually take about thirty minutes. She managed the drive in twelve, swerving to the curb and running to the doors at a dead sprint. The smell of sanitized floors hit her nose as she burst into the main foyer of the hospital ward, making a chill run up her spine. The stark, bare bulbs of a standing lamp illuminated the waiting room, casting feint shadows that danced with the three-dozen people occupying the rows upon rows of chairs. Most of the present individuals were Interpol agents or executives, a testament to the respect Rodrigo had commanded over the years. Barkley was the first to approach her.
"How are you Carm?" She ignored his query flatly, gripping his wrists with some force.
"Where is he?" Barkley tried to wrap one arm around her shoulder but she pulled away from him.
"Now Carm, you need to understand..."
"Where is he"? She demanded an answer again, her ears now pinned back against her head and her speech replicating that of a snarl. Barkley waved his arm toward the closed Intensive Care ward at the other end of the room. Her steps were now frantic as she threw open the doors, her eyes greeted by a host of medical personal that tried to push her away.
"Por favor! Please, it's my father!" The two wards currently holding her back eyed each other before releasing their grasp, allowing her to pass into the dimly lit room. That sanitized smell was even stronger in this tight space, but she saw what she assumed to be her father lying on a bed wrapped in more bandages than clothing. His breathing was raspy but steady, and his heart monitor chimed in a rhythmic tone. From what she could see he was missing the better part of his right ear, the rough tear covered by white gauze that was already turning red. Both of his hands were taped and his one arm was already set in a cast, angled over his chest almost lazily. Layers of gauze, wrapping, and bandages covered his chest, while his lower half was covered in a stark white bed sheet. The chart at the end of his bed described his legs as stable, despite have suffering multiple fractures in both. She sat there for a few minutes with his hand in hers, listening to the steady pace of his gasps for air.
"He won't be awake for some time, the medication has taken affect." Carmelita's head shot up to see a small doctor peering into the room, hesitant to barge in on her.
"What happened?" The guinea pig shuffled into the room and withdrew the clipboard at the foot of the bed. He pensively looked the papers up and down before reading it to her.
"Official police report hasn't come through yet, but he suffered minor cranial bleeding from the fall out of his window, a fractured radius and ulna, wrist, and shoulder, two broken tibias, minor internal bleeding with a collapsed lung and severe facial trauma. It's really a miracle that he's in the shape that he's in." She gripped his hand tighter at that sentence, gently rubbing his palm with her thumb. The doctor quickly exited and Carmelita sat there for what felt like hours until a knock came from the doorframe. It was Barkley.
"How are you holding up?" She didn't even look up as tears welled in her eyes.
"I'll live, but do you know what happened? Who did this?" Barkley coughed and waved his phone in her direction.
"That's actually what I was coming to tell you. Cross has got some of his guys working on it, and that he wants to see you. I think it's the cafe just around the corner." She again stood still, simply exchanging looks between Barkley and her father. He placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Go, we'll keep an eye on him; 24 hour security until we figure out what we're dealing with." Gripping his hand one last time she walked out of the room slowly with Barkley, shutting the door as two agents wielding H&K UMP's posted themselves at the entrance. She walked outside in almost a daze; Amber had already gone and she could see the light from the cafe sign glimmering in the snowy street; it was the only place open at this hour and was frequented by those heading home from the various bars also scattered about. The light scent of coffee drifted from the golden windows as she approached in the frigid air, watching a few figures pass back and forth inside. A blast of warm air hit her face as she opened the door, quickly stepping inside and shrugging off the snow on her jacket. The scene inside was that reminiscent of a coffeehouse straight out of an independent French film. A thin blanket of smoke danced around the ornate bulbs hanging over the scattered tables, occupied by maybe half a dozen customers. At the table to her left sat a lone, blanketed timberwolf, standing as she walked forward and embracing her in a hug. If Rodrigo Fox was the brains behind ICARUS, Matthew Cross could be considered it's muscle. Cross was an imposing figure to most; an athletic, muscular build covered in a charcoal grey coat of fur, with a short, black beard and coal black hair. A pair of emerald green eyes sat in behind a sharp, defined face that bore scars that danced diagonally from the bridge of his nose, across his eye, and down his cheek. The beard always made him look older, but the wolf was more appropriately in his late twenties, with thirty knocking on the door any day now. He was the current field commander of ICARUS, with a decorated career of military and private contracting service behind him. He motioned for her to sit down, a steaming cup of coffee already waiting for her.
"How are you Carm?" He was English by nature, but his accent had become somewhat construed after a short residence in South Africa, mixing his Berkshire accent with that of what you would hear in Johannesburg.
"I'm-I'm fine. I just- I'm not really processing this right now." He gripped her hand and lowered his head, retrieving his phone from his pocket and placing it on the table. He seemed hesitant of speaking at first.
"I'd like to say I brought you here for consolation, but there's more to it than that. My boys are looking into who did this to the old man; all we know for sure is that they buggered off real quick once they finished." He pushed the phone towards her, the screen showing a picture of the burnt out frame of what used to be her father's apartment. She could also see other ICARUS agents sifting through parts of the wreckage.
"Have they found anything?" The wolf withdrew the phone and put it back into his coat, glancing around the cafe.
"In due time. But first, I think you'd like to meet the chaps who found Rodrigo." As if on cue, the bell on the front door chimed as it swung open. She turned and, despite the heavy amount of clothing the two wore, she recognized those horn-rimmed glasses anywhere.
"Bentley!?"
A/N: So what could Bentley have to do with Rodrigo? Expect to see some of your favorite characters make a few cameo appearances, it's the least I could do. ;) Again, sorry for the long wait; hopefully the next chapter gets out sooner.
Songs I'm jamming to this chapter:
I Walk Alone - Saliva
Breathing - Yellowcard
All on Me - Case & Point
King of Kings - Motörhead