Agnus Dei
Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, dona eis requiem,
Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, dona eis requiem sempiternam.
~a portion of the Agnus Dei, the petition to the Lamb of God
Ben paused in the lobby, looking across and into the dining area. At the moment, he and his hunter were the only two recognizable foreigners present. The man was seated at a simple table that was centered against a large half-circle window. The view from it was expansive, the sun blazing over high roofs, shadows stretching from alleys between market booths. The implication was worrying – the man had control of multiple vantage points and was flaunting it to Ben. He was not here alone.
A twitch rose in Ben's cheek and he clenched it away. Already the situation was off to a rocky start. He would have to look for a more novel way out.
With a casualness he did not actually feel, Ben put his hands in his pockets and ambled with regulated slowness towards the other man. He moved his neck slightly now and again, but not his eyes. He used the careful movement to try and pick out others within the immediate vicinity. No, the man was within the hotel itself alone. Two old men played a board game by the distant kitchen door, their boredom and harsh language with each other too natural to be staged. Men occasionally passed through, deliverymen, a butcher, serving staff.
The man rose and introduced himself to Ben. Rainsford, and nothing more. Ben did not have the advantage of Widmore's lawyer. No folder sat on the table before the other man. No rings, no history on the man's pale flesh. Ben inclined his head politely and took the opposite chair when gestured to.
"I'd offer my own polite introduction, but it'd be rather a waste of time, don't you think?" He smiled broadly, without blinking.
Rainsford chuckled and gestured for a staffer. "Coffee for us. Fruit and some of the local yogurt. Thank you." He waved a hand at Ben. "It's a small breakfast, but why overburden ourselves? Busy day ahead," he said, and he gave a quick little vulpine smile.
"Is it? I'm sorry to hear. I'd planned something more relaxing myself. Maybe a bus trip." Ben kept his tone light, his gaze locked on the other man's face.
"That's life, always with its little rescheduling."
The staffer returned with their breakfast. He left a carafe on the table. Steam and the smell of a rich dark brew rose from it. Rainsford poured them both a cup, his sleeves rolled up and Ben's line of sight for the activity deliberately clear. He pushed one of the porcelain cups towards Ben, then added sugar and a dollop of milk to his own. "I'll let you handle your own additives. I don't think you'd appreciate my preference."
Ben made a soft noise and left his black. No point in playing with further risks. Rainsford shrugged and took a long sip. His half-lidded, sleepy eyes watched Ben, who himself merely looked back at him.
"I'd like to thank you, Ben."
"What for?"
Rainsford tipped his cup towards the other man in a salute. "Not immediately starting to beg for your life. You're still trying to think a way out of this. You can't, but I respect the attempt." The vulpine smile again. "I really hoped this would be a fun job, and it was. You really messed me up with your trip out here. Good thing Widmore knows you so well, huh?"
Ben's expression remained neutral. "Happy to have brightened your day." He took a sip of his coffee, then flicked his gaze back up to the American. He decided to poke. There was nothing to lose. "You don't think I can make a move? Going to kill me right here, brains all over the brick?"
"Widmore'd prefer it if we keep things clean. He also said he wanted you alive, but you know, I don't think he really meant it." Rainsford jutted his jaw towards the wide window. "I brought a full team with me. We've got every exit watched, windows under surveillance, hell, my friend, we dropped a few sensors in the plumbing just in case."
He picked up the bowl of thick, honey-sweetened yogurt and gave it a stir before continuing. "Running's done. So what I'm going to do is give you a little courtesy - let you finish your last meal in peace and I will wait right outside the main entrance. You have five minutes from when I get up from the table. If you move from this seat and do not emerge from that door within two minutes, we'll come in. You do not want that. It will become uncomfortable for you." Rainsford smiled. "I'd rather do this as painlessly for you as possible. It was interesting, but I'm not going to be a monster. Not even for Widmore."
"Much appreciated." He thought quickly, trying to buy more time. His brow furrowed. "Just a question before the clock starts ticking – what took you down this road?"
"What's that?"
"Your career. Your... duty, if you like. Obviously you're a professional."
Rainsford laughed. "Professional hunter of men. Been with my people a long time." He dropped his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "I like you, I'll tell you the honest truth. I don't care about the killing itself. The hunt itself is interesting, and I like how the tech guys do their job. We can bug anything anywhere within days – track a normal man so thoroughly that we could time his bathroom habits. Anything I want to know, anything I want to see, I can find a way to do it. The world's mine, and I like to go look at it. My job lets me. But the whole of it is, the absolute truth?" He leaned back again and spread his fingers on the table. "Been doing it so long, I don't know how to do anything else."
"Mm."
"I don't want to, either."
"You never wanted a normal life?" Ben watched the man carefully, carrying a little genuine care for the answer. A part of his mind kept working swiftly at a plan.
"Normal is a lie. There is no normal. Two point five kids? Picket fence?" Rainsford slitted his eyes in memory. He looked serene. "I watched men die. Iraq, Mogadishu. I watched the light go out of their eyes while pieces of them were still stuck to the walls around them. There's nothing there after that but meat. I've made my peace with that, and I've made peace with the fact that I'm never going to move to Kansas and take a lady and not see red dripping wherever I go. So I'll do what I'm good at. I know my place in the world, and it's just turning meat into meat."
"My god," Ben said, his voice droning sardonically. "A genuine moral nihilist."
Rainsford burst into laughter. "Thrasymachus couldn't sustain the argument, I'm not sure we can succeed at true nihilism and not fall into hypocrisy." He pointed at Ben. "Let me guess – you prefer the Stoics."
"I confess to a fondness for the Meditations."
"Ah. Logos."
"Wouldn't say I'm dogmatic about the concept. Let's say I'm in transition."
Rainsford gave him a rueful look. "Not for long." He pushed away from the table, rose, and began to walk away. "Five minutes. Don't get up from that chair until you're ready."
Ben ate a slice of fresh, sweet fruit with contemplative slowness. He did not bother to watch the man leave.
~*~
"Check in, 12 contact, check in." Rainsford released the walkie's button. He lounged against the arched doorway.
"Hasn't moved, sir. Fruit's gone, on to the white crap."
"Turkish yogurt, you tasteless fuckwit." A static-laden laugh came over the speaker. He grunted to himself. "He so much as farts, you call in. All contacts, check in." They did. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Another minute. Another round of checks. Nothing. One minute left.
"He's moving."
"Describe." He halted his stopwatch and reset it for two minutes.
"Just got up and moved northside, towards you, sir. Very calm."
"Excellent," murmured Rainsford, although he didn't bother to broadcast it. Ben would go out honorably. He could at least see to that.
One minute.
Two. Nothing.
Rainsford jerked away from the wall and bellowed into his walkie. "What the fuck – report everything you saw! Ground team, we're going in pronto."
Two men dressed in khaki and bulging vests immediately appeared from across the street and flanked Rainsford as he stormed inside. Several others would be entering the building from multiple points. His comm chattered at him, a litany of descriptors, everyone who had come and gone in the last ten minutes.
"Laundry truck, no viable transfer, driver didn't exit, they tossed shit in-"
"Two waitresses coming in for duty."
"Dude going out for a smoke, west side."
"Go tell him that shit'll kill him. Butcher's taking fresh meat out the back. Nasty."
"Somebody just dropped a bucket of liquid out a window."
"Probably piss!"
"Cut the fucking chatter! Report only!" Rainsford swept the lobby, his thoughts ticking. Men would already be upstairs. He shoved aside the chattering desk clerk that appeared in front of him and went into the dining area. A woman was clearing the table. Nothing. He cursed under his breath as he moved and his gaze caught the two old men looking at him.
"Sir, we got dick up here. All his stuff's still-"
"Shut up."He shoved the walkie into his pocket, stalked past the men, and threw open the kitchen door. An assortment of startled faces looked at him, but he wasn't what had caused the expressions. A short Arabic man in a blood-streaked shirt was sitting by a sink, an improbably clean towel pressed against his forehead. A cleaver rested next to him. Rainsford's eyes widened, snatching the walkie back up.
"6 contact, repeat your report and describe."
"Watched a butcher leave, carrying either a lamb or a calf over his shoulders. Still dripping blood, man, had it all over his fa-"
"You fucking idiot," snarled Rainsford. "Relieved of duty. Get the fuck out of my team, 6. ASAP. You are on a plane in one hour or I kill you my god damned self." He barked further orders to the rest, preparing to fan out and catch up.
~*~
Ben dropped the lamb in an alley, along with the filthy butcher's coat. His gaze darted back and forth while thinking over the city's map, plotting a route. He had limited time, certainly not enough to permit panic. His own clothing was already stained through, though his passports and cash remained clean. He ran a bloody hand over his bloody face, not doing much except to stick his hair up in wild, copper-rank snarls.
Water. He needed water to clean – the windows along the alley were all open holes, surely he would be able to hang in and appropriate a sink...
A man shouted something in Arabic from behind him. Ben whirled, his blue eyes fixing on a tall man in a Berber's cloak. The man was pointing directly at him, but there was no one else close enough to take immediate notice. Without hesitation, Ben advanced on the man and snapped his wrist out. The baton connected with the side of the man's knee and he staggered deeper into the alley with a cry. Ben's free hand grasped the man at the top of his throat, just below his jaw, and drove the top of his skull against the jutting brick of the alley wall. Ben's face contorted as he let the man fall slightly, then he did it again. Ben's lips were drawn back, showing his teeth in a horrified grimace as the man's struggle ended. Blood dripped from the Berber's skull and down the side of his face to mingle with the lamb's blood that already coated Ben's fingers.
He released, and the man slumped down, his eyes dull and empty. Ben dry heaved once. Then he tugged the cloak free and wrapped himself within it. Water. Water and flight. He focused on the next step. To think too long on his last would freeze him.