SIX DEGREES
A Gunslinger Girl fanfiction, based on works by Yu Aida.
Thanks to Kiskaloo for the loan of Michele Pagani and Kara, and Professor Voodoo for Genco Ribisi.
Chapter 01|Lost in Translation
Springtime in Italy, bringing to thawing Apennine foothills the first breath of summer, sunlight pushing in long golden spears through lightening clouds and signalling an end to grey winter days, with the promise of blue skies to come.
Not that one could tell from here.
Heels sinking into soft rubber flooring, Monty ran sharp eyes up the Social Welfare Agency Medical Department gym's tall walls. Climbing past canvas-fronted padding, and through bands of rough-cut concrete where two higher levels had been removed, a necessity when the space's regular users were perfectly capable of jumping a storey or more, her gaze finally came to rest upon ground-level windows far above.
Certainly not from here.
Most cyborgs developed a... distaste... for the gym: its odour of stale sweat, chalk and rubber unpleasant reminders of tests it was used to stage, tests meant to run a girl to her absolute limits. Those were not memories dearly treasured, and that many preferred to try and forget if possible.
Today, however, she had additional reason to find issue with her presence here.
A grunt of exertion filled the air.
Slipping back one light grey suit cuff, she inspected her watch, eyes drifting to the figure hanging from one of the wooden bars, sleeves of its navy skivvy top pushed up to reveal straining muscles. Wires dangled from under the dark blue fabric, running to where two technicians monitored their computer screen a short distance away.
"Need I remind you we're supposed to be joining Priscilla and Genco in half an hour?"
Another grunt, and Jethro Blacker dropped briefly, before beginning to haul himself skyward once more.
"You may need to – grunt – go without me for a for a bit luv – grunt - until we're done here." Monty nodded as her handler's eyes flicked toward the room's other besuited occupant. "I don't see you making the likes of Hilshire or Pagani do this."
In front of the bar, Ferro Milani looked up from her own notes at the sweating agent. "Hilshire was a walk-in, and Pagani was sent to us by the Prime Minister. You, on the other hand, were recruited from British intelligence."
"Not directly, you found me in a gaol cell."
"Yes, wearing a priest's cassock, but your previous intelligence experience was the reason we bothered, and so we expect you to maintain the same standards here as you would have there."
"And here was me thinking all you wanted were my charm and good looks."
That earned him an unimpressed expression.
"Besides, the other handlers we can monitor day-to-day. You, however, are generally absent." The SWA's personnel manager glanced toward the two medical techs, one of whom held up a thumb. "We're done now here anyway..." her eyes flicked to Monty, "...he's all yours."
With that, Ferro turned away, striding toward the monitoring pair, notebook still under her arm as Jethro dismounted the bar, staggering slightly as the mat flexed beneath his weight. Righting himself, the former spy swung arms back and forward a few times, still breathing hard, before rolling up his shirt to start picking at electrodes stuck to sweating skin beneath.
Stepping forward, Monty began to unclip those wires attached to his back, before peeling off the sticky contacts they had been bound to. Collecting each in her hand, the girl walked again to her partner's front as he tore off the last sensor there as well, before setting his shirt neatly in place once more.
Holding out a palm, she gestured for him to hand them over. "Give me those, I'll find a bin on our way out."
"Thanks luv. Do I have time for a quick freshen up?"
Accepting the spent patches, the cyborg gave him an appraising look, and cocked an eyebrow. "Well, you're certainly not walking into the Spook Pit looking like that."
"Thought as much."
"Besides, I need my computer."
Outside the gym, clean, antiseptic neatness greeted the fratello, marking this a high-security area, one of those constructed as part of the Medical Block's refurbishment with the start of its SWA tenure. Cold fluorescent light reflected from white walls, bouncing off easily cleaned flooring to pick out rubber bump-rails and heavily reinforced doors... intended to hold back something far more powerful than the original architects could ever have envisaged. Finding the elevator quickly, Monty produced an ID card, touching it against the car's reader, before punching the button to take them back to Ground. It only made for a short ride but, when the doors opened again, the change was marked, white sterility replaced by lime green walls, light wood trimming nicked and scarred with age and chequered vinyl underfoot, out of fashion at least twice since it had been installed.
Low budget, obsolete, the facade of a facility being run on a shoestring.
Checking the hall into which they emerged from scuffed flooring to bare, concrete ceiling, the cyborg lead her partner right, making quick progress through the building's warren toward its front entrance. Pausing only to get scanned out at the manned security checkpoint, the pair stepped through double doors into golden sunlight.
Edging toward summer it may have been, but the full warmth of those months still represented a distant dream, and Monty watched as her still sweat-soaked handler shivered in suddenly cool late spring air. The halt was momentary however, and they were quickly moving again, down a short flight of steps and out across the Medical Block car park, toward a dark grey Audi estate parked tail-in amongst scattered vehicles.
Waiting for her partner to first unlock it, the girl settled into the passenger seat's comfortable leathery embrace as, beside her, Jethro brought the A4 Allroad's diesel engine churning to life.
Another shiver.
"Glad we didn't walk this time?"
"A little this time, yes."
Pulling the gear stick into 'D', her handler released the handbrake and edged their car out of its space, tyres rumbling on coarse, cracked, bitumen seal.
It was only brief trip back to the Agency's main cluster of buildings, barely worth the drive, unless one was lazy, or in a hurry, and so the journey passed in silence, Monty settling instead to watch campus grounds passing beyond her window. Familiar grounds, but not homely: a distraction and necessary evil to visit upon once every few months.
Beneath her the tyres' note changed, all-terrain, all-season Pirelli treads crunching onto gravel as her partner turned into the SWA's back car park: overflow for when the main courtyard was full, or a discreet option for those whose preference was to remain out of sight. Finding a secluded corner, Jethro backed them in beside a red BMW X6, giving the engine a moment to idle down before turning it off.
Door closing with a solid thud, the cyborg inspected her new and unfamiliar neighbour warily, before circling their own vehicle's snout to join her handler, eyes flicking over its shining paintwork and grille, before cocking a questioning eyebrow.
The spy followed her gaze. "Audi gave it a polish, and they sent it back clean as well."
"Good to know. Given what I've been reading, I'm becoming increasingly less enthused over returning here. We might get the next service done elsewhere... Germany perhaps."
Feeling the light touch of a hand between her shoulder blades, Monty began to make her way toward the Administration Block entrance, Jethro's voice floating from behind as she swiped in through the side entrance. "Well, you were with the quacks at the time, so at least we weren't out there looking like a fratello."
Inside, the SWA main building presented a marked change again from the two faced medical wing, by a good couple of centuries to boot. Here, worn terrazzo clicked beneath leather heels, wood panelling climbing centuries old stone walls which gave way to long, breezy colonnades, the courtyards they surrounded architectural relics of a time long past. The back park's downside, of course, was that it lay substantially farther from the staff accommodation than the main courtyard, and the complex's ancient layout only compounded that issue. The walk however was dispensed with quickly, and two sets of feet were shortly climbing stairs toward the handlers' rooms. Waiting for her partner to open his own door, Monty held out her hand again.
"Keys."
Those were dropped into her palm with a jingle. "Where did they put you this time?"
"Next floor up."
A pause, and Jethro's face took on a pensive expression. "So I can go to the pub in less fear?"
"I'm by the stairs." Her words were deadpan.
"That's a 'no' then."
Giving her partner an unimpressed look from behind heavily lidded eyes, the girl said nothing, instead leaving him to slip inside while she headed up another storey to halt at a door immediately by the last step. Pausing, the young spy glanced down to where wood framing met carpet and, seemingly content with what presented there, let herself in.
The room beyond was sparse at best, its furnishings an eclectic mix between cheap, government issue items and heavy, antique, hand-me-downs; fitting reflections perhaps of the SWA facilities as a whole. Starched white sheets on a cheap bed contrasted the solid wood desk and wardrobe, her cardboard and leather suitcase set neatly beside the latter, its orange corners and straps adding some colour to the space: a loaner space, one for visitors and infrequent guests.
Crossing the small area quickly, Monty retrieved a sleek Macbook Pro which had been residing on the desk and tucked it under one arm, before inspecting her reflection briefly in a frameless, full-height mirror leant against the opposite wall. Settling her knit tie more neatly into place, she headed once more for the exit.
The corridor outside remained clear and, giving the door a solid tug to ensure it was indeed locked, she paused to listen. Content the area remained hers alone, the slender cyborg knelt down, dropping her laptop for the moment and tweaking one short, auburn hair from her neatly styled bob cut. Breaking the strand again, she gave her fingers a lick to paste it neatly across the gap between door panel and frame.
It was a rudimentary sort of alert at best, but still better than nothing, and the young spy stood once more, giving her suit trousers a quick dust on the way up. Retrieving her computer, she trotted toward the stairs, listening again at the well's top. Now she could hear voices approaching, still a little way below and, moving quietly back down to the next level, she slipped into her partner's room.
In stark contrast to her temporary billet, the space here was full to bursting. The same desk still resided beneath a tall window, with the same warm-bulbed work lamp set upon it, and the same full-height mirror leaning against bare bricks. The bed foot it stood beside however was of the queen variety, leaving even less gap than there might otherwise have been between it and the large steel compactus which squeezed everything else across the carpet, filled with detritus of jobs past.
From the bathroom she could hear sounds of splashing water and, ensuring this room too was securely locked, Monty settled herself onto the edge of her partner's bed to wait.
She didn't need to wait long, and soon the water cut off, Jethro's still dripping head emerging around the door frame, edge of a white towel swinging back and forward through the gap below, presumably held in place to preserve his modesty.
"I'll be out in a minute."
With that he disappeared again, and Monty placed her computer on the soft duvet, voice rising slightly to talk through the still-open door.
"So, tell me what I have missed... domestically."
The reply was quick coming, slightly muffled by the intervening wall. "Not sure, what do you know?"
"Ferro gave me the download since we last touched base whilst I was in hospital, but that's two days old now, and official. Genco visited also, but he's mostly been working on our own data anyway." Placing arms behind herself to lean back, the girl looked up, past hanging lights and steel ducting, to the ceiling high above. "Hilshire and Triela are still chasing Anasetti's trail, but very little progress has been made in tracking down who may have been photographed whilst flailing about Rome after him. Operations are finally starting to gather momentum once more, but only because attempts to retrain fratelli into more covert roles seem to have come to naught, so those instructing are now freed up to start doing field work again... and they've hired a new handler to try and help cover some the capability gap."
"Sounds about the gist of it." Now Jethro emerged from the bathroom fully, dry this time, but with the towel still in place around his waist, and Monty politely averted her eyes as he retrieved underwear from an open cell in the compactus. "Jean's still stuck being only able to send out fratelli with espionage experience under any modicum of safety, but he's been pairing them up to those without in the hope some will rub off - you can look again - which, reading between the lines, is wearing a little thin." Turning her head back, the girl found her partner with a crisp white shirt halfway off its hanger, the towel draped neatly across the back of his desk chair. "Jean suggested that we stay around a few extra weeks to try and ease the load somewhat."
"And?"
"I said no."
"Good."
"Same argument as last time: we're better off keeping a low profile when in-country, particularly with the Padania now apparently actively hunting for Agency pairs."
"I presume then he accepted that."
"He did. I suspect he was mostly making the suggestion so he could say he had." The shirt was on now, steel links holding the cuffs closed, and it was followed by a pair of slate grey suit trousers, cut to compliment a slim physique. "I'm sure he wouldn't be averse the extra warm bodies mind, but he's conceded the argument once before, and I'll give Croce-the-Elder this: he doesn't change track much."
"Well, let's hope this meeting with Genco and Priscilla can find us a reason to leave quickly all the same, ideally before anyone higher up realises we're here."
Trousers in place, it did not take long for Jethro to complete dressing: shoes, belt, tie and clip, watch. Reaching down to the table, he picked up a light shoulder holster, checking quickly the black SIG P230 riding there was loaded, before slipping the rig over his shirt, taking a moment to adjust its fit.
Finally shrugging on his jacket and doing up the middle button, the Englishman turned to his charge. "Presentable?"
Keeping her movements carefully methodical, the girl stood to cast an evaluating eye over her partner, before stepping forward to straighten his tie and brush a few specks of imagined dust from spotless shoulders. "Close enough."
"Glad I pass muster." Stepping forward, he bent down slightly to scoop up Monty's computer with one hand, placing the other lightly in the small of her back to usher her toward the door. "Let's not keep Priscilla waiting."
Officially, if somewhat less excitingly, designated Section Two: Basement Conference Room One, the 'Spook Pit' resided in a former wine cellar, one sadly long devoid of its intended stores. At some undefined point during the SWA's early history, one of its denizens had noted that, despite advances in modern technology, a few feet of solid earth and stone still made for some of the best anti-snooping measures going. As a result the room had become the preferred haunt of Section Two's small intelligence department, earning its nickname in the process.
And the Agency had seemingly not been the first to reach that conclusion either.
Alighting from the end of worn stone steps, down the centre of which some health and safety type had unhelpfully painted a thick red line, Monty tapped out an organisation-wide all clear on the iron-studded door at their base, before punching a six-digit access code to the keypad and swiping herself in. Pushing against heavy timber, it swung slowly open, revealing the now familiar vista beyond, and the other reason for the room's nickname. Beyond low stone arches, the white shape of a long, Saarinen-esque table resided, two legs curving gracefully toward the floor, S-profiled swivelling chairs spaced neatly around the oval circumference; leftovers from some former tenant. Three large, spherical, stainless steel light fittings hung low over its surface, their warm glow cast only as far as the setting's edges, lending the darkened scene a distinctly conspiratorial air.
Letting his girl go first, Jethro followed her through, sealing the cellar behind him once more. Now closed in, he was able to get a better look at the four shadowy shapes clustered around the vintage illumination's extremity. Two faces fit right into his mental image of the space, the two others, not so much.
Ducking under one of the arches, the handler gave a friendly nod toward the two he did recognise, Genco Ribisi finishing arranging papers before returning the gesture.
"Apologies for our tardiness, Ferro had me tied up on the monkey bars."
Now the other known personality looked up at them, eyebrows raised slightly over an impish smile. "I'm not entirely certain how to correctly answer that." Pausing for a moment, Priscilla Meleori, the SWA's intelligence superintendent and chief analyst, glanced sideways at her still shuffling subordinate. "Not to worry, we're not quite ready here yet anyway."
While she talked, the former SIS agent turned his attention to their two newcomers, a male and female, the former broad shouldered and short in leg, though still clocking in around the same six feet as himself, longer torso covered by a light pink, two tone shirt and dark blue suit. The latter wore... not a lot actually and, as Priscilla finished her sentence, he turned toward them, laying a hand lightly on Monty's shoulder to shuffle her around as well.
Another fratello pair then.
Both parts of it too, which was unusual. Very few, if any, cyborgs ever attended 'adult' meetings, and if they were imitating his own fratello that would likely make them...
The man held out his hand, and the British handler took it as his opposite started to speak. "Florentino Vitale, formerly of AISE. You must be Jethro Blacker."
Feeling the other's grip build quickly to crushing levels, Jethro kept his own grasp firm, but no more, instead allowing the hint of an amused grin to wash across his otherwise friendly expression. "That's correct. Jethro Blacker, formerly, albeit very briefly, of the Roman Catholic Church..." he was rewarded with a slight flash of confusion in the other man's eyes and, using the waver to extract his hand, placed both palms on Monty's shoulders, "...and this is Monty. Pleasure to meet you."
In front of him, he felt movement as she proffered her own slender fingers. "Monty Blacker."
Another little flash of surprise as his partner's smooth, rounded, and proper tones were juxtaposed against a handshake he knew would be every bit as firm and businesslike as his own. Florentino recovered admirably however, the flash quickly disappearing.
"Yes, the infamous spyborg..." now he stepped back to bring the other attendee into view, "...this is mine, Odile."
Monty held out her palm again, and the taller girl opposite glanced quickly at her own handler before taking it, blond hair swaying. That bought him a few extra seconds to take in the rest of what was presented: a metallic gold, backless top looping around the nape of her neck and held proud of the rest of her body by large, not entirely naturally falling, breasts, before being caught again high on her waist by a wide, white belt, topping a black, patent leather mini-skirt. Open-strapped heels in similar tones brought her height up nearer her handler's eye level, toward whom she glanced again.
That gaze quickly snapped forward once more though as Jethro proffered his own hand, careful to keep eyes high. "Nice to meet you, Odile."
"Thank you, sir."
The grip which returned was weak, though she managed a smile, and it set another alarm bell ringing in the back of his head. Florentino, however, was talking again. "Chief Lorenzo has had me riding heard on some of the domestic types until Odile passes her VdCO, but eventually we'll be joining you on the international circuit."
"Is that so?" The tone emanating from just below shoulder level was neutral, that of polite query, but the handler hid an internal wince, pulling the speaker in a little more tightly as he did.
"Indeed, Pieri drew me specifically out of AISE for the role. We're here today to get some idea of where you're at, and what gaps we can fill intelligence wise internationally."
Jethro again kept his face impassive. "Well, I hope it's enlightening for you."
"So do I, I've been given your reports, but they've been heavily censored, and very little chance for discussion has been made available."
"We've been holding off having another sit-down on the international front until you two were back and Monty was out of hospital." Priscilla's voice, and the British handler looked toward her again.
"Thank you for that."
"It hardly makes sense to go over the same ground twice." Now, the normally cheery analyst's tone took on a harder edge. "Besides, Florentino, here, is still supposed to be concentrating on helping out with the domestic front."
"We won't be doing domestic labour forever though, so we need to be kept abreast of what's happening, and Odile could use the practice at knowing what to look for in the field and on paper."
"Speaking of domestic matters though, I presume you brought Hilshire's work?" The voice came from in front of him again, and Jethro could detect the first hints of impatience sidling into his partner's tone.
Genco however was looking up from where he stood, black topped glasses catching the light momentarily. "We did."
"That will make as good of a starting point as any then."
Twisting now from where she was held, the slender brunette strode quickly around the table, Odile quickly slotting in on her flank: not so close as to be a hindrance, but close enough to disallow anyone else prime position. Giving an internal sigh, the British handler followed after his girl.
Frankly, things would be a lot easier, and much less tense, without the other fratello here... or at minimum without the other cyborg.
Sliding past the blonde, he pulled up behind Monty, leaning forward to place one hand on the table beside her so as to peer over a skinny shoulder. Before her were spread a series of A4 photo printouts, various documentation, a couple of pages run off from Google maps, among others. Unobtrusively studying one picture rested on the table, of a man in leather jacket in the middle of mounting a large touring bike, Jethro moved his spare hand again to his partner's shoulder, thumb beginning to massage idly at artificial flesh.
Genco was still talking, "This is everything Hilshire has put together so far though, frankly, I have not had much chance to go through it in detail."
"After Anasetti's pistol was linked to the Turkey weapons shipment, we started trying to track down anything else in that range of serials." Priscilla was talking now. "We're too under-resourced to throw the net particularly wide though, so I've had to pass them onto AISI, through secure channels of course, to keep an eye out for." At the mention of her data possibly going to a third party, Monty made an unimpressed sound, however the intelligence superintendent pressed on. "The shipment which came off Anagnos Dragon was also captured intact: very similar to the Turkey load, just larger."
"Obviously for the ammunition and consumables there's not much doable, but I ran the Dragon serial numbers against those we were already tracking from Turkey, to see if any matched or to try and further our scope." Pausing to bring his gaze fully on the petite girl beside him, Genco shrugged. "Keeping an eye out is about all we can manage at the moment. Like Priscilla said, the way things are here, we just don't have enough usable bodies to go actively searching."
"I take it you've already been asked to stay put for a bit?"
Standing straight again, Jethro nodded at the chief analyst's query. "Jean did ask, but we've plenty else to be getting on with."
"And besides, I'll have the domestic types up to speed soon enough." That was Florentino, who now looked down at his own cyborg. "Found anything useful there yet?"
Still beside Monty, bare back to her audience, Odile's head shifted from where she had been following the more experienced girl's movements, before flicking haphazardly through one of the open folders laying on the table.
"Umm, not really... sorry sir. Is there something in particular I should be looking at?"
"Not yet, I was hoping those already out in the field might be able to give us some direction."
Catching the tone, Jethro chose to ignore it, and instead replied with a shrug. "I'm afraid we might be forced to disappoint you there. Today was going to mostly be about getting all cards on the table, and seeing if that might jog a thought for someone."
"Seems a waste to have field people in to do that, AISE used to get it all collated down before bringing us in."
"Unfortunately we don't have that luxury. The SWA is primarily domestic focused, so for our end we have to pitch in."
"We're flat out just covering domestic issues with what resources we have," piped up Priscilla.
"Even Genco's only started helping us with priority in the last, what, four months?"
Without looking up, the bespeckled junior nodded. "About that."
"And I'll probably need to split his time between both your fratelli eventually as well, at best."
"Long and the short is we do our own drudge work." Monty also didn't look up as she said it, and Jethro watched as Florentino's eyes swung toward her again.
"If that's the case, I don't know how much help we'll be to you. I've not been here very long, and Odile's never left the compound, so we can't compare notes against anything you're looking at. I was expecting actual information."
"Then make yourself useful and start reading, or at least stop interrupting so the rest of us can get on."
The other man's eyes shifted to Jethro, mouth opening slightly as if to say something, but the Englishman again just shrugged. From his girl's far side however, Odile's quiet voice wafted upwards, head swinging toward her handler, and back again to her more experienced sister.
"Umm, I don't think we're supposed to talk to handlers like that."
No response.
Seemingly devoid of anything further to say, Florentino pulled back one of the chairs, its heavy steel base scraping across stonework, before picking up a folder at random and sitting down to peruse its contents. For his part, Jethro leaned back in to rejoin the conversation between Monty, Genco and Priscilla, one eye on the man and his closer charge. Surely he would have to be keeping an ear in the conversation.
Or, perhaps, he was leaving the observation to someone else.
Eyes flicking down, the former SIS man again caught sight of Odile, still seated where she could peer in on proceedings. Occasionally she would glance back toward her handler, but generally her attention was on the group's work... or, at least, it appeared to be. As minutes wore on however, she started to fidget, fingers flicking idly at papers before her, eyes glancing at one thing or another, before snapping back to where Monty was now poring over another set of figures with the fratello's man in Rome, one hand massaging absently at an upper arm as she thought. Eventually though, the watcher's eyes would start to glaze over, and the cycle would start again. It could all just be an act of course but, if he were not very much mistaken, Odile had not been activated particularly long at all, and probably not long enough to acquire any real acting capability... especially if she had yet to make an excursion off-campus.
More likely someone had instructed her to study what eventuated - he kept his own gaze locked firmly to what was under discussion on the table – though whether to acquire information, or simply for her own knowledge of the job, was unclear.
Another rustle of paper as the blond toyed with what lay before her.
Hopefully it was to learn the ropes, though given her own handler's apparent attitude to doing the drudge work, she might not...
The thud of a folder landing and scrape of metal on stone gave him an excuse to peer again at where Florentino had stood up, report the former AISE man had been reading now returned haphazardly amongst its brethren.
"Look, I don't think being here is doing us much good. If this is what Pieri expects his field agents to spend time doing, especially the international ones, then I'm going to need to have a talk with him about getting more resources. This sort of thing might have been acceptable before, but not anymore." Now he looked directly at the other handler. "Once you've a direction, give me call, but otherwise I need to keep getting Odile prepped for her VdCO." There was another scrape as he wiggled his chair in again. "Come on, Odile."
The blond cyborg was up quickly and, making a quiet, apologetic, goodbye, tottered along behind her handler to the door, which closed with a thud.
Silence hung in the air for a moment.
"And good riddance too."
Genco's voice was low, but the tone was enough to garner raised eyebrows from Jethro as he moved around to claim the seat vacated by Odile. "I take he's not made many friends?"
It was this time, however, Priscilla who answered. "Not really. By all accounts he's a competent enough field agent, but the attitude has not exactly been putting people onside... you have to feel sorry for his girl though, poor thing."
"Not acclimatising to the work?"
"Not really, and she's still too naive for us to safely help her out either."
Another scrape of a chair signalled Monty also rising from her place.
"Were those two left alone in here at all?"
Genco shook his head. "No, we all arrived together, and I booked the room."
Moving to where the Vitale fratello had been seated, she began running a hand across the underside of the table and chairs there. "Good, that makes things easier, though I'm not overly enthused about the prospect of their joining us again."
Jethro gave her a querying look. "You don't trust them?"
"No."
There was a brief pause, and it was Genco who spoke up to break it.
"Well, Lorenzo has instructed us to give Florentino whatever support he needs... though I guess we could call it a security issue, compartmentalisation..." he glanced at his superior, who nodded.
"I might be able to spin it like that, at least until Odile is experienced enough to have acquired some level of ingrained paranoia."
"...what it does mean though is I will be covering both international fratelli," continued the junior analyst, "so I may not be able to help you two out as much as I have been."
At that, Jethro gave a wry grin. "Well, no offence, but we managed for two years without dedicated support. The help has been appreciated, but if we need to make do, we'll make do."
"I'll try not to get the both of you confused then."
Monty's seat scraped again across worn flagstones as she once more took her place. Wasting no time, she reached forward, plucking from the table a photo which had so far remained untouched.
"Who is this?"
Leaning over, the handler looked at what his girl was showing: a picture of a man, the same he had noted before, sitting astride the large touring bike, distinctive cylinder heads of a BMW boxer-twin engine now clearly visible, and nodded.
Priscilla, however, was also craning in. "That, we suspect at least, is Anasetti's recruiter. Victor took those photos outside the Port of Genoa just after the Anagnos Dragon raid. That man made an exit on foot once the fire fight finished and took off. Victor's been trying to hunt him down again ever since. Why?"
"I think we've met before," she held out the photo for closer inspection, "Skipper?"
"I think so." Examining the picture more finely for a second, he turned to address the two Agency analysts. "The printing press we were chasing after Alexandria, when we still had a chance of finding it, took us to Cyprus. This chap, I'm fairly certain, and I suspect it's what Monty is getting at as well, tailed us out of the Anagnos Shipping offices there. He's about the same build, similar jacket and similar bike." Now the handler selected another photo, this one a blow-up of that vehicle's side and, peering closer for a moment, held it out for the other three to see. "These scuff marks here, those could be from where he dropped it trying to follow us."
"If it really is the same man, he certainly gets around," Priscilla had another one of the pictures in her hands, and was making her own study of it as she talked, "and the Anagnos link is interesting. We only suspected he was Padania, a strong suspicion, but still only a suspicion. However we did run a backtrack from Anagnos properly as well and it does, eventually, lead to solid Padania interests. If he's working in more closely with them..."
"In that case though, if he does turn out to actually be Padania, why not just embed him with the shipping company? Why go to the effort of splitting him out?"
That was Genco, and Jethro shrugged before replying. "Could be any number of things: they want to maintain some separation, some deniability for both... or he was embedded, but trying to separate himself while he knew we were there..."
"...or it was Anagnos under scrutiny, and we were just caught in the crossfire." Monty's tone was dry. "The Padania only own the company, the CEO and staff are not necessarily loyal to their cause... or he could be some as yet entirely unknown third party." She halted briefly, changing tacks. "How is Hilshire's investigation going anyway?"
"Slowly. Whoever this man is, he's no amateur and he's covering his tracks well."
"Perhaps if we had known about this a mite sooner, we could have helped expedite things." The words were unimpressed. "The Genoa raid was months ago, why did none of this make its way to us?"
Nothing.
Finally, Priscilla spoke up again. "The information was that tentative we didn't think it worth passing on just yet, not until there was more to go on."
"This is why I ask for everything. I'll sort out what I do or do not need."
As she finished the sentence, Jethro reached over to give his partner's knee a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry luv, I'm sure Priscilla's got the message." His eyes moved back to the woman, shooting her a brief, wry, smile. "It would probably be helpful then if we could drag Hilshire in to talk over where precisely he is at, and get anything which has not made it into the reports yet."
"I don't think he's on campus right now, he and Triela are deployed most of the time." Genco's tone was low.
"In that case, let's ensure to package up everything relevant from today, and we'll go through it with a fine-tooth comb. I'll give Hilshire a call once we get back to the office, and see if Jean would mind us borrowing him for a day or two." The Briton glanced at his watch, shuffling back a jacket cuff to expose its brown dial, nestled in a sharply angled case. "For now however, I suggest we make a start at running through whatever else is here. That should at least give us some idea if anything needs to be hit at the same time, and by then, frankly, I will probably want feeding."
While the SWA was itself set amongst sprawling grounds, to very few parts of those were cyborgs actually afforded unfettered access, and those they were given free reign over tended not to be frequented by the Agency's adult population. Everyone however, staff and cyborg alike, needed to eat, and the cyborgs more so than most. As such, the campus refectory stood as one of its few truly common areas, long tables invariably occupied by one or two bodies, even outside regular meal service... which also made it one of Monty's less favoured places to visit.
Finishing off a last bite of fettuccine, the cyborg placed the empty plate atop her partner's, returning to peruse a thick lever arch file open on the table. Around her, the room buzzed with conversation, its inhabitants continuing that strange dance inherent to all communal hubs, into which her handler had momentarily disappeared. At least she had managed to claim one of the smaller settings, wedged into a corner, where she could keep one watchful eye on the refectory in general and its entrance in particular.
Unfortunately, being able to spot trouble coming, and being able to avoid it, were two entirely different matters.
"Hi, Monty."
Uttering a resigned sigh beneath her breath, the young agent closed her folder and looked up.
"Petra. Kara."
The tone was not one deigned to encourage further conversation, but if the other girls noticed, they payed it no heed, and the Asian-featured Kara continued. "I didn't realise you were out of the hospital already."
"It was routine maintenance. I was discharged this morning."
Now Petra's gaze slipped briefly to her companion. "You've not seen Odile yet today have you, Kara? She was in her meeting."
Monty cocked an eyebrow. "Odile should be keeping her mouth shut about what happens in, and regarding her attendance to, those meetings... presuming she has aspirations toward maintaining that attendance."
Unperturbed, the Russian cyborg continued. "She was upset with you, Monty. Apparently you were rude to her handler."
The eyebrow stayed up.
For a second, nothing was said.
"If I was I certainly do not remember being so, and if I were it would presumably have been related to his wasting my time and the planet's oxygen supply." The words were terse. "Don't you two have something better to do?"
Still standing, Kara shook her head, sending long, black hair swinging. "Not really. They finally scrapped the espionage re-streaming programme, so for the first time in months I've actually got a little free time again, rather than trying to help instruct that and carry out operations."
"Re-stream?"
The Asian girl was just opening her mouth to answer when Monty felt two hands land on her shoulders, giving them a squeeze.
"The re-training attempts." Glancing up, she found her handler standing over her, as his own gaze turned to their two companions. "Michele was saying that, after Florentino came onboard, they decided bringing in new handlers would be a quicker and easier means by which to plug the paranoia gap, and to keep sending the older fratelli out with minders until they start abiding by Moscow Rules. Hello Kara, Petra."
"Hello Mr. Blacker."
"I see you've a new one in the dorms."
Kara nodded. "Yes, Odile. She's nice, a bit shy, but nice."
"Anyone would be shy, being thrown into that environment... I take it her handler's in and out a fair bit as well right now?"
That, however, got a shake of the head, along with a slightly more sour expression. "Not really. Odile is training a lot, but Mr. Vitale also has to go out with other fratelli. She hasn't passed her VdCO yet, so she can't go with him, and normally he just sends whichever cyborg he was with to get her, or calls."
"That so..." Monty felt another squeeze on her shoulders, "...now, sorry to ruin your fun, but I need to take this one with me, otherwise we'll not be getting any range time in."
Bidding their farewells, the two second generations departed, leaving the Blackers in peace. Letting them go, the remaining girl lifted her folder, tucking it under an arm while her partner collected dirty plates and cutlery. Pausing only to drop the latter off on a trolley left out for the purpose, the pair headed for the door.
Outside, and safely beyond earshot, Jethro spoke again. "Florentino certainly doesn't appear to be making many friends now does he?"
"Not really."
"Interesting that they billeted Odile in the cyborg dormitory though, might be the brass are intending to integrate her a little more closely into the domestic side than Vitale realises just yet."
"If so then they're welcome to her, though it could be the SWA is just being security conscious as well, I would not want Odile nearer anything particularly sensitive than absolutely necessary either."
Ahead, the door to the staff accommodation loomed, and conversation cut off again as the Blackers passed through, parting ways for their respective rooms. Reaching the upper floor, Monty checked her strand of hair was still in place and, content it indeed was, let herself inside.
Away from prying eyes, the young spy lifted her jacket, unshipping the pistol which had been concealed in the small of her back by British-tradition double venting and, ejecting the Walther PPK's slender magazine, began to unload it, pushing cartridges onto the desk with a thumb. Removing the final round, she retrieved a thin leather wallet from her luggage, before reinserting the now empty box and placing the pistol inside, set neatly next to the magazine's two brethren, beneath a long suppressor. Loose rounds were placed out of sight in a suit jacket pocket and, picking up her now stowed weapon, she headed again for the door.
Locking it and replacing the hair strand, the cyborg made for the stairs. Halfway down however, she found a familiar blue suit and pink shirt coming the other direction. Pausing in his climb, Florentino eyed her speculatively, seemingly drinking in what he saw, letting the moment hang, until a questioningly cocked eyebrow prompted an address.
"Monty, if you're heading back to the cyborg dorm, I need you to take a message for me."
The eyebrow stayed up. "Sorry, I'm not going anywhere near it today."
Or ever, if possible.
That drew a slightly perplexed expression from the new handler. "Not at all today? I thought most cyborgs were not allowed in the handlers' accommodation without supervision."
"Most aren't..." a new voice from behind, and she felt a strong arm slip across her chest, Jethro drawing her backwards "...Monty, however, is billeted here when we're on campus. It's more convenient to me, and to the offices."
"I didn't hear anything about that."
"And you probably won't, it's a convenience that has been perpetuated because it makes sense to do so, rather than anything officially recognised."
Now Florentino's eyes were drawn to the slim wallet the girl carried, then to a similar one in the hands of her partner, along with the small box of 7.65mm ammunition clasped beside it. "I take it you two were headed for the range?"
The British handler nodded. "Indoor, yes."
There was another pause, but eventually the SWA's newest addition seemed to come to a decision. "I'm about to head that direction myself. If you don't mind stopping at the cyborg dorm on the way, I could give you a lift."
"I think we'll walk."
Monty felt her partner's grasp get a little tighter as she said it, before continuing for her. "We appreciate the offer, but it's a pleasant sort of evening, and I prefer to walk the campus whenever possible: we spend too much time sitting down as is."
"Suit yourselves, I'll probably see you there anyway."
With that, Florentino moved past, headed up the stair well, and the Blackers continued their escape. Reaching the building exit, Jethro pushed it open, before ushering his girl out into chill evening air and handing over the box of ammunition so she could return her extracted rounds to it.
"Now there's a brush I could do without being similarly tarred by."
The pair walked another few steps in silence, before Monty spoke up again. "Did Jean get back to you regards borrowing Hilshire?"
"He did. Victor will be back the day after tomorrow, and we can drag him in then."
"That's about what he said on the phone too, so hopefully we shall avoid any clashes."
"I doubt there will be any... I think he'll be glad of the opportunity to rest Triela for a few days. It sounds like they've been busy since we were last in Rome."
The SWA's indoor range and armoury lay a reasonable distance from the main complex, far enough that, like the Medical Block, it became an easy choice for most whether to walk or drive, that equation generally coming down on the side of speed and convenience. The cool evening however made for a pleasant stroll, and the pair spent their remaining journey in comfortable silence, the crunch of leather soles on gravel serving to accompany them as twilight finally gave way to inky darkness across the landscape. Ahead, warm light could be seen flooding steps down to the half-sunken bunker's entrance and, as they drew closer, it became also apparent that despite the late hour, they would not be the only ones on the range.
A worn looking Peugeot 306 was probably property of the duty clerk, but the other two vehicles had to belong to handlers. One, a black Lexus hatchback, was recognisable as transport for Danilo Olivetti and, parked tail-in to dwarf the little hybrid, towered the red X6 spied earlier.
Beside her, Jethro nodded to the latter. "Either Pagani's suffered a taste malfunction, or they've upped the vehicle allowance without telling me."
Passing the big BMW, Monty led down to a heavy steel door, pushing through into the range's foyer. Up on the wall a television set muttered away, football match commentary echoing from hard concrete, stymieing muffled gunshots emanating from behind the closed range entrance. Coat hooks beneath it remained bare in the finer weather but, at the clerk's window opposite, two figures were already standing.
That confirmed any suspicion regards the new vehicle's ownership then.
At the sound of the door, Odile's head snapped around, plastic pistol case in one hand swaying with the movement. Saying something to her handler, she tottered toward the new arrivals, seemingly still a little unsteady under the combination of tall heels and tight skirt, the same low cut halter she had worn before somewhat gamely still in place.
"Hello Mr. Blacker, Monty."
Stifling an internal sigh, the senior girl followed her handler's lead, returning the greeting. "Good evening, Odile."
"Sorry we couldn't keep helping at the meeting today, but Florentino wanted to keep working toward my VdCO."
It took a moment to assemble an appropriate response for the plump-lipped, innocent, and guileless face peering earnestly back at her.
"There probably wasn't much point in your being there, we were only comparing notes with Genco and Priscilla."
"Oh, okay... Florentino said he thought you were holding back on us."
That got a raised eyebrow, and Monty felt her handler put an arm around her shoulders, giving one a warning squeeze.
No, this wasn't a girl she ever wanted knowing the same secrets she did.
"Strangely enough, working from first principals tends not to throw up information immediately."
"Florentino said that we shouldn't need to, work from first principals I mean, that proper field agents should be spending their time in the field."
"And we should be..." the former AISE man was now approaching from behind his charge, boxes of 9mm ammunition in one hand, shooting glasses and a set of ear protectors in the other, "...you'll have to excuse Odile, she's yet to learn what should and should not be talked about."
The girl's features froze at those words, slowly turning red and melting into an expression of embarrassed chastisement, as her handler stopped behind her.
"That said, I do want to keep getting her prepped for her VdCO. We've been active almost two months now, so I would like her passed out in the next few weeks."
Apparently looking to change the subject, Jethro spoke up again. "That your X6 outside, Florentino?"
"You like it?"
"I think they must have upped the car allowance while I wasn't looking."
Now the other handler gave a self-satisfied grin. "No, they haven't, it's part of the package the SWA offered to get me across from AISE: greater car allowance, bigger pay check..." he dropped a hand on Odile's head, "...more input into how my cyborg would be put together."
Stifling an internal groan, Monty lifted her partner's hand from her shoulder with careful, delicate fingers, placing it deliberately by his side before passing over her pistol and box of rounds. "You two have a fun chatting, I'll go and draw ammunition."
Leaving Jethro to his fate, the girl moved quickly toward the range clerk's window and, from behind, she heard Florentino say something else, then unsteady heels following, Odile arriving just as the man looked across his counter.
"Come back to join us for a bit have you, Ms. Blacker?"
"It would appear that way. I'll need three hundred rounds of 7.65mm Browning... ear protectors, glasses and targets."
"Right you are." Selecting a form from its pigeon hole, the clerk pushed it and a pen across the counter, before standing up. "Complete that and I'll find the rest for you."
Lifting the pen, Monty started to fill out poorly photocopied pages with her handler's details, doing her best to ignore the fidgeting blonde stood to one side. Finally, Odile spoke, leaning down to bring their heads level, her voice quiet.
"Actually, I... had a question for you."
She wasn't going to get out of this was she?
"Mmm?"
"The VdCO, is it difficult? The other girls say it is nothing to worry about but they're... not like us, are they?"
"Define 'like us'."
The tone was caustic, and at it, the buxom cyborg glanced away briefly. "You know, special. Florentino says we're special, weaker, but better for working a long way away. Florentino says we're meant to do that, but does being weaker make the VdCO harder?"
The VdCO, Verifica della Competenza Operativa, or Verification of Operational Competency, was the assessment every cyborg, from the start of the second generation onward, had found herself subjected to in order to prove to the bureaucrats she could be safely allowed off campus and into the wild.
Well, all second generations except for...
"I wouldn't know, I never did it."
That was met with a moment of silence.
"You didn't?"
"No."
"Why?"
The clerk had returned by now and, p.p.-ing her own signature onto the bottom of the form, Monty handed it back, before accepting the small boxes of ammunition, protective equipment and paper targets.
"Thank you." Turning away from the window, the young agent aimed herself back at where both handlers were still talking, catching Odile along the way. "To answer your question: it was not considered relevant."
"But I still have to do it. If it wasn't considered relevant for you, then why would it be considered relevant to me?"
"No idea. Maybe the higher-ups are not in enough of a rush to waive the bureaucracy anymore..." she let some irritation edge into her words, "...or maybe they're feeling an overpowering need to tighten quality control this time through."
Arriving back at their two handlers, Monty passed over half of what she had acquired to Jethro, receiving her own gun and old box of ammunition in return.
"Are you going to chat all night? Or shall we make a move?"
Silence for a moment, before her partner answered. "Personally, I would like to be in bed at some reasonable hour, and I'm sure the clerk here wants to go home eventually." He motioned to the range entrance. "Lay on Macduff."
Allowing Florentino and Odile first passage, the Blackers followed them through, previously muffled gunshots becoming loud cracks as the door was opened, dulled immediately again by donned hearing protection. Waiting to see which direction the newest fratello went, Monty headed the other, taking a position between them and the Olivetti pair, stationed at the firing line's farthest extremity, though still visible through thick Perspex dividers.
Unzipping the leather wallet, she extracted her PPK, before checking the manufacture date on each fifty round lot of ammunition. Selecting the newest, she placed it and the wallet on a wooden bench which ran along the back wall then, opening the still untouched box she had carried since their last visit to Rome, began filling her magazines.
Peering left, beyond where her partner was also setting up, she spied the heavy-set form of Raych, seemingly waiting for Danilo to finish loading magazines for her. As she watched, the other cyborg glanced her direction, gaze returning quickly downrange as she met her observer's eyes. Behind, the larger girl's handler passed forward his handiwork, setting his charge up for another drill.
Pushing the final round home into the last of her small mags, Monty picked up a target, clipping it to the rail above and ran it out to ten metres then, checking safety glasses remained firmly in place, inserted a magazine into her pistol and racked the slide to chamber its first round. Sweeping the safety with her thumb to ensure it was off, the young agent took careful aim at the paper's centre of mass, waiting for it to stop waving. From here it should be an easy affair to hit and, taking a breath, she opened fire, sending shots methodically down range to chew out a small hole in the sheet's exact centre.
Content with that performance, she dropped the spent magazine free, replacing it with a fresh one, before running her target out the full twenty-five metres this gallery would allow.
From up the line, more reports started, and she glanced the other direction to where Odile was standing, face on to the far backstop, a PX4 Sub Compact levelled at her own twenty-five metre objective. Behind her stood Florentino, arms folded, a pair of binoculars in his hands, which were now raised to inspect his charge's work. Shifting her own gaze to the target, Monty found she had just enough angle on the paper that sharp vision would let her watch as the new cyborg placed a small, neat, group in its centre.
Well, at least she was good for something then.
Taking aim once more at her own mark, Monty set about replicating the feat.
"Thanks for taking the time to sit down with us, Victor. It's appreciated." Jethro's gaze wandered over those once again assembled in the Spook Pit. "I shouldn't need to say this, but it's worth re-iterating, all things considered: what gets said here doesn't go beyond the five sets of ears present. Anyone with more than two brain cells available to rub together will probably work out what's being discussed, but there's no need to help any eavesdroppers further. If you need anything from our end later, talk directly to Genco or Priscilla... ideally to Priss from here on in as she's another step removed."
Focus drifting from her partner, Monty leaned forward slightly to regard the German handler, seated another place down. He looked tired, naturally gaunt features given extra definition by the cellar's low lighting, overall effect making him appear more drawn than he would already have been...
...or, perhaps, it was less a trick of the light, and more to do with the unrelenting pace he had been required to maintain since Massimiliano Anasetti finished shooting up Rome. Whichever it was, the effect was made only more stark by its juxtaposition against Priscilla's rounded, still girlish features, sat next to Genco in the places opposite.
Now, however, the gaunt expression broke into a brief, albeit dry, smile as he nodded his accord. "No, thank you, it will be nice to have some help chasing Anasetti's trail."
"It would be rather nice to clear up a loose end or two for our part as well," put in Monty.
And, perhaps, even start making some headway again elsewhere to boot.
Hilshire's gaze now rested on the cyborg. "I can tell you what we have found so far, but the investigation is moving a lot slower than I would like, slower than anyone would like." That brought another dark shadow across the man's face, but it disappeared just as quickly. "Is there some place in particular you would like me to begin?"
Looking over the top of her laptop, she cast a speculative eye across inherited mid-century furniture, its surface once again littered with folders, documents and photographs, though this time carefully curated to remove anything not directly linked to the current discussion. Only two intelligence department representatives had been made party to the meeting as well, Priscilla and Genco, those already familiar with the Blackers' work, but no-one who may have been assisting with Hilshire's case.
Beside her, Jethro spoke up. "Have you had any luck narrowing a name down?"
The German shrugged. "We have found several..."
Bringing up the list, Monty turned her computer so that her partner could read the screen.
"...though apparently the one he contacted Anasetti under was 'Vito Genovese'. For the sake of simplicity it's the name we have been using up until now."
Across the table, Genco's brow furrowed at those words, and she cocked an eyebrow as the junior analyst quickly typed something into his mobile phone, before mouthing a curse and turning to his laptop, physically hooked into part of the SWA network, instead.
"I'm happy to continue with that," Jethro again, the hint of a wry grin cracking his features, "how about you take us from the top, and we'll decide what could use expanding upon as you go."
Hilshire nodded but, before he could start to talk, Genco spun his own computer around for the gathering to see.
"I thought so..." suddenly realising the table's attention was his, the young man paused, swallowing, "... I thought the name sounded familiar. 'Vito Genovese' was an American/Italian mobster."
Eyes turned to Hilshire, who shrugged again. "We have not been able to make contact directly, though those who have talked to him say his Italian sounded native, or very close to."
Monty looked at her handler, putting on her best sceptic's tone. "Could be a coincidence, or a feint."
"Could not be as well," the handler now turned back to Genco, "after this, do you want to quietly run the rest of the names Hilshire has?"
The analyst nodded, and Monty made a mental note to do the check herself should time allow, a second document to compare against never hurt. The trick, of course, would be letting Hilshire in on whatever information fell out, and keeping him party to any further developments, without whomever from the analysis team was currently handling his case catching on.
"You think he might be American?"
Priscilla's query brought her back to the conversation, but it was Jethro who answered. "It's a possibility."
"He is certainly very good at covering his tracks. A lot of the time we barely get more than two steps down a trail before losing him completely again..." now Hilshire looked across at the Blackers, "...I do not know what reason the Americans might have to join in with the Five Republics, though."
"I can think of a few." Monty's tone was dark.
She could too, none of which made for particularly beguiling propositions and, under the table, Jethro gave her knee a reassuring squeeze.
"Monty's right, there are plenty of reasons the US, or anyone else for that matter, might want a conduit into Italy. By the same token, it could be entirely possible 'Vito' here is from the industrial espionage side of things... a mercenary rather than government agent. It would be easy enough for the Padania to hire in someone like that to help them, and the Americans have some of the stiffest corporate competition around."
"It would help explain... or be explained by, I guess... their recent change in focus as well," put in Genco. "The Padania's, I mean."
"It might, but don't lose sight of the fact that this is still all speculation, so chase it for now, but with a grain of salt... continue, Victor."
Reaching forward, Hilshire sipped from a tall glass of water. "As I said: we have been struggling to track Vito more than a step or two down any one line of approach. We did some talking, mostly to Anasetti's peers, before the Genoa raid..."
"Did he talk to any of them directly?" Interjected Monty.
"No, but at least it let us know what to look out for. The photos helped after that, and we were able to work through people and businesses relating to the raided shipment: so the trucking company, port authority, freight forwarders..."
"Hermes?"
Hilshire nodded. "Yes."
"They're an Anagnos subsidiary."
The former Europol detective nodded again. "I was made aware of that, and followed it further from one link to another. A few people remembered speaking to Vito first hand, but those were mostly receptionists or juniors greeting him and exchanging small talk. Anyone who may have known more was not going to tell me."
"On that note..." Priscilla again, looking across at the Blackers, "... Genco was able to use that information to help firm up the links you had made originally, right up to Marittima Italiana."
"Nice to know."
Hilshire continued. "Plotting the points where he did make contact puts him all over Italy, and farther. We checked his bike once we had photos of it, Italian and European databases. He is smart enough to change the number plates, so it was not so straight forward, but the plates we know of have been flagged making border crossings as far afield as Ukraine, Croatia, Cyprus, Norway, and others. So far though, no clear pattern has emerged, but he most frequently seems to head for France or Austria. We also have a speeding ticket he was issued in Paris."
Now Priscilla spoke up once more. "We presume he must fly too: no-one wants to spend two days on a bike for a single meeting."
"It would make sense for him to fly but, if he does, it has not been under any of the names we have for him so far," the German looked back toward Jethro and Monty, "I would like to go through any security camera footage from the places we know he has gone, to try and build up a clearer picture of when he may have visited, how often, and what for, but the resources have not been available to do it..."
A brief pause.
"...That is the broad outline of where we are at."
Monty looked back to where she had been taking notes on her computer screen. It was a very blank page which sat before her. Hopefully it could be fleshed out a bit as they got down into the details. Right now though, if she were to take a guess at their likely next move... there was really only one option where things had been narrowed down enough to target something smaller than an entire country.
As if reading her thoughts, Jethro spoke up.
"In that case, I say we spend the coming day or so..." a glance at Hilshire, who nodded accession, "...going through what's here, and anything else Victor has, with a fine tooth comb, to see if more matches up..."
Another pause.
"...however, my gut feel right now is we will be picking up our end of the job in Paris."
