A/N: I know I'm late. Again. But I wanted to watch the premiere before I posted, but what do you know, hulu had an issue. Just watched it, though, and I have to say, I think I'm officially for Annie/Auggie friendship only, at least for a while. But that has nothing whatsoever to do with this fic, so I'll let you get on with it.

Chapter Four: Mental Abstraction

Auggie's thoughts had drifted to an old Billy Crystal film he'd once seen. In the film, Billy Crystal's character has to stand in for a mob-boss at a gathering of all the heads of the New York mafia in a run-down warehouse. When Auggie had first seen the movie while channel surfing one night, he'd thought the whole meeting-in-an-abandoned-building farfetched, but given his current position on Mace's right at a table in the middle of an old basement that smelled faintly of ammonia with an aftertaste of urine, he was rethinking his impression.

Auggie reeled his mind back in, and tried to focus on what was happening at the conference table. As a kid, Auggie had watched reruns of Mission Impossible, The A-Team, and of course, the James Bonds, but those Hollywood dramatizations of missions had left out the biggest chunk of a spy's life: the set-up. It wasn't planting mics or putting on tuxedos and ordering martinis while dancing with beautiful blondes. No, it was waiting, standing in the background, listening and watching while events unfolded, and praying a plan didn't blow up in your face.

At the moment, Auggie was watching as Mace, no Callan, prodded the two biggest criminal families from North and South Italy into an alliance. If the loose alliance were to, say, end in a CIA takeover, with luck and a bit of interference, the two families would turn in on each other, crumbling their infrastructures. At least, that was the plan. But from where Auggie was standing, things were not looking good.

Six days into formal negotiations and Auggie was beginning to think only the mutual death of a pair of star-crossed lovers would bring the Monteleones and the De Lucas together long enough for the CIA to get them to destroy each other.

That being said, Auggie had to admire Mace's abilities. It was painfully obvious why he'd both been given the opportunity multiple times to head a division and why he had, just as many times, refused a promotion; the man was made for espionage. From the moment Auggie had met him at the airport in DC a week ago, Philip Mace had been Henry Callan, from his treatment of Augusto (stereotypically dominating) to the slickness of his demeanor. Speaking Italian with a Scottish accent that, while strong enough to show he was not a native speaker, was still clearly legible, Callan commanded the attention of the room whenever he spoke. He practically oozed experience, and even the heads of the two crime-families had to respect him.

Auggie slid his eyes over the other people in the room, his shrewd gaze searching for any sign of trouble as covertly as he'd ever been. The families were sitting on opposite sides with Callan and Auggie, or more correctly, Augusto, at the head. On the left side were the Monteleones, with their patriarch, Alfonso Monteleone, sitting closest to Callan. Alfonso was a gruff, but shrewd leader, a description that could not be applied to his first-born son and heir, Primo, who sat next to him. Across from Alfonso, with a stout, no-mercy demeanor, sat Celso De Luca. Celso's heir was also his first son, but Massimo, unlike Primo, actually appeared to be a worthy successor to his father's empire. Various advisors or bodyguards (Auggie wasn't sure which as they rarely got a word in edgewise) occupied all the seats further down the table. When the debate got too tedious, such as now, Auggie entertained himself by hypothesizing their purposes.

Callan flicked his wrist and Augusto reanimated, readying for a quick request for a document or perhaps, as had occurred once or twice, an order to refill his "boss'" glass, but Callan seemed unaware of his motion. Auggie allowed Augusto to slouch slightly once again, while cursing his moment of mental abstraction. Mace shouldn't have had to pull him out of his thoughts; he had to remember to pay attention—sooner or later there'd be a breakthrough and he didn't want to miss it.

~OOOOOOO~

As he had "suggested" on the plane, Augusto walked a pace behind Callan as they all exited the building. Alfonso had just passed the threshold, having stayed behind to consult one of the advisors, when Augusto saw it—a flash of black, stark against the tiled rooftops and mid-afternoon sky in the corner of his vision. Without thought or reason or even a second of hesitation, the two-dimensional Augusto Aspesi had been pushed aside by Lieutenant August Anderson. He might have heard the swoosh of the bullet as it jetted passed his ear or the muffled grunt of a seventy year old Italian mafia leader as a hundred and eighty pounds of rock-solid muscle smashed him to the ground, but there was no registration, only the sound of blood thundering through his veins and the acrid taste of adrenaline on his tongue.

Then the world turned back on and Auggie could hear gunshots and someone cursing in deep Italian. He instinctively curled around the thing that had broken his dive, his need to protect outweighing his call to fight.

After an eternity, Auggie's brain registered someone speaking, and his thoughts reacted, his mind falling into the Italian as if it were English.

"What was that?" Don Monteleone cried.

Auggie jumped up, his gut telling him the danger had passed. He was about to reply, say something, anything to explain his actions, but one of Alfonso's men had already answered.

"Sir! Into the car, please, sir!"

Auggie watched, still in a haze, as the Monteleone entourage stuffed him and his son into the waiting cars, almost two minutes too late for the action to have been effective. The De Lucas' security must have been more prepared because, Auggie noticed, they had already driven away.

Auggie very nearly jumped when he heard the English in his ear. "That was stupid, boy."

It took a moment for him to realize what Mace—no longer Callan—had said, but when he did, he spun to look at him. "Why?"

Mace gave him a glare that practically spelled out the need to get away from the scene now, before he set off down the street, leaving Auggie to follow.

~OOOOOOO~

Mace led Auggie through the streets, never sparing the younger agent more than a look until they'd sat down at a table in an outdoor café in the old part of the city where few, if any, possible-onlookers could speak enough English to eavesdrop effectively. Only then did Mace address him, all trace of Henry Callan gone.

"Do you know what you just did?"

Auggie knew that sound, and his heart sped up, while he secured his familiar mask of stoicism, or at least, tried to. Mace's biting, "What did I say about that expression?" made him pause, and he let it shatter, the anger that might have once landed him with insubordination getting free reign on his face.

"I just saved Don Monteleone's life."

"What you just did was blow the operation." Mace's voice was frigid, but Auggie could feel the hot frustration radiating from his whole persona. He was almost afraid to reply. His brain struggled to come up with a reasonable explanation for his actions—preferably something that didn't make him sound petty—but his mouth had no such qualms.

"We wanted him dead?" Auggie knew that his government used snipers—one of his squad mates was one, after all—but Auggie couldn't comprehend the logic. "We are supposed to be getting them to agree!"

"Which seemed to be going well, didn't it?" Mace shot back, sarcasm dripping from his words like water from an icicle in the middle of summer. He suddenly relaxed into his seat, which threw Auggie for a greater loop than his first statement.

Mace cupped his hands under his chin. "Removing Alfonso would force Primo to take his father's place."

"What makes you so sure he'd continue the negotiations?" As soon as the words left his mouth, Auggie knew the answer.

"Don't tell me I need to explain everything to you," Mace replied.

For the first time since Auggie had accepted Mace's help packing, Auggie felt the sting of underestimation. He was about to respond with a scalding reply that would detail the whole psychology of the Monteleone family starting with the weak and insecure heir, when he noticed the slight lift of Mace's left cheek and the infinitesimal curving at the corner of his lip. Mace was joking with him? Auggie didn't know how to react, only his squad brothers joked with him nowadays, and besides, this was Philip Mace, badass spy, not a friend. He opened his mouth, still deciding on a reply, but Mace beat him to it once again.

"But never mind. What's done is done, and perhaps there is still a way to salvage this operation."

Auggie's heart leaped for a millisecond and then crashed when he remembered why they'd been sent to crash the two businesses: one of them, possibly both, was at least funneling money into the wrong side of the war in Iraq. That pipeline had to be shut down before more of his friends…Auggie threw up a wall in his mind, stopping his past from rearing its ugly head once again. He commanded his thoughts back to Mace and kept his voice steady. "How?"

"You just saved Alfonso Monteleone's life."

Auggie wanted nothing more than to say "so what?", but he'd had enough of Mace's disappointment, real or otherwise, to last him through the rest of the month. As it turned out, Mace needed no prompting.

"Tomorrow, when we have our next meeting, let more of August out." Mace anticipated Auggie's argument and addressed it quickly. "You've been insignificant enough not to be given much thought, but I guarantee you're going to be inspected now. Let them see more of the soldier."

"What will that do?" Auggie asked before he could stop himself.

"Set up your cover. When the Company makes its move, you'll need it." Mace stood and put down a few euro for the coffee a waitress had brought out before they'd started talking.

Auggie stood as well, twisting to avoid a chair as he followed Mace back onto the street. "What?"

"Augusto Aspesi is going to tip the scales."

Auggie stopped mid-stride, too blindsided to even attempt to cover his shock. Assuming Mace managed to get the families to a partnership—who was he kidding? Philip Mace never fails—he, August Anderson, "rookie" spy, was going to be the sleeper who corrupted the empire from inside. Just when he had mustered the control to continue walking, he froze again. "How the hell am I going to do that?"

Mace hailed the only taxi in their vicinity and didn't respond.

A/N: I thought you should know, you won't be getting another chapter next Wednesday as I have to go to this orientation camp. I'll try and update as soon as I get back, but I'm re-writing the next chapter, so it might not be posted until the following week.