Author's Note: Okay, just so everybody knows, I'm going to try my hardest not to turn Dylan into a Gary-Stu. Just think of him as another of Ian's henchman, 'kay? The only reason I might focus a bit more on him now is because he plays a big part later. And not because he's an OC; I just like putting OCs through the more dangerous things because I love the movie characters so much. :P So try not to hate him automatically just because he's an OC.
Also, we should be getting into the main plot in this chapter, or at least into some excitement. Still mostly explanation. I promise that'll change very soon!
Thanks to Phillip for the review! :) I appreciate each and every one!
-X-X-X-
"Nope, Timon is still better, no doubt about it," Riley decided. Without looking away from the TV set, he took a sip of Sprite soda.
"Simba!" protested Daniel.
"Timon."
"But Simba's a lion!"
"Exactly. And Timon's a meerkat. You don't see many movies about meerkats now, do you?" Riley smirked. "Lions are everywhere."
"Simba's the hero." Daniel frowned.
"He would have died if Timon hadn't saved him," Riley pointed out.
"Then why aren't you including Pumbaa?" Abigail broke into the conversation. "Honestly, Riley, do you have to start an argument with every cartoon Daniel puts in?"
"Because, everybody knows that a meerkat who acts like he's had too much caffeine is automatically cooler than a typical main character of 'the orphan who now has to avenge their father's death'. It's a lot more original."
"Quit ruining the movie, or I'll put you and Mommy in time-out," Daniel told Riley with such seriousness, it took all of the adults' willpower not to laugh.
"Oh, please," Riley said, throwing a piece of popcorn at Daniel. "I bet you didn't even know half the words I used."
"I did too. 'Avenge' means to get back at somebody for something, and 'original' means 'not used very often'. And 'caffeine' is the stuff Mommy says you drink too much of." Daniel, satisfied with his superior answer, resumed watching Pumbaa, Timon, and Simba sing "Hakuna Matata" on the television screen.
Riley raised an eyebrow at Abigail. "I drink too much caffeine, Abigail?" he said.
"Yes, yes, you do," Abigail replied. "And Ben agrees."
"You do drink a lot more soda than you should, Riley," Ben pointed out, entering the room.
"You guys wouldn't love me any other way," Riley teased, leaning back and taking another swig of his soda pop.
Ben was about to answer, but was interrupted by his cell phone ringing.
Riley smirked. "The national anthem is your ringtone? Seriously?"
Ben ignored him, answering the cell phone. "Ben Gates speaking."
"Ah, good. That means I have reached the right man." A heavily-accented voice-it sounded Russian-drifted into Ben's ears.
"Uh, what can I do for you?" Ben asked, faltering. It wasn't normal for him to get foreign calls. He could feel Abigail and Riley watching him curiously.
"Have you ever heard of Peter Stubbe, Mr. Gates?"
Ben thought that that question was rather abrupt, but answered anyway. "Yeah, I've heard a bit about him. Some people think he was a werewolf; others think he was just a deranged serial killer. Frankly, things like that, no matter how historical, aren't my forte. Why do you ask, Mr. ...?" He trailed off, realizing he didn't know this man's name.
"You may call me Yuri," the man replied. "As for why I ask, I think you should be able to help me."
"How?" Ben was getting a little tired of this cat-and-mouse game they were playing.
"It involves riddles, and a rather dangerous hunt, both of which are things I have heard you are adept at," Yuri responded.
"I'm retired from treasure-hunting," Ben stated flatly. He had promised Abigail when Daniel was born that there would be no more dangerous treasure-hunting.
"Oh, but I think this proposition will interest you." Ben could almost hear the man sneering from the other end of the phone. "Because if you don't help us, everyone you hold dear will die."
"What-" Ben started. "That's..." He glanced at Riley and Abigail, who were looking increasingly nervous, and decisively made his way to the downstairs bathroom and locked the door behind him. He could hear Riley and Abigail talking to each other in hushed, worried tones.
"That's blackmail," Ben hissed, keeping his voice quiet.
"Well, I won't lie. It is indeed blackmail. But think of it this way. You help me and my...colleagues deciper the riddle and find what we seek, and your family and friends live. It's quite simple, really."
"Why do you need my help? Why can't you find someone else?" Ben snapped.
"Oh, I have found someone else, actually. I'll be giving them a call soon after this. But I'm afraid I'll need both your expertise and his-your intelligence and his skill." Yuri sounded pleased.
"And you'll kill my loved ones if I refuse to help?" Ben said, swallowing nervously.
"That's the case, yes," Yuri responded, an edge to his voice. "Now, if you agree to help, you're to meet me a week from now, in London, at half-past noon. Don't bother finding me; I'll find you."
Ben hesitated. He had hardly gotten any information about this at all-a random statement about an alleged werewolf from decades ago, and an order to help solve riddles in order to find something.
But...Abigail and Daniel. Riley. They were his family...
"All right, Yuri. I'll help you."
*8*8*
"You cheat at poker a lot more than you should. Did you know that, Phil?"
Ian and his team were sitting in the living room of their apartment. Powell and Phil had managed to drag Dylan into their seventeenth poker game of the evening.
Dylan, however, appeared to be fed up with the fact that he kept losing to the two tricksters.
Ian leaned back in his chair, reading a newspaper and drinking tea. Gunnar sat in the chair opposite him doing...well, doing nothing much at all. At first glance it appeared as though he was sleeping, but then he would suddenly shift or open his eyes.
Ian wondered just what it was the man was doing, but didn't bother to ask. For all he knew, it was some obscure Norwegian tradition.
"Nah, I don't cheat. You're just a really bad poker player," Phil retorted.
Ian was about to cut in and say that all three of them cheated (it was true, after all; Ian had been watching the first few games and was amused to see that none of them played by the rules), when his cell phone rang.
Holding up a hand to silence the debate occurring, Ian slipped his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and answered. "Hello?"
"Is this Ian Howe?" A Russian-accented voice reached him.
"Yes, it is. Who's calling?" Ian asked. He noted that everyone's eyes were on him. Pretending to be annoyed, he mouthed 'go back to your pointless poker game' before returning his attention to the man on the phone.
"You may call me Yuri. However, that is unimportant. I need you to aid me in finding a certain item."
Ian raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? What makes you think you can simply call me up and ask for my services?"
"I'll pay you afterwards, of course. I suppose you would be indifferent if I told you that I'll kill you and your team if you don't help me? You don't seem like a very caring person, from what I've heard."
Ian gritted his teeth to keep from making a harsh comeback. No one knew a single thing about him. Everyone considered him heartless and cruel. Then again, all he let outsiders know was that he was an intimidating man and a force to be reckoned with. That was all they needed to know. They knew nothing of how he felt about those close to him.
Hearing the words Yuri spoke dredged up memories of Shaw. If I had only gone alone, and left you with Viktor and Phil, you would be alive now, Shaw...Snapping out of it, he growled into the phone, "You know nothing."
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Be that as it may, I'm asking you politely to help. If you refuse-"
"I'll help," Ian broke in. "But you will be in grave trouble if you don't pay afterwards."
"Your threats do not frighten me, Mr. Howe. However, I will pay you. So stop worrying yourself. A week from now, go to London. At half-past noon, I'll find you. Don't bother searching for me; I have eyes and ears in various places of the city, and will find you without any trouble."
Before Ian could say anything more, the man on the other end hung up. Ian pulled the phone away from his ear, and lowered his hand, glaring stonily at the cell phone, as though it were to blame.
"What was that all about?" Powell asked, popping open a can of beer.
"A week from now, we'll be on another job," Ian responded simply. No need to tell them all the details yet. "In London."
Powell and Phil talked about the prospect of going to London; a place they had gone several times with Ian and enjoyed. The poker game forgotten, Dylan wandered over to the couch and flopped down onto it. He twisted around to put a CD in the player on the table next to the couch.
Ian sat down on the other end of the couch to think. He had a hard time of it-thoughts whirled around in his head like a storm, and the music Dylan had put in was not a style he enjoyed.
Lying here in the darkness
I hear the sirens wail
Somebody's going to emergency
Somebody's going to jail
If you find somebody to love in this world
You better hang on tooth and nail
The wolf is always at the door...That was the most annoying song to be listening to at the moment. Ian was having enough trouble trying to push thoughts of Shaw out of his mind, and that accursed song was not helping.
He reached over and swatted Dylan's arm. The younger man looked questioningly at him. "Dylan, switch songs. Or turn it off. Please."
It was hard to tell, but Ian felt as though Dylan had sensed the desperate plea in his voice. "Sorry, Ian," he murmured, reaching over and switching songs.
Ian sighed quietly, and leaned back, resting his head against the couch. Truth be told, he had no desire to return to London. There were too many painful memories there...
Of course, he had to. He would not risk losing another member of his team...another friend...again.
-X-X-X-
Author's Note: So, there you have it. A vague idea of the plot! As you can all probably tell, I'm awful at writing the first few chapters of a story. It gets better as the story moves on, I promise!
Also, the song playing was "New York Minute", by Don Henley.
Let me know what you think. Do I portray the characters all right? Is there enough detail? PM me if you have any ideas for the plot, or information about werewolves that I might be able to use!