Part Four
National Security Agency headquarters, Fort Meade, Maryland. Late March, 2000
"We've got something!" the technician hunched over the computer workstation called out. A dozen other technicians worked on similar systems in silence, as the supervisor walked over the man who had called out.
The supervisor, wearing the uniform of a U.S. Air Force Major, leaned over the technician's shoulder. "Talk to me," she said in a clipped, impatient voice.
"The computers keyed onto a cell phone call, made about twenty minutes ago." He held a pair of headphones to his superior, which the Major took and put on. The technician then tapped a few buttons, and the playback began.
"Cummings here." The supervisor raised an eyebrow, as normally names weren't used for these types of conversations.
"The colonial package has been secured; and he's being transported to the extraction site, as we speak."
"Everything go all right, then?"
There was a pause of several seconds.
"Essentially, although they roughed him up a little bit during extraction. Damned unprofessional, if you ask me."
"Details."
"He fought them, as you'd expect. And they took exception to the fact that someone would actually dare defy them! I think the package has some bruised or broken ribs. And later..."
"What?"
"Later, he started yelling in the back of the transport. Almost like he was having a conversation with someone. They figured that since he was awake 'n all, he might answer a few questions. So they pulled over, and started in on him. But the blasted sod wasn't exactly...cooperative."
"Tell me that they didn't..."
"No, only slapped him around a few times. It's bloody obvious that these thugs really don't have a clue on how to interrogate someone properly."
"Language," the first voice reproached the second one.
"My apologies. It's just that I hate to see amateurs operating, in any form, within the craft."
"Understandable. You can confirm no permanent injury to the package?"
"Yes. And after about twenty minutes they finally figured out they might be drawing attention to themselves, their transport just sitting around on the side of the road like that. So they drugged him again and proceeded off."
The next silence lasted over ten seconds.
"There's been a change of plans. Extraction cannot take place at the primary site. You'll need to tell them to go to the secondary site."
"You should know that'll add hours to the transport time, and the risk of enemy detection."
"I know, can't be helped. That's an order, by the way. The secondary site will be used."
"Understood."
"Also, check back in with me every hour. Keep me informed of the progress."
"Are you certain that's..."
"That's also an order."
"Understood."
With that, both parties to the conversation hung up.
The major took off her headphones. "Sure sounds like what we're looking for..."
It was a little-known secret, at least outside of the professional conspiracy theory nutcase circles, that the NSA had the ability to intercept almost every cell phone conversation in the world. Of course, having that capability and actually using it were two very different
things. With the size of the national deficit lately, the U.S. government was not in the habit of intercepting cell phone conversations without a good reason.
But a phone call from the Siberians had given the NSA a good reason to do so.
"Came off of a tower in Dalton, Georgia," the technician said, referring to the fact the phone call had been bounced off a cell phone node, to get it into the national phone system.
"Ah, the carpet capital of the world?" the female Major joked.
"Ma'am?"
"You've never built a house, obviously. When John and I built our place, we actually drove down there to buy carpets, wholesale. Lots of factories there make the stuff, and the prices they charge? Well, let's just say the money we saved paid for the tiles in the master bathroom. Anyway, what else can you tell me?"
"The call was made to a number in their Washington embassy. I'd suspect that the voices would be identifiable to the spooks."
"And the cell phone?"
"Knowing which tower they made this call from, greatly limits where we have to look next time."
"You'll catch the call next time?"
"Yeah. They can't hide using that cell from us, not anymore. We'll be able to listen in during real time."
The Major smiled. "Good." She picked up the phone next to the workstation, dialed a number and waited for an answer.
"This is Puzzle Palace. We have something for you."
Georgia. Thirty minutes later
Charles Gunn drove his beloved pickup truck through the Georgia countryside, the afternoon sun beating down on him and the vehicle. He had left LA behind a while ago, leaving his best friend Rondell in charge of the group; the 'Lost Boys', as his sister Alonna laughingly called them, after Harris had come up with the name last year.
Alonna was here with him now, not trusting him to do this alone. She slept in the middle, between him and Bobby, as the other man just stared out at the countryside as it went by.
"Hey, Gunn. This really makin' sense to you?" Bobby suddenly spoke up.
"Whatcha mean, dog?"
"This," Bobby waved his hand in the air. "Driving across the country to redneck central, to look for someone we really didn't even get to know that well, to go to an airstrip in the middle of nowhere. Start a fire, and get all those people all stirred up. Then jump back into the truck, while being shot at, and then drive to another airport to do Lord knows what. All of this, based on what a vampire told us?" Bobby snorted. "Just doesn't seem right..."
"Hey, has anything seemed right to you lately? It's like, the shit's been hittin' the fan for ages now."
"And that's the reason we drove across the entire goddamn country, when we could be back home? 'Cause if that's it, we had plenty of messes back in our own 'hood to take care of first!"
Gunn watched a police car pass them going in the opposite direction. It made him nervous, { The cops back home are bad enough. Don't wanna imagine how the rednecks with badges are gonna react, to a brother in a truck with California license plates... }
Bobby nodded as the cruiser went by. "See what I'm sayin'? We're liable to meet some damn fools who use their momma's white bedsheets more 'n they should, if ya know what I mean..." He sighed and continued on, "You ask me, we should just turn around and head back to LA. Pretend none of this ever happened."
"Leave if you want, but I'm staying and helping him out, you ungrateful horse's ass!" Alonna said, without opening her eyes.
"Alonna, now don't..." Gunn started to say, uncomfortable at the notion she had heard all this. Both because the loud voices had woken her up, which he could handle, and because his little sister might call him out on a lack of honor, which he could not.
"Don't you try to shush me, Gunn! 'Cause I ain't just one of your soldiers," Alonna opened her eyes and snapped at her older brother.
She glared at Bobby. "I see some people got a real short memory, these days! Army Guy helped out when things started getting weird, remember? We hardly knew even what was going on, when things started going south at that gym. Then Harris shows up, and teaches us how to kill 'em fast and clean? We owe him, and don't you try to tell me no different. What do you think would have happened without him, back then? My money says a lot of us would probably be fang-faced or takin' the big dirt nap, right now!"
Bobby snorted. "We could have done just fine without him. Didn't need no help."
"Bullshit! You're just a jealous asshole."
Bobby looked at Alonna with a sneer. "Yeah? Well, sounds to me like someone has a crush on Army Guy."
Alonna smacked Bobby on the arm, making him yelp. "Do not!"
Gunn joined in, "You know, Alonna, can't help wondering? He's right, why couldn't you have had a crush on someone in a closer state? I hear Nevada is nice..."
"Gunn!" shrieked Alonna. "Knock it off! I don't have a crush on Harris. I'm just worried, is all. He saved our tails..."
"And you're probably hoping the guy likes your tail enough to-" But that comment earned Bobby a menacing glare from Gunn, and the kid quickly shut up. "Hey, just joking man..." the gang member raised his hands when he saw his leader's face.
"Turnoff, here!" Alonna shouted out, pointing at a road sign. Gunn quickly made the turn onto the next road, and the truck jostled a little. "How long?" Alonna then asked.
"'Nother couple of hours, is my guess," Gunn replied.
"Wake me when we get closer," Alonna closed her eyes again and leaned on Gunn's shoulder.
Unknown location. A few minutes later
Xander faded in and out of consciousness. He couldn't tell how long he had been drugged this time. He could only vaguely make out shapes and snippets of conversations around him; but Harris could tell that wherever he was now, it was not in a moving vehicle.
"Is he able to answer questions?" demanded a voice with more than a trace of arrogance.
"Not really. I suspect he can talk, but I'm not sure how much sense he'll make."
A face appeared in Xander's vision, and he felt a mild headache coming on. { Hey, I know him! } Xander thought. He tried to place the hazy man's features...
"Mr. Harris? Mr. Harris!" the British guy said with a snappish tone.
{ Oh, shit. Travers? Quentin Travers. It's that pompous asshole from the Watchers Council, } Xander finally placed the face.
The man left Xander's line of sight, but his voice could still be heard. "Wake him up enough so that he can answer my questions."
Xander felt himself manhandled and injected with something. And he heard someone say, "That should rouse him, sir. Give it a few minutes, and he'll be ready for interrogation..."
The Soldier Guy memories started whispering to Xander. { Wake up and focus. The enemy is present in unknown numbers, and you need to be on guard. Be wary and keep an eye out for any opportunity to escape. } Xander then shook his head, as full consciousness returned to him.
The 23-year-old looked around, and saw that he seemed to be in a warehouse of some kind. Several men and one woman surrounded him. He recognized some of the men from the attack in the apartment. Xander also recognized Travers, the woman and one of the men from his original memories of the Watchers' visit to Sunnydale during the crisis over Glory.
"Mr. Harris. Do you understand me, child?" Oh yeah, that was Travers.
"I'm not a child, you overgrown balding windbag," Xander growled at him.
Travis sent his trademark arrogant smirk towards the captive. "Mr. Harris, by order of the Watchers Council I am taking you into protective custody, and having you removed to a secure locale in England for further study."
"And if I don't want to come?" Xander started to assess his situation. He was sitting handcuffed in a chair. He could see the armored car that he assumed he'd come in parked several yards away. The prospects did not look promising...
In addition to the slight headache Travers was giving him from his proximity, Xander was also glad that he had only met the Watcher that one time due to the fact his ribs ached. He just hoped that none of them were broken, on account of the smash and grab raid the Brits had carried out.
"What you want is irrelevant, as no doubt you have no idea what it is we're truly on about. And you colonials can never understand what's best, anyway-" the Council operative started to say.
"Actually, I think I have a pretty good idea what you're after." Xander wondered if he could bluff his way out of this. { Nothing to lose by trying, anyway. } "You guys want to study me, because you're thinking the Slayer gene might skip sexes next time a Chosen One gets called?"
A few of the Watchers smirked at that, but the amusement instantly disappeared under Travers' quick glare.
"Child, you are obviously as foolish as any member of your underdeveloped nation. Mr. Wyndham-Pryce, before his resignation from the Council, told us about your situation. There is no point trying to deny anything. We know who and what you are, Future Boy, and more importantly what you know..."
Travers turned to one of the other men. "Get Kennsington." The man hurried off to do Quentin's bidding.
"I don't suppose I could give you guys some winning lottery numbers, and we can just call it all even?" Xander suddenly joked, abandoning the subterfuge approach. "I mean running the Watchers Council can't be cheap these days, after all..."
Travers regarded Xander with disdain. "To be honest, I find it almost impossible to believe that someone such as yourself could have the knowledge we seek. Someone so...insignificant."
Xander glared at Travers. "Insignificant, huh? This coming from someone without a Slayer to abuse on her 18th birthday?"
Travers looked a little confused at that. "You know of the Cruciamentum? No, never mind. Your question seems to indicate, though, that you expect us to be without a Chosen One. But you should know that even though Ms. Summers has seen fit to abandon her duty, we have another Slayer. A *true* Slayer, who was called when Ms. LeHane was killed."
Travers regarded Xander closely for a second. "Wesley's reports stated that some of your memories were indicative that history has changed, from the original timeline. If so, I look forward to learning all the details. I quite look forward to learning *all* that you know, young man..."
Xander silently cursed himself. Of course - Faith had never screwed up, and later gone to prison for her crimes, in this reality. He should have realized before now that when his first time had been killed at Graduation, a new Slayer would have been called.
In this new world, even though Buffy had quit the Council when they had refused to help after Mr. Trick had poisoned Angel, the Watchers would have a Slayer to order around.
{ Wonder which one of the potentials it was? You got Annabelle, Molly, Vi, Chloe, Eve, Rona, Amanda, Chao-Ahn, and all those others to choose from. Damn, all those kids would still be so young in 1999, though...wait, what about Kennedy? She'd have been what, 15 or 16? Probably old enough... }
Xander grimaced upon realizing that there was a young girl out there somewhere, under the control of these thugs. { Worry about that later. For now, get yourself out of this mess! } the soldier memories commanded him.
Two men approached; one of them, Xander recognized from the apartment. { You! That asshole mage. We are gonna settle accounts soon, buddy. I promise... }
The wizard - Kennsington, Xander guessed - approached Travers. "You sent for me, sir?"
"Yes. I want you to cast a truth spell on him, right now."
"Ah, no, I can't."
Travers looked royally pissed at that. { Of all the impertinent... }
"I'm sorry, Mr. Travers, but my reserves are still too drained from the teleportation spell you ordered. At the moment any attempted spellcasting would be meaningless, and almost certainly fail. Like it or lump it, I need time to recover..."
Travers looked at his watch, getting over his minor tantrum. "Blast. I had hoped to get some initial interrogations done before we left..." He turned to the young man Xander remembered from the original history. "How long till the plane is ready to take him out of here?"
"At least an hour, we're still rearranging everything from the original site."
Travers turned back to Xander. "Mr. Harris, for reasons you can't comprehend, I intend to travel separately from you. I suggest you use that time to resign yourself to your new place in the scheme of things."
"You're just afraid I'll get loose and kick your pathetic British ass."
Quentin let loose a superior smile. "Hardly, little boy."
Xander suddenly got a cold look on his face. "Some free advice for you, 'Quentin'. If you hit me with the magic mojo? For your sake, don't inquire too closely about what happens to you and the Council..." The former slave grinned like a shark, and it was a sight that left most of the Watchers wanting to shiver. "'Cause I promise you, you're not gonna like what you learn..."
Travers looked offended at the fact that Xander had addressed him using his first name. "Mr. Travers is the proper way to address me, child. Just for that, I will make sure that learning proper respect is added to your 'debriefing sessions'. I will learn all there is to know from your head. And we *will* properly use all the information you have."
"Sure, to line your own pockets or play Council politics. Oh yeah, old man, I remember; it's not as if you don't make out like gangbusters exploiting those poor little girls. You get off on that, having power over kids who do your fighting for you."
"Quiet, you!" snapped the man who Xander remembered throwing coffee on, back at the apartment.
He stepped forward, and backhanded the captive. Xander's head rocked back, and the chair shook from the force of the blow. The female Watcher suppressed a gasp when she saw that.
Travers glanced at her. "No need to feel sympathy for him. Remember after all, you're a Watcher. You can't get too concerned over the little things." He turned to the leader of the retrieval squad. "Use the hour before the plane arrives to ask questions of him. Just don't do anything which might render him unable to travel."
With that Travers turned and left the room, followed by his two assistants, the female looking back with carefully concealed concern before she left the room.
"Hey, Travers!" Xander shouted. As the entourage looked back, Harris said simply, "I'll see you in Hell, before you get anything useful outta me..."
The Watchers left without another word, and the leader of the retrieval squad turned to Xander. "Well, I guess we'll just have to find a way to entertain ourselves while we wait for our flight, won't we?"
Wolfram & Hart building, Los Angeles, California. The same time
Lilah Morgan entered the main meeting room, within the law firm. She could see that a heated discussion had already begun; her colleague Lindsey MacDonald was trying to make his point to middle management.
"We can get a tactical team ready to go after him in 60 seconds. They're made up of ex-Special Forces and black-ops personnel. They can handle anything that stands in their way..." the male attorney who had the nagging case of an occasional conscience offered.
Lilah sat down and felt the need to interrupt. "You know, for some odd reason, once we tell the tactical teams who they'll be facing? They seem to find so many strategic reasons to not pursue the operation. They're genuinely afraid of this STW, as they call it."
"Afraid of *them*? You'd think they would be more worried about the Senior Partners making them eat their own livers," Lindsey responded.
"Yes, *you* would think so, but most of our SWAT teams are aware of STW's track record. They feel that any such operation would just cause pain for us. More pain than normal, that is," the beautiful brunette cooed back at Lindsey.
The head of the special projects division, Holland Manners, looked at Lilah. "What do you suggest?"
Lilah gestured, "We have to adapt our strategy, and attack the problem where his protectors are weakest. I have two ideas. The first one is so mundane, that I would be very surprised if the protectors have even considered it. The second one plays to the strengths to the Senior Partners and would have Mr. Harris deliver himself to us, willingly."
Holland smiled, the evil in his corrupted soul clearly visible. "Do tell us more."
Rural Georgia. One hour later
Xander ached all over. { You know, for a group sworn to protect humanity and the rest of this sorry world, these assholes know quite a bit about putting the hurt on a person... }
An hour had passed since Travers had left. The interrogation by the retrieval squad had not gone to their satisfaction. And as their frustration level grew Xander's discomfort, well pain if you were being truthful, had grown in kind.
{ Damn fools think their methods are gonna work on *me*? They ought to try a Gar-wak demon, attempting to set you on fire! I'm not gonna give them anything, well nothing beyond boom. } Every time they had asked a question about the Watchers Council, he had answered with only one word. "Boom."
And they *really* hadn't liked that.
When the time had come, they had put him back into the armored car he'd been in before. They were now driving to wherever the plane, or at least Xander assumed it was to be a plane, was waiting for them.
{ Be wary. Take whatever chance you can get to escape. If they get you on that plane, the odds of you escaping go down dramatically. } Xander mentally steeled himself for when they came to put him on the aircraft.
"Been having fun, lover?"
Xander looked up at the question, and saw the image of Faith sitting in the vehicle with him. "You again? Aren't you supposed to be somewhere annoying someone, who'll actually listen to you?"
The First Evil just ignored the question, just looking Xander up and down. "Looks like you were on the losing end of the conversation. What happened, they didn't like your sparkling personality?" She/it shrugged. "Me, I always did! That and the other things about you," Faith/the First smiled evilly at Xander.
"Go to Hell, you bitca," Xander snapped, as he was not in the mood for this.
"Actually just came from there, stud. Nice place, I like it. Although I'm looking forward into moving into bigger quarters, before too long. Going to do a lot of remodeling. I can do something special for your little bit of it..."
The First suddenly morphed into Buffy. "You seem to like me and Faith, I can tell. Nostalgia. You get a kick out of seeing the old gang. Maybe I can arrange for Willow, Oz or Cordy to make an appearance? Would you like that?"
Panic gripped Xander's soul. "You are gonna leave them alone," he snarled at the First.
"Fine, all you gotta do is join me. They'll be protected as much as you want, then. They can be, like, your loyal subjects in the new world order or whatever. And don't wanna nag but you gotta hurry up, on account of you don't have much time left. You can either join me now, or pay the price when your own personal hell really begins."
All of a sudden - the soldier persona started screaming in Xander's head. { The enemy has become desperate. Something is about to happen, that it can't control. And it wants you to commit to its side, before whatever it is comes to pass... }
Xander stared directly into the First's eyes. "I've been to Hell already. Go torture your Bringers or whatever it is you do for kicks, because You. Have. Nothing. To. Offer. Me!"
All of sudden, Harris then heard the horn of the armored car begin honking furiously, as the First Evil folded up on itself and disappeared.
The armored car shuddered suddenly, and came to an abrupt stop. Xander swayed with the momentum of the vehicle, and his shoulders ached in pain from the sudden movement. "Damn," he choked out, as the pain threatened to distract from what was going on.
The soldier persona was not so easily distracted. { Get up! This is your chance. Get loose right now! } Xander started struggling, trying to get the handcuffs loose. He noticed that this time, unlike before where his captors had hooked them up to the roof, the Watchers had only looped them over a thin rod. He pulled hard, trying to get the rod to come loose.
But the rod stubbornly held in place. Xander grunted. { Okay, let's look at this from another angle... } The horn of the armored car continued honking, and Xander heard shouting outside. { Got to do this fast! } An idea then came to the captive.
He moved the fingers on his right hand in as close as he could, almost making his hand cone-shaped. The former soldier then started pulling it downward, as he grabbed the cuffs with his left hand and started pulling them upward. His skin quickly began bleeding, as it started being peeled off and scraped in the process.
Xander ignored the pain; back in the hell dimension, this would have been nothing more than a wake-up call, and he continued pulling. The blood acting as a lubricant, he felt his fist constrict and slide down a little bit. He just continued pulling.
Harris could see his skin being rubbed raw on his right wrist. He then heard a few clicks from his hand. { Damn, that's going to smart in the morning! } The pain mounted, as the guy relentlessly pulled the handcuffs upward with his left hand.
And then suddenly, the resistance lessened as his fist slipped through the handcuffs, his bloody right hand coming free. The left hand dropped down as the empty part of the handcuffs looped over the rod, and came down from the roof. { Yes! }
Xander absent-mindedly examined his right hand, as he got up. { Gonna need to get that looked at, afterwards. It's going to sting like crazy before too long. } He then moved to the doors at the rear of the compartment, already planning how to jimmy them open.
The former slave suddenly heard someone fidgeting with the doors on the outside. He just silently moved off to the side, out of the main line of sight, so as to surprise the enemy.
One of the doors opened up, and light spilled into the compartment. A small figure hesitantly climbed in, "Hello?"
Xander grabbed the intruder and pulled him further in, and was about to punch him; only stopping himself, when he saw it was a young girl. She twisted around, and looked at him with fear. Then her features lightened up a little bit, when she recognized Xander.
"It's you! Gladness. Don't worry, we're here to help..." She motioned to the outside. "Come on!" The young black woman started back out the door, as Xander quickly followed.
{ I know her, don't I? Yeah, yeah, from Los Angeles, a few weeks after I escaped from the hell dimension. She was with those kids I helped out, eliminating that vampire nest. } "I'm sorry, I don't-"
"It's Alonna. Alonna Gunn. It's okay, your dark-haired vampire friend told us you maybe might be a little hurt in the head. We gotta haul ass though, so come on!" She grabbed Xander's hand, the left one thankfully, and pulled him along.
Xander looked around. They were on the outskirts of a small airport, somewhere. The armored car had been hit in the engine compartment, by one of those tractors that had the 'follow me' signs. He saw the driver of his mobile cell laying on the ground, moving just enough to prove he wasn't dead.
A black teenager ran up to them. { Charles Gunn, } the name popped into Xander's head. { A damn good man to cover your rear in a war zone. Things are definitely looking up! }
"Hey, Soldier Guy. Good to see you intact..." He looked at Alonna. "I sent Bobby to bring the truck!"
Xander then heard the squeal of tires, and saw Gunn's old weapons-modified pickup truck come roaring to stop right in front of them, driven by another teenager.
"Get in!" he shouted out. The three of them tumbled into the cab, and Bobby roared off back down the runway, eager to get gone.
"Bloody toffing hell!" the leader of the retrieval squad yelled into his cell phone. "Where did they go, damn you?"
The MI-6 operative assigned as a liaison and consultant carefully noticed as the much-vaunted Watchers retrieval team started to fall apart, as things went wrong for them. He had been finishing his report to Cummings as they had driven up to the Lear jet, and were getting ready to board - when the Watcher's cell phone had rung.
The other Watchers milled around, looking concerned. They had expected to be airborne back to England by now. { You get the feeling they've never had problems like this before. No contingency plans, either. Useless amateurs... }
Everyone's attention was then pulled to the end of the runway, when they heard the roar of a jet engine. A small military fighter plane roared down the runway at almost treetop level, the Watchers moving their heads keeping track of it.
One of them spoke up as the plane reached the end of the runway, "You know, I could have sworn that one of the pilots was giving us the finger..."
{ Oh, no... } the English spy's stomach dropped, as he realized what was probably happening and about to happen. { Odds are all this has just gotten completely and totally beyond my control. Damn you for rostering me for external duty, Cummings! }
The man, whose real name was Roger Symons, looked up again and watched as the fighter plane looped back around, and came in for another run, only on a slightly different course. "Take cover!" he shouted, as the guy started to sprint away.
The Watchers looked at Symons in incomprehension, as he ran from the plane and van. They quickly followed him though, when the roar of the F-16's cannons reached their ears.
The intelligence operative and the Watchers threw themselves to the ground, as a stream of 20mm shells blasted their way along the runway until they reached the Lear jet, and proceeded to tear through the tail section of the aircraft like it was tissue paper.
Symons didn't have to look to know that his aeroplane was not going to be flying again, at least not anytime soon.
The operative just looked upwards. { I hope Cummings wasn't right, about who that's most likely going to be, } the man thought, as he watched the fighter start to land and taxi towards them. Symons then heard sirens in the distance and then knew beyond any doubt the whole thing had now become, as the Yanks liked to say, a complete cluster-fuck.
{ Bloody hell, now I'm in for it... } Symons glanced at the others near him, and began to distance himself both literally and figuratively. { Well, first things first. Establish the diplomatic creds, even if technically I'm here on the black. Try to request communicating with the embassy, or even better the head of section A - ah, damnation, this is going to be so embarrassing back home though! Then again... }
The professional spook suddenly stared at the Watchers and smiled, his survival instincts having a stroke of genius. { Yes, you lot definitely just became criminal kidnappers, and it's my patriotic duty to break cover and help the American law enforcement system put your sorry arses into prison... }
The fighter pulled up next to the Lear jet, and Symons noticed that it kept its cannons pointed in the direction of the Watchers. The canopy popped open, and one of the pilots clambered out of the cockpit. He dropped to the ground, and started stomping his way towards Xander's kidnappers.
One of the Watchers started to reach under his jacket for his sidearm. "I wouldn't," the trained professional called out.
The Watcher looked at him as Symons went on, "Their guns are much bigger than yours, and they'll use them to turn you into a piece of hamburger." He pointed at the F-16.
The Council operative thought for a second, and then reluctantly put his hands up. The leader of the retrieval team glowered at him. "What are you doing? We're Watchers!" But by this time, the pilot had reached to where the Watcher was.
"You're the leader of this group of idiots?!" the pilot snapped out. Symons silently cursed, it *was* who he'd thought it would be. { The violence level has just gone up dramatically, I'll wager... }
The retrieval leader spoke up. "See here, I'll have you-"
That was far as he got, before the Englishman was on the ground clutching his stomach. The brutal kick from Cleburne had taken him completely by surprise. The MI-6 adviser watched on, { Yes - somehow, I don't think he'll be reading us our rights for all this. }
Cleburne looked around. Several police cars and black SUVs pulled up, and started to disgorge men in uniforms and black suits. One of the people in the black suits had been one of the guards in the apartment. Joshua looked around, as he took off his flight helmet; his look one of sheer menace. "Which one of you kicked the kid's ribs after he was down?"
The Watchers looked at each other questioningly, suddenly resembling a pack of sheep; or better yet, airheaded Cordettes, from a long-ago age of lost innocence.
Symons had no such afflictions. "Him, most likely because he didn't like getting sprayed with hot coffee." He pointed at the leader, who was laying on the ground.
The guard from the apartment came up and looked at the leader. "Yes sir, I recognize him. They were all there." He pointed at Kennsington. "He was the one with the magic tricks and glittery light show."
Cleburne nodded. "Keep an eye on him. The guy even starts to try anything funny, shoot him in the head till his brains leak out of his ears!" The guard nodded. Cleburne then stalked up to where the leader was starting to get off the ground.
The Watcher stated angrily, "This is completely unacceptable! I demand-"
Again the team leader was unable to finish his sentence, as Cleburne hit him square in the face with the flight helmet he was holding in his hand. The leader fell back to the ground with a broken nose, as the STW agent followed up his advantage.
"I can understand the reasons for the snatch, and I'm not one to hold anything against you for taking advantage of our holes in security. But beating the kid up, after he was taken down? That does *not* make me happy. And when I'm unhappy, I'm never unhappy alone..."
Joshua reached down, grabbed the Watcher's right arm and pulled it up. He suddenly jerked it an impossible angle, and a sharp crack was the result. The Englishman screamed in pain, as Cleburne leaned down and looked directly into his face. "If I find out the kid has more than one broken rib, I'm going to break the other arm too - just for starters."
Cleburne got back up. "Where's Harris?" The Watchers just looked at their leader on the ground.
Symons answered again, "The man got a call, right before you arrived. Something unexpected happened with the package's transport."
Cleburne looked down at the Watcher, who was cradling his broken arm. "Well?"
The employee of the Council whimpered something about not knowing. Cleburne just reached down and grabbed his left arm. The Watcher started screaming again before he blubbered, "Someone rammed his transport over at the hangers. He got out of the armored car in all the confusion!"
Cleburne sighed. He turned to the police officers and operatives surrounding the Watchers, "Search everywhere. Find the guy, right now!" Several of the cops and STW personnel scurried off to do so, as the rest took over training their guns on the Watchers.
Cleburne stalked over to Symons. The spook braced himself, "Joshua Cleburne? I'm a cousin, my name is Roger Symons and I work for-"
Cleburne cut him off. "I already know who you work for, and most likely why you're here. Just gimme your damn cell phone!"
Symons instantly complied, handing it over. "Travers and the Watcher VIPs decided to travel separately?" Cleburne asked, as he started dialing a number on the cell phone.
Symons nodded. "The comfort level they were expecting was obviously insufficient to warrant traveling with the captive." He could not help but notice that the Watchers were being herded off to a waiting police van, while he was just being watched by the guard from the apartment building.
Cleburne looked at the guard. "We *will* talk later about your role in all this!" The guard visibly blanched. Cleburne then focused attention to the cell phone, as his call went through.
"It's me. Tomorrow. Army-Navy Club, 1:30 in the afternoon and bring that Travers asshole with you!" Cleburne growled into the phone. He then silently handed the phone back to Symons.
Xander lay silently in the grass, watching the scene on the runway unfold before him. Gunn, Alonna and Bobby lay next to him on top of a slight rise, about 300 yards from the runway. They had managed to get outside the fenced enclosure of the airport, before the police and black-ops personnel had swooped in.
"Man, who are those guys?" Gunn asked, referring to the suits rounding up the Watchers.
"Your tax dollars at work," Xander joked. "And oddly enough, technically also the good guys in this equation."
Bobby snuck a glance at Xander. "THEY'RE the good guys? You saw what he did to that one..."
"Trust me, I'm not going to lose any sleep over that guy's pain. As I've got the broken ribs to remind me of why he had it coming!" Xander shifted uncomfortably. With his adrenaline rush starting to fade, the pain from his mistreatment was starting to come to the forefront.
Alonna noticed Xander's discomfort. "Hey, soldier boy, we need to get you to a doctor or something." She pointed at his red right hand, "Especially for that!"
Xander waved her off. "No, I'll be all right for now."
Alonna looked again with concern at the bleeding hand and bruises that Xander sported. "What are you tryin' to prove, you got vamp healing or something? Don't be an asshole! We really need to get you looked at, pronto."
"And I said don't worry about it, that can wait."
Gunn noticed the look of concern Alonna had for Xander. { Damn, she really does have a crush on him! Oh well, white or not, guess she could do worse... } "What do you mean, it can wait? Because we need to haul tail outta here, dog! Sooner we're back in LA, the better," he motioned back towards the pickup truck.
Xander rolled over, and looked at the others. "Angel sent you?"
"Yeah, something about some spooky mystical types telling him you needed help," Gunn answered with a shrug.
{ True enough, } Xander thought, analyzing the situation dispassionately. { If they hadn't hit that armored car when they did, I probably would have gotten put on that plane and been airborne before STW arrived. Talk about cutting it close... }
The former slave smiled. "That I did. Thanks for saving my ass, you guys. So. How's tall, dark and brooding doing these days, anyway?"
Gunn snorted. "That's about it in a nutshell, bro; tall, dark and brooding. C'mon, man, what's the story with that? You really used to run with a vampire?"
"Very special case; Angel's been...modified, to the point where he's on the good side of the Force. As long as he doesn't get too happy, anyway, but that's a whole different story. I know it sounds impossible, but it's true - he's saved my life more than once. He got cursed by some gypsies over 100 years ago..."
"Yeah, dude mentioned that. But hell, you and him can tell us all about it once we're home. Can't wait to get back to California; goddamn, this place feels like it's Alaska or something!"
Xander smiled. "Be grateful it's not Illinois, you'd think we were at the North Pole! But thing is, I'm not going back with you."
"What!?" both Gunn and Alonna said at the same time.
Xander shrugged. "I can't come with you to LA."
"We went through all this trouble, drove across the entire country - including Texas, which was no fun for us I might add - and you're staying here?" Bobby demanded.
"Has to be done."
Xander had been shaken by the First's references to the Scooby gang. About Willow and the others making an appearance, the next time his nemesis showed up. { I can't protect them, even if I wanted to, not when I can't even be near them without my head exploding. And what's to stop the Bringers from making an early visit to the Scooby gang or LA in the meantime? } For now, their best protection rested with Xander helping the Siberians, and them providing covert protection in return.
Xander continued on, "Tell Angel that I'm all right for now, and what I've gotten caught up in - it involves the First Evil. He'll know what that means. Look, bottom line is, I have to stay away. Don't worry, though; Angel's a stand-up guy, if a little dark and tormented. So he'll be there for you, if or when you ever need him..."
"The First Evil?" Alonna looked at her crush in complete confusion.
"There's no time for details. Angel and his friend Wes can fill you in on all of it later..." Xander then thought for a second, and decided it would be best to leave another lifeline out there, just in case something like this ever happened again in the future.
"Tell him he can get in touch with me through a guy named Lemke, who lives in Sunnydale. It's a town about two hours north of LA, that's also known as la Boca del Infierno-"
"The mouth of Hell?" Bobby asked in amazement, his high school Spanish the best of the group.
Xander nodded. "Lemke runs a bookstore or something like that there. He can probably get a message through to me. But, it's a one-time-only thing; once that message is sent, he can't ever use that route again. Too risky. So tell Deadboy to play that card only if *absolutely* necessary."
"Deadboy?" Alonna raised her eyebrows in amusement.
Xander shrugged. "Sorry. Old habits die hard." He paused for a second. "This is important. Don't tell anyone what happened here or about me, without Angel telling you it's all right. That includes the friends he has hanging around." { Can't run the risk of Cordy and Wesley finding out about me. Who knows where that would end. }
Gunn shook his head. "This is crazy, Army Guy. You can't stay here! Next time, we may not be around in time to save you!"
"Charlie, you think I *want* any of this? Problem is, it's not like how it was in the good old days - when it was just us, versus the demons. Right now, I should be living in a cave in Canada, but there are people after me for what I know. And I hate to sound all Terminator, but they absolutely will not stop, ever, until I'm dead! I gotta do what I gotta do, to protect my people. It's an honor thing."
Gunn nodded in understanding. "I hear you. So what are y'all gonna do, then?"
"Catch a ride outta here with those guys," Xander said, as he got ready to stand up. "Again, thanks for saving my ass, I seriously owe you three. If I can, I'll arrange for supplies and whatnot to get to you on the Q.T. But for now, you'd best get out of here. Less questions all around, if they don't find you."
The others stood up at the same time Xander did. "Take care of yourself, Harris," Alonna said softly, as she hugged Xander.
"I will. You too," the former soldier said fervently as he shook hands with the guys and walked off, not knowing that it was the last time he would ever see Alonna Gunn alive.
Takoma Park, Maryland. The next day
Xander woke up, trying to shake off the mental cobwebs. The medication the doctors had given yesterday him had helped him sleep peacefully, and for that he was eternally grateful.
"Good morning, Mr. Harris."
Xander opened his eyes, and saw Irving Hollins sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed that he was in. "Morning?"
"Well, it's almost time for lunch. You've been sleeping for quite a while. The doctors felt it was best to let you rest. You've not really been fully awake, ever since they brought you here yesterday afternoon. Don't worry though, I had them bring you some lunch." Hollins motioned at the tray on the table next to the bed.
"Where am I, anyway?"
"A private medical clinic STW uses in situations like this. The quality of the medical care here is quite excellent, and also very discreet."
Xander reached over to grab a roll off the tray. He was subsequently rewarded with a sharp stabbing pain in his ribcage.
Hollins nodded. "Be careful. The doctors tell me you don't have any broken ribs, but it will still hurt quite strongly for a while."
Xander almost swallowed the roll whole, he was that famished. "Any other things I need to know?"
"Well, no broken bones, although that was not from any lack of trying by your captors. And your right wrist is still pretty well mangled. What happened with that, by the way? The doctors seemed to think it was self-inflicted."
"It was, I had to slip out of a pair of handcuffs. No big deal."
Hollins grimaced. "Still painful to imagine though, in my opinion. When you can, I want to hear all about your escapade yesterday."
"Wanting is good," Xander said as he gingerly maneuvered himself to get access to all the food on the tray. Hollins raised an eyebrow at that comment. "But first, what happens next? And did I get to number one target in the world today?"
The child nodded sadly. "Probably yes, there are quite a few groups out there who are no doubt waiting to make their own move to acquire you."
{ He could have lied, but he didn't. Told me the truth straight up-front, and didn't sugarcoat it. Decent of him, } Xander noticed. "I thought the whole point of moving around so much was to confuse the bad guys as to where I was, so how the hell did the Watchers find me?"
"Their superior knowledge of the occult. I'm sorry; it was our fault for not being fully cognizant of the dangers of that aspect of the situation. My own fault especially, as I am ultimately responsible for analysis of the available data."
Xander raised an eyebrow. "Do tell."
Hollins stated calmly, "Apparently last fall, they broke into your parents' house and stole some of your personal belongings. Then they used the items in a spell that could track your aura, or soul. They had to cast it several times, to narrow it down to whatever city you were in. Once they knew that, they flew to Chattanooga using the cousins as support, did another locator spell, found you and popped in using a teleportation spell."
Xander sighed. "What's to stop that from ever happening again?"
"We're in the process of recruiting several Wiccans and warlocks to help out. The plan is to have them cast a masking spell, or something like that over you. Or else get some sort of amulet to do the job, if that's what it takes. Ah, I was wondering; given your greater familiarity with the supernatural, do you have any ideas of your own?"
Harris looked thoughtful. "When I was living in LA, about a month or so before I got all my memories back? I ran into this trio of awesome-looking babes, who called themselves the Transuding Furies." He then smirked, "They're into magic in a big way, and I think they'll remember me. Get someone to contact them."
Hollins nodded. "Thank you for the suggestion. I wish we'd known of them sooner - but then, we're still on the learning curve with the entire magic thing..."
Xander finished chewing on the pork chop bite he had taken, and swallowed. "Well, learn quick. You've only got two or three years, before the First gets into 'destroy the world' mode. Maybe even sooner than that."
Hollins raised an eyebrow at this. "How so?"
"The First Evil gave me a couple of private audiences, while I was with the Watchers. It's definitely on the prowl, and seems to know there's something hinky going on." Xander then gave a bare-bones version of what had happened with the First to Hollins.
"This is most disturbing. I had hoped that we would have resolved the situation with al-Qaeda completely, before dealing with all that," the child genius mused.
"You may not have that luxury anymore. So, we can add the First to the list of those people looking for me."
Hollins thought for a second. "You're right. You should also know the operatives who have been watching-"
"Guarding," Xander corrected.
Hollins nodded. "-guarding you, seem to think your ability is fairly impressive. A review of the video footage of the attack shows that you handled yourself quite well. The only reason the enemy was able to accomplish their objective, was that they had paranormal assistance. Against more mundane opponents, you would have held them off long enough for the guards to arrive."
The Soldier Guy persona within Xander noted with appreciation the analytic comment by Hollins. "Still, that kinda reminds me of the old saying that close only matters with horseshoes and hand grenades."
"True, but if you prove you can handle yourself, it makes my new proposal all the more easier to sell to my fellow Siberians."
"And that is?" Xander poked at the Jell-O with a spoon. { Damn it, why does every hospital meal have to come with Jell-O in it? It's gotta be some sorta evil conspiracy! }
"You've been advising us on the supernatural threat, and I feel that it's time for you to be an advisor in the field. Let us use your abilities against the paranormal. Of course, there is an obstacle to that."
"And that is?" Xander repeated himself, as he gave up and took a bite of the Jell-O.
"Cleburne. He's very territorial when it comes to field operations, and he exercises close to a veto over the mechanics of them. Arbitrarily overruling him would lead to complications, down the road. However, if Joshua feels you can truly handle yourself as part of his crew, he would be more inclined to accept my proposal."
Xander looked at Hollins skeptically. "What will he do, put me through an audition?"
"Actually, he's been known to do exactly that before now. But I think after viewing the videofeed of your little fight and talking to the guards, he could be persuaded to give you a shot. There's also another advantage to you working in the field."
Hollins reached over a grabbed a cookie off of Xander's lunch tray, the first childlike action the older male had ever seen out of him. "Pardon me, but I indulge myself every once in a while..."
The boy took a bite out of the cookie and continued, "You may or may not know, that there are various unwritten rules within the espionage world. One of them is that the members of each organization are generally not specifically targeted, by another organization. It *is* more-or-less accepted that losses will occur; such are the fortunes of the craft. However, aiming at individual members crosses a line, and disrupts the uneasy understanding that exists between the players of the game. It also leads to retaliation, reprisals and on occasion the risk of an overt war. Open warfare is not good for those in this business; it leads to questions being asked by the governments overseeing the organizations, which is something almost always to be avoided."
Xander nodded, as memories of his time with the Scoobies years ago flashed through his brain. Incidents with MOO and the Sunnydale PD getting involved, for example, and proving that Hollins was quite right. "I agree."
"Good. But my point is with you becoming a legitimate member of STW, the other espionage agencies out there will think long and hard about coming after you the way the Watchers did. No one really wants a war with us. I imagine they'll still try every once in a while, given what you are, but it'll be in a much more subtle way. Our main concern will be the paranormal groups; we'll concentrate our resources there. And they'll be far less effective, if the mundane ones won't be supporting them. The real reason the Watchers got as close as they did, was that they had ground support from the cousins."
"Cousins? I've heard that reference before, somewhere. What's it mean, exactly?"
"It's what the American and British spy agencies refer to each other as. There's been an incredibly close cooperation between them, you see, ever since the end of World War 2. That's why there is now currently a real hullabaloo, to quote Joshua, over your kidnapping. To use an analogy, imagine the family situation if a man had basically spat in his brother's face and tried to abduct his own nephew."
Xander nodded. "I can see where that can be disturbing."
Hollins went on, "Indeed, that's why Joshua and Esther aren't here. They're meeting in about an hour or so with the local representatives of the cousins, to convey their feelings over this situation."
Xander perked up. "Are the Watchers going to be there?"
Hollins looked a little surprised by the question. "I believe so. This Quentin Travers person is supposed to be there, at any rate. His presence was specifically requested."
"The meeting place - it isn't far from here, is it?"
Now Hollins was worried. "No, as a matter of fact it's over at the Army-Navy Club..."
Xander smiled a feral, animalistic grin that actually chilled Hollins' blood a little bit. "Good." He started to get out of bed.
"Mr. Harris? Xander? What-"
"Irving, last time I spoke with Travers, I was unable to convey to him certain facts of life - what with me being handcuffed and all. Now, well, let's just say it's gonna be a little different."
Private dining room, Army-Navy Club, Washington D.C. 1:45 PM
Alec Cummings massaged his temples. This meeting was not going at all well.
Normally, being MI-6 station chief in Washington D.C. was a plum job. Mostly acting as liaison with the cousins, over various exchanges and joint operations; also occasionally playing at being a diplomat. A nice change of pace, as it were, from the usual espionage duty where secrecy, death and fear of betrayal were your constant companions.
{ Yes, it was very nice, until those Watcher Council arses came along with their politically influenced orders from London. } This entire hare-brained scheme of theirs had failed, and more importantly had really ticked off Siberian Trip Wire; the one agency in the U.S. spy community that Cummings *knew* made it a point of holding a grudge.
And Travers, the head of the Watchers delegation, was not helping things in any way, shape or form - what with how he was lecturing Marcum and Cleburne right now. Alec honestly wished his compatriot was not here; the man was only showing his ignorance of the faux pas they had committed, and the repercussions that were sure to follow.
In any case, Cummings' attempts to play peacemaker had failed miserably; and the discussion had grown quite heated over the last 15 minutes. Marcum had interjected quite often, as she sat between Joshua and Travers.
But Cleburne hadn't said a word the whole time, which given his reputation honestly worried Alec Cummings. Quite a bit.
Travers raised his voice, "The sad fact is, you're completely ignorant of the true ramifications over the existence of Xander Harris! You have no idea of what you're dealing with; you're like children, sticking your fingers into the pretty-looking fire. You should leave it to the professionals, and go play your cloak and dagger games elsewhere! We are equipped to handle this, not you. Turn Mr. Harris over to us, and-"
"He's an American citizen, not a British one." Those were the first words Cleburne had spoken during the entire meeting.
Travers glared at him. "Yes, and while we're on the subject; the way you treated our retrieval team is absolutely criminal!"
That caused Cummings to raise an eyebrow. He had personally debriefed Symons, and been told in great detail of all that the Watchers' team had done. { Damn it, Travers, please shut up about that... }
But the Englishman continued on, not caring the double standard he was applying. "Broken arms, physical violence and threats. These are criminal acts!"
"As opposed to kidnapping a U.S. citizen?" That was Marcum.
"There's no comparison at all. We're acting for the greater good; you're acting solely for your own petty interests. Mr. Harris should be examined and studied back in England, after that man is arrested and prosecuted!" he pointed at Cleburne.
Cummings noticed that Marcum had picked up her glass of water off of the table. He then realized that it had been in the path between Cleburne and Travers. { Uh-oh, } the MI-6 station chief thought as he saw Marcum subtly nod to Cleburne.
Joshua moved so suddenly, that Alec honestly didn't have time to blink before Travers was face-down on the table, being pulled out of his chair by the back of his neck by the American.
The female Watcher, the woman named Lydia who had accompanied Travers on this assignment, yelped and bolted up away from the table, her hands covering her mouth. Marcum just pushed herself back from the table to get out of the way.
The woman's scream also caused noise to occur from outside the room, where the aides and bodyguards were waiting. But Cummings had no doubts as to how a confrontation between the Siberians and the Watchers would turn out.
Travers, by now, was completely across the table. "What the - unhand me immediately, you sordid ruffian!" he shouted.
Cleburne responded by punching the Watcher so hard, that he ended up against the wall. Travers went down wheezing, as Cleburne walked over to a window and kicked out the glass. The broken shards fell four floors to the alley below.
Alec did nothing as Cleburne reached over, and grabbed the now-terrified Travers by the lapels of his jacket. The STW agent hissed, "Say good night, you stuck-up piece of-"
"Hold on a second. He's mine."
Everyone in the room looked at the source. There in the doorway, stood Xander with Hollins next to him. Several bodyguards flanked them.
{ So this is the source of all the trouble, } Cummings thought, as he drank in the sight of the modern-day Cassandra of Troy. Then he saw Xander's eyes, and instantly took a step back. { Good God, the man's gone mad... }
Xander advanced into the room towards Travers. Cleburne thought about it for a second, and then let go of Travers' lapels. The Brit fell to the ground, gasping.
Travers started to push himself up, with his back to the wall. "Alexander Harris, by the authority of..."
That was as far as he got, before Quentin felt the whoosh of air near his ear as a knife thudded into the wall to the left of his head, by just a few inches. Xander's left hand remained extended for a moment, from where he had thrown it.
Cleburne nodded his head, obviously impressed. Travers was just wide-eyed and speechless, as Xander approached. "Good throw," Cleburne complimented Xander.
"Not really, I was aiming to put the knife next to his right ear."
Cleburne shrugged. "We'll work on that later."
Xander walked to where Travers was and leaned down. "Quentin, I could make you scream. I could make you die," Harris said with an ugly look on his face, echoing the words that Faith the vampire Slayer had spoken in another reality.
He then grabbed Travers by the throat. "And there would be nothing, *nothing* you could do to stop me. The only reason I won't? It's the fact that the days of you and your sorry organization are already numbered..."
Xander paused, assessing his former captor's astonishment and the situation as a whole. "You still want me? Then think about this; there are people willing to kill you for that now. You ever wondered what it's like, to live in fear of your life? A car bomb outside your house. Poison in your favorite restaurant food. Even cyanide in your expensive cigars! Any of your Watcher Council buddies, the same can be said. So you remember all that, the next time you get any bright ideas of me being given an-all-expenses paid trip to England."
"I will not sit here and listen to this-"
Then Quentin Travers howled, as Xander let go and kicked him in the groin.
Hard.
Twice.
As the former soldier started to walk away, he suddenly stopped and turned back around. "Also, if anything happens to Kennedy on her 18th birthday? I'll hold you *personally* responsible. In the end, you will be *begging* me to kill you..."
Travers was more shocked than ever, as his dazed mind fought to recover from his ordeal. { He knows who the new Slayer is. Damn. What else does he know? Blast it, we have to find out, and to hell with all the stupid threats! }
As Xander exited the room, Cleburne walked over and got the knife out of the wall. He looked down at Travers. "Unit, Corps, God and Country."
Quentin was honestly confused. "What?"
"Unit, Corps, God and Country. Which means in this case, that we'll help in whatever the kid does to you and your entire damn Council. We've got his back on this, understand? You're not just dealing with him now, you're dealing with all of us in Siberian Trip Wire. You want a war? You've got one."
"This isn't over!" Travers shouted, massaging his privates as the male agent turned away.
"For you, here, it is," Cleburne announced calmly, turning around again. "You and your people have until the morning to get out of my country, and never come back-"
"I don't respond well to idle threats!" the Watcher said heatedly, causing Cummings to grimace.
Joshua Cleburne merely smiled. "Oh, I'm not threatening you. I'm just telling you that your face is going to be hitting the newspapers and TV screens all around the country tomorrow, for attempting to kidnap a U.S. citizen. Someone who 'unidentified sources close to the investigation' will say, was a Federal witness against a Las Vegas organized crime syndicate. The police and FBI will have orders to arrest you on sight, as you *will* be on their Top Ten Most Wanted list for the foreseeable future. And this is all due to an undercover MI-6 agent's report to his superiors, about your criminal activities."
Travers looked in disbelief at Cummings, who was already staring at Cleburne; the British spook then shrugged and accepted the peace offering with a nod, knowing when to cut his losses and try to restore some good will around here. { And what's more, it'll finally get this amateur out of my hair... }
He turned to the Watcher, "It's not as bad as it sounds; given your contacts, I'm sure you'll not be a wanted man back home. But you have publicly embarrassed Her Majesty's government in this country, Mr. Travers, and my latest orders from London are to repair the damage you've caused. So I suggest you accept the situation for what it is, and leave the U.S. while you're still able to do so."
"This is outrageous!" the British man screamed.
Cleburne looked over at the female Watcher named Lydia, who still had a look of shock on her face. "A nice girl like you should find another line of work." He then looked back at Travers.
"The clock is ticking. And if you want a preview of what I might do to you and your Council, ask Cummings to tell you about Beirut 1983." With that Cleburne pocketed the knife, and led the other people from STW out of the dining room.
TBC...