"I will hear nothing of it Miss Dancer," Alexander Waverly practically barked at her. "This is your assignment and no little dream you've had is going to change that fact. Ridiculous my dear….you are a trained field operative now buck up and get over it."
He'd been chewing on the mouthpiece of his pipe but finally dropped it in the crystal ashtray in front of him with a distinct 'clink.'
The mood was rare for the Old Man, but even he could let his annoyance show through now and then and to have his top...rather his only female agent trying to bow out on a mission because of a nightmare? Well that was a bit of poppycock to him. Agents have them all the time. Why should Miss Dancer be coddled because of it?
"But blimey sir, agents have been known to be right about their instincts and perhaps that's what's coming through in Miss Dancer's dream."
The response given Mark silenced him instantly as one raised bushy eyebrow cast a look that would stop anyone in their tracks…. it was Waverly's equivalent of the 'stink eye.'
"Now here are your tickets to Texas, you'll arrive at Dallas Love Field Airport and will be met by an agent from our field office there. The passwords are included in your briefing folders along with your Southwest airlines tickets. You will report to me upon your arrival and I will expect regular check in's on the hour. Is this clear Miss Dancer, Mr. Slate?" Waverly harrumphed.
He sent the folders around on the rotating conference table.
"Yes sir," the agents answered contritely, in unison.