A/N – Thanks for sticking with us through to the fourth installment in Life with Larry. In tonight's story, at long last, Larry finally meets the man he deemed worthy become his protégé, the young Michael Westen. Next week the pair will go on their first mission together; little did poor Michael know what he was getting into.
In other news, a special holiday edition of Reconnecting for Independence Day here in the States will be posted tomorrow. This will be the next installment in the 601 AU, My Island in the Sun series. Check the M-page to enjoy the 'fireworks' and find out what Michael and Fiona finally named Baby Boy Westen
Last but not least, the new series from Jedi's Pal starts this Monday, July 7th at 10 PM. Be Brave Little Angels is the prequel to Puppies, Kittens and Gun Toting Babies and will tell the tale of what happened if Michael didn't leave Fiona behind in Ireland. Much love and many thanks to all the #Burners out there on Facebook, Twitter and Fan Fiction for keeping Burn Notice alive! See you next week at #BurnerClub!
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Avione, Italy 1991
Special Agent Larry Sizemore was tired of waiting. It had taken him almost three years since his dismissal from operations in the Soviet Union, which would soon no longer exist if his intel correct, to make his way back to Eastern Europe. He had finally gotten the official and unofficial clearance to accept an assignment in the Balkans, which would put him within reach of his old assets and largely out of the reach of his old enemies. The CIA's former top wet work specialist in Europe cum freelance assassin was ready to return.
Now that he had everything lined up, Larry was impatient to begin the next phase of his career. Worse yet, he was becoming bored and that condition had frequently proven fatal to the people around him. At the moment, his current partner was pressing for the opportunity to relieve him of that boredom.
The man just didn't know it.
They were sitting in La Bell Vista Club, otherwise known as the chow hall, of the US Air Force Base at Avione in northeastern Italy waiting for the plane that would take them to the CIA's newly acquired clandestine headquarters: a private house in Skopje, in the region of Momin Potok, which had been converted for the Agency's use, equipped with highly sophisticated technology and blessed by the interior ministry and the various intelligence agencies that they hosted in Macedonia. There they would meet with the newly appointed Station Chief for the Balkans region. New base, new boss, new assignment…
The airbase itself was an odd layout as military bases went, with nine sections being spread out between two towns and across hundreds of acres, very different than the cramped quarters they had worked out of in Sagrado while investigating Gladio, an alleged terrorist group. The job was far beneath his skill set, but he had made some important contacts that would benefit his side business, so he considered it bearable.
It had been the last leg in the long journey from South American to the Middle East to finally back to Europe, with stops in Turkey and Greece along with way. Finally, Stratton had been useful in the manner Larry had intended when he'd taken the troublesome agent off of Station Chief Morales' hands back in Bolivia.
"I'm telling you, Lare, they were beautiful. You should've been there!"
Everyone has a weakness to exploit, his mentor's voice reminded the stone cold killer. That's rule number three. If that fails, there's always rule number two: Anyone can have a heart attack anywhere at any time.
As he eyed his colleague, sitting there sipping the coffee Stratton had insisted he needed after a long night of sexual exploits, Mr. Sizemore could just feel a cleansing heart attack in the offing, maybe even a rash of them if it turned out that he didn't like the newly appointed Head of Balkan Operations either.
Eric Stratton's weakness was women, always had been. He thought with his little head instead of his big one as the saying went, when he thought at all. But that was one of the reasons Larry had tolerated the man. Eric was easy to manipulate and would do or say virtually anything and he was good with explosives, one thing with which the CIA's master assassin had never bothered to become overly proficient. Oh, he could build a bomb if he had to, but he preferred more subtle and personal ways of ending someone's life.
Any idiot can wire a car to explode, kid. It might or might not take out your intended target and it makes the job that much harder if you miss. Bombs are for terrorists; pro's use their hands and their heads. Poisons, knives of all kinds, the feel of breaking a neck or squeezing the life out of body with your own bare hands, now that's killing. Even using a sniper rifle or handgun with a silencer can be personal if you do it right.
Agent Sizemore let out a heavy sigh. Twenty years of taking on the KGB was gone. The Soviet Union was disintegrating and falling into the hands of the various factions, militias and mobsters and he was missing out on it. His final mission in Moscow had cost him what should have been the crowning jewel of his career as a cold warrior. That was why he had requested a transfer to the Balkans. Now there was a place getting ready to descent into utter madness and wherever such chaos reigned, there was always opportunity.
It also got him back into Eastern Europe where he could re-establish his contacts now that he was certain he could work with Evelyn and she hadn't compromised his identity. It felt strange having a grudging respect for a woman, but she had earned it. She'd almost taken him out of the game and had finished off Brick.
Never trust a woman. They have lots of good uses, but they'll kill you if you don't keep your eye on 'em.
"I was going to save one for you, just your type, too; a real little minx from Minsk," Eric enthused.
He had missed the women in the Ukraine, the dark haired spy decided, as much as he had ever missed any women in particular. They were generally tough, vicious, no nonsense types or particularly desperate, sometimes both, and they understood the rules of the engagement. Charming women was all too easy for him and therefore tiresome after so many years. Chasing skirts is just a waste of time. Guys like Stratton expend too much energy either trying to get laid or cleaning up a mess when they get careless.
Not that he had any objections to that kind of work. The former senior agent to the Soviets had taken care of "little problems" for numerous politicians and powerful people all over the world throughout his career, both on and off the government payroll. He considered it a two-for and he charged accordingly. It paid well.
However, it was when the Eric Strattons of the world thought they should get a freebie just because he happened to know them that the spy got irritated. Larry Sizemore didn't work for free because that was the number one rule his mentor had taught him. He always got paid. Even Uncle Sam gave him a paycheck.
"You really should lay off the coffee, pal," Larry remarked with a knowing smile. "All that caffeine'll kill you one day."
His associate leaned back on the bench seat until his elbows were on the table behind him and then kicked his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankle. They could have almost been twins at a distance. They were for all practical purposes: same age, height, weight, build, coloring and bone structure.
"Your concern is touching, partner," Eric informed him.
That was the primary reason Agent Sizemore had worked with and tolerated this man. He'd make a convenient and convincing substitute should the CIA's premier wet work specialist ever need to disappear. Just the right amount of heat applied to the body and no one would know the difference. He had been the perfect stalking horse to test if Comrade Chenov was toying with him and had really planned to finish him off.
"That's right; always looking out for you, old buddy."
Larry had learned what he could about the elusive Evelyn Salt while his partner had been recovering from his injuries back on the US Air Force Base at Incirlik in southeastern Turkey, their first stop after Iraq. It hadn't been much, but it had been enough to allow Mr. Sizemore to pick out the perfect sniper spot, a rooftop with plenty of cover and escape routes and the target on her right hand side, as she was left handed.
Once Larry had learned that Evelyn was in the area, no doubt because he had been poking around in her past, it had been a simple matter to take Eric into nearby town of Adana and encourage the unsuspecting agent to parade back and forth in front of said perch multiple times a day to test whether the Amazonian assassin intended to execute him after all.
After a few weeks of allowing Stratton to flirt with the skirts he had paid off to keep his associate occupied, Larry was confident that he could move forward and take the mating dance of the hired guns to the next level. If Evelyn hadn't shot his colleague from a distance, either because she thought it was him or as a warning to him, then it was time to see if the former premier double agent in the KGB was interested in a parlay or just wanted the opportunity to kill him up close.
Larry almost laughed. It was something he would have done.
"I can't believe you missed out, man. We waited for you for like almost an hour," Stratton advised.
"Whole hour, huh..? Getting shot up really has slowed you down, pal," Sizemore countered.
The mess hall in which they were sitting was practically deserted this time of day. Larry made a habit of checking out where the food and beverages were dispensed at any stop he made for any length of time. The other man's hunt for a cup of Java had merely coincided with that omnipresent procedure.
His colleague's addiction to coffee was almost as strong as his obsession with the opposite sex. The man could wax poetic about the variances in flavor and effects, particularly about the roasts and bean varieties available in the western hemisphere as opposed to the eastern one. That was another thing he could almost tolerate about his partner and it had allowed Larry use Eric as a cut out without much explanation needed to the operative or the Agency once they had arrived that their next 'light duty' assignment for the Company.
After Stratton's recovery was complete, his partner's shenanigans in Baghdad had earned them a posting near the 7206th Air Base Group in Greece, which was the primary USAF unit within the 6916th Security squadron that provided electronic aerial surveillance of the eastern Mediterranean and the Middle East. It was also used for airlift evacuation operations throughout the late sixties and early eighties. So, by the time the pair of spies had been assigned to a couple of desks to follow-up on actionable intel provided by the fly boys of the Hellenikon Air Base, not much of anything of importance had been happening there for awhile.
Mr. Sizemore sat on the opposite side on the table at the Italian airbase where they now waited, leaning on his elbows with his fingers entwined to ensure that he didn't give in to the desire to reach forward and break Stratton's neck on the spot as he remembered how infuriated he had been with the assignment and the reason for it. But Larry had learned to make the best of bad situations before and he had once again.
Most people would have been thrilled to be dropped on the southern tip of Greece, nearer the beach than the fabled city of Athens to the northeast and, lucky for him, Eric Stratton was most people. The carefree spy enjoyed his days ogling whatever passed by while he was unwittingly being set up to be murdered in the stead of his senior partner, used again and again as a cut out to deliver various intel to actual US field agents and feints towards the emissaries sent by the GRU-trained assassin that Larry wanted to work with.
He chuckled softly. For a CIA agent, Eric Stratton was not very observant, except when it came to one thing. And that one thing had just walked through the rear doors at the opposite end of the long room.
"Thank you, sir. May I have another?"
With that said, the other agent was on his feet, his coffee abandoned, headed for the fair haired Amazon who'd just entered the target zone.
His colleague sighed again. He'd grown exceedingly weary of hearing that line, which signaled the start of another hunt. It seemed there was just no one he could work with that got it. He'd worked with some promising people, but Stratton was not one of them. Brick had been the closest thing to an actual partner Larry had found in decades. They'd had somewhat similar experiences growing up; the man understood pain and how to apply it and the same approach to dealing with the little problems their work threw at them.
But even Mr. Breeland didn't really get it, although he knew Larry's protocol and followed it to the letter. Subconsciously, Mr. Sizemore had been searching for someone who understood the joys of wet work, who really appreciated the thrill of the kill. Someone who had been trained like he had by life, someone willing to be molded as he had been by a mentor.
He watched carefully as Eric approached her. She was tall for a female and solidly built, broad shoulders, swimmer's shoulders was the term, and probably a narrow waist, although the suit coat hid most of that. No need for shoulder pads there, he grinned internally. The woman's dirty blonde hair was pinned up tightly and the blue power suit matched her eyes. Her frame reminded him a bit of Evelyn, though the assassin was a classic Russian beauty as opposed to the more Slavic features of this woman. But the details of her appearance, while duly noted, were ultimately irrelevant to him. He was interested in what she was made of.
This broad was observant, taking in all her surroundings from the moment she entered, and carefully assessing the object that was inbound. Her overall bearing was military, he could see that. But the casual stance that masked her readiness to strike at any second spoke of another kind of training. This one had definitively been a valedictorian at the school of hard knocks. Larry was good at recognizing that in other people. He'd seen it in the mirror often enough. Her story was probably just as ugly as his was.
"Agent Eric Stratton," the other agent announced, thrusting his hand out, "Damned glad to meet you."
His partner had to sigh yet again at that, too. That line was getting seriously old as well.
He eyed Stratton's abandoned beverage with longing.
No, it wouldn't do for him to have a heart attack just yet.
"Station Chief Rayna Kopec," she returned, taking the man's hand firmly.
He could see his associate's surprise at her grip from where he sat.
"Oh, so, you're the new sheriff in town," Eric remarked, removing his hand as quickly as possible despite what he had originally intended.
So that was the new station chief.
Larry felt his spirit buoy. She was not going to be easy to manipulate or intimidate. Putting her in her place was going to be very entertaining. He was already warming to the challenge. It might alleviate the boredom enough to prolong his colleague's life just a little longer.
The door at the back of the base commissary opened again and Larry found his attention locked on the dark haired young man in the deep grey suit who came through next. If the new chief had been a fascinating combination of solider and street-kid, this one took it to a whole new level. The kid was one wary predator.
Mr. Sizemore found himself grinning wolfishly, not the false but oh so effective smile he could plaster on his face in an instant and drop just as quickly, but a look of actual satisfaction, the kind he usually reserved for a particularly gratifying homicide. If that one had half the potential he was projecting, well, then he might just have found what he was looking for, waiting for actually without really knowing it: an apprentice.
She turned toward the rear entrance and excused herself, dismissing Stratton both literally and figuratively. Even though she'd turned her back on him, the blonde was still watching surreptitiously until his colleague began to move back towards their table. Then she turned her full attention back to the tightly wound younger man in the doorway.
Eric lowered himself onto the bench and then looked back over his shoulder at the pair of them speaking quietly before turning back to address his associate.
"Looks like the bitch brought one of her pups with her," he groused.
"That's not a trainee," Larry countered. The man is oblivious. I should get a bonus for taking him off the payroll and saving the taxpayers the money.
"Okay, lap dog then," Stratton complained. "I'm sure they spend plenty of time playing fetch the 'stick' after hours."
"Not that one," the senior agent assured him as the duo turned and started walking towards them. "That's nobody's a lap dog and he's not a pup- although he might just be the pick of the litter."
At his last remark, the younger man's attention fixed on Larry, followed by the woman's.
They'd heard him; impressive, most impressive.
Agent Sizemore stood and moved around the table, bypassing the other man to meet the twosome in the middle of the enormous dining hall.
"Larry Sizemore," he said flashing all his pearly whites, reaching for the intense young man's hand, testing his grip and liking what he found.
"Michael Westen…" came the terse response. Michael turned toward the agent he'd worked with during the past two years and gestured in her direction. He'd caught the older man's snub of her as well as the handshake test. "This is—"
"Station Chief Kopec," Larry filled in. "So I've heard, my dear."
"Agent Sizemore," she acknowledged as he used both his hands to clasp hers. He knew by the look of those appendages that, in her case, the handshake test would be a useless rookie gambit. He was going to move straight to the disrespect through over-familiarity campaign.
By this point, the other operative had grown tired of being ignored and had joined them.
"That is Eric Stratton," he said, nodding his head back over his shoulder towards the man behind him. "He's damned glad to meet you."
The aforementioned agent held his hand up in a half-hearted wave and then dropped it.
"There's been a change of flight plans," Chief Kopec informed them. "Agent Westen and I have business that apparently wasn't quite as finished as we thought it was. So our flight's being redirected. There'll be a plane to take both of your to headquarters in another six hours. I look forward to working with you both when we return. Take the time to get yourselves acclimated, gentlemen. We have lot of work to do."
"Who was your recruiter?" Larry asked suddenly before Michael could depart.
"William Raines," he answered, though his curiosity about the question was evident. "Do you know him?"
"Sure do." That confirmed everything he'd needed to know about Mr. Westen's potential. Raines had a reputation for being able to spot raw talent, talent others frequently missed. He'd find out soon enough who'd been his training officer. God, if it had been Tom Card… Larry found himself smiling again.
While he disliked the man personally, there was no question that those who survived that training officer's regimen were top of the class. The bastard was by the book, but there was no doubt in Mr. Sizemore's mind that Card's drive had a darker origin than even the trainer himself was probably unaware of and Tom used that most effectively to find whatever buttons needed to be pushed to get the most out of his trainees.
"Then we'll see you two over there in a week or so after you get back from-?" he asked, his face a mask of innocence as he turned his attention back to the duo before him. He feigned it well considering he hadn't actually been innocent in such a very long time. The Station Chief gave Larry a look that told him what she thought of his deliberately amateur probing before turning her level gaze on the younger man at her side.
"Westen," His new boss said, as she turned to go.
The older man held Michael's attention for another brief moment and then the junior operative followed the tall blonde out of the room. Agent Sizemore watched the retreating figures until the door shut behind them.
"What an Ice Queen," Stratton complained.
Ice Queen, huh? That sounded about right.
But she wasn't what was really on his mind as they returned to the table and Eric's now cold coffee.
It was the opportunity to train someone fresh, someone who had clawed their way through what life had thrown at them, just as he had; someone who understood the meaning of pain and how and when to apply it; someone who could stand on the top of the food chain with him and enjoy looking down just as he did; someone to share his legacy with, someone who could be a true acolyte.
He'd just been waiting for the right person to come across his path.
"Hey, you in there, man?" His colleague waved his hand in front of Larry's face, whose exceptionally rare reverie had not gone unnoticed. "You sure seemed awful taken with that guy. You're not turning queer on me, are you, man?"
"What? No." Larry's smile was broad, but his eyes were alight with just the tiniest hint of malice. "I was just thinking of all the ways we could defrost the Ice Queen. Quite the challenge, right, old buddy?" he concluded, punching his partner in the arm just a little too hard.
"Oh, yeah," Eric agreed, warming to the topic. "I can think of loads of way to melt that cold—"
As his soon-to-be-ex-partner prattled on about everything he wanted to do to Rayna Kopec, Larry was mentally calculating. The best intel he had said there would be no more Soviet Union in a matter of weeks. The Ice Queen and the Kid were obviously going to be tied up making sure that their assets were protected.
He would have to do a little of that himself, but he couldn't afford to be open about it… not yet… and, as for Mr. Stratton, it was time for him to meet another blonde bombshell that would take his breath away literally. He just hoped that Ms. Salt was still in northern Italy and had not yet departed for places unknown quite yet.
"Tell you what," Larry said as he threw his arms around the other's man shoulders, steering him towards the rear exit, "Why don't we get off the base and go get some real food? I know a little place, Ristorantino Snack Bar K2, terrible name, but a great bar and the food and the women are to die for."
Mr. Sizemore managed not to smirk as he said it.
"Hey, maybe I can round up those two from last night?" Stratton was already working on how the night was going to end. "You really missed out, man. Those two were wild."
The older man couldn't help the grin that broke out that time, although he fully expected the other man to completely misinterpret his meaning. The two tourists from the motherland whom his partner had picked up last night, according to Evelyn, were actually KGB operatives looking to make contact with Agent Sizemore. They had entertained the junior agent in hopes the senior would arrive some time sooner rather than later.
"You wait right here, ol' buddy. I'm going to commandeer us a car and we can enjoy the rest of the night. We'll just take a little drive down the SP7 and, before you know it, we'll be turning onto Via Giuseppe Garibaldi. Until that plane comes back around, we've got plenty of time to kill." And the corners of his bright eyes crinkled at the thought. Exiting the double metals door, Mr. Sizemore went out into the cold and pulled his phone from the recesses of his coat pocket. Lucky seven on the speed dial answered quickly.
"Well, well, I didn't except to hear from you so soon. Miss me already?"
"I have a little favor to ask if you're still in town. I think you might even enjoy it."
"Even more than last night…? Hmmm, sounds intriguing. You know, I might just be able to squeeze you into my schedule. Of course, that is if you can make it worth my time…I'm a very busy woman."
He flashed his pearly whites in the darkness at a sergeant who jumped at the clearance level on his badge and quickly opened the door to the motor pool. It was so refreshing to deal with a female who had her head on straight even if it was going to cost him an asset. Ah, well, you have to break an egg or two for omelets…
"Maybe you'd like to know why what you're planning for next week needs to be rescheduled."
"Oh, good, we do have something to talk about."
He ended the call by letting the sergeant know, and by extension his latest business partner, where he was taking the vehicle and Mr. Stratton for the night and then collected the proverbial bane of his existence these last two years and tried to keep his mind on the road ahead in the darkness of the Italian winter's eve.
While Eric sat in the passenger seat was recounting his ménage à trios fantasies come to life from the prior evening, Larry had been considering the ramifications of sealing the pact between himself and the most dangerous woman east of the rapidly disintegrating Iron Curtain. After six months in Greece, dangling his hapless partner like chum on a shark line, the wet work specialist had taken the next step by getting himself assigned to chase left wing ghosts for the Italian government from a cramped little office space in the north.
After another six months of narrowly missing Ms. Salt and in turn avoiding her in various locations throughout the uppermost and eastern-most parts of the Italian peninsula, the cat and mouse game they were playing with ever increasing intrigue came to a conclusion one night in the city of fair Verona. But instead of standing on balconies declaring their undying love for one another, the two master assassins found each other staring across an alley, roof-top to roof-top, through two highly calibrated sniper scopes.
Both had ducked down simultaneously. He hadn't had to wait too long for his cell to ring.
"That was clever, sending Eric with a .38 special for me for yesterday… two bullets missing. You remembered. I'm touched. Did you really think I was going to kill him for you after all this time? I always get paid, one way or another. Do you have any idea how much money you cost me back in Moscow?"
"Not nearly as much as you cost me," Larry had assured her. "I'm hoping we're past all that now. You were the one who followed me to Kapotnya and you just couldn't bring yourself to finish off the competition?"
"You were good. You almost had me. If it hadn't been for… by the way, you really need to get yourself a partner that's not distracted by big tits." She chuckled, a snarky sound if ever he'd heard one. "Anyway, I was intrigued. You were the first one who got away. I wanted to know if you were that good, or that lucky."
"Oh, I am that good and I just get better every day. So, shall we cut to the chase here? Are we killing each other or working together?"
"But the chase is so much fun."
"You obviously have more free time than I do, dear. The KGB might be kaput, but I've still got a day job."
"Alright, I'll admit it, I'm a fan," Evelyn confessed. "I have a job next week here and when I heard you were going to be in the city of so much... hmmm…tragic romance shall we say, the stars just sort of lined up. I have a suite at the Palazzo Victoria. Bring your best poisons and maybe we'll make some magic. But don't keep me waiting long or I might change my mind about killing you when we're done."
As the dark haired spy sat in the middle of the room, buying drinks and telling loud off-color jokes, making sure that everyone saw him and the not-quite-dead-yet Mr. Stratton together, he was genuinely anticipating the rest of the evening. His dear friend "Lucy" would be striding through the door within a few hours, a mane of flowing brown hair and as little clothes on as the weather allowed. Soon enough, she would be on her way to show his good ol' buddy the time of his life and then he would be one step closer to his goal.
Michael Westen was going to be one unstoppable sonuvabitch when he was done with his protégé.