A/N:
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The blood splatter had been an unexpected development, and already he was cursing at himself for his errant mistake in using the wrong ammunition. In hindsight, he should've used the damned hollow-points, they were more lethal and ideal for any close-quarters situation, and the round fired wouldn't over-penetrate in soft-tissue. But instead, he was dumb enough to heed his armorer's advice in field testing the newer and experimental explosive-tipped ammo, a regretful mistake in which he was paying now.
Earlier, when he fired his SIG P226 at the target's head, he honestly thought that the round would pierce the skull for a few short inches before it went off, avoiding any unwanted messes. And yet, his usually detail-oriented armorer forgot to mention a little tiny tidbit, about the round exploding immediately upon impact, not during or after the bullet's penetration.
It was a rookie mistake, something in which he hadn't done in over two decades ever since he started work as a field officer for Six's usual covert ops. In a way, he kind of thought the sudden spatter was funny, and then the realization sets in and his mood sours, as he was practically forced to ditch his favorite blazer, at a trash can just outside the Agency building's main entrance. It was a rare limited-edition Saville Row coat, and it was damn near irreplaceable. But besides the unanticipated red spray, everything had gone off like clockwork. There was no trace evidence of his presence at Ferguson's office, with everything having been wiped clean, security tapes diluted of his brief presence, and the murder weapon disassembled and disposed at various places a few miles west out of CIA headquarters.
He made a mental reminder to order another one of those magnificent coats.
Yet overall, it was actually a job well done. Ruined blazer notwithstanding, it wasn't really all that bad, considering this was his twentieth termination op and he got away scot-free without any additional bodies besides the target, and the alarm hadn't even been raised.
He was a bit disappointed with the op's lack of a challenge though, to say the least. When he eliminated Ferguson, he had half-expected for the now deceased career spook to trip a silent alarm, summoning a fast response team to take him out. Sad to say, nothing ever materialized after the man's death, and he walked away as if nothing had ever happened.
A blessing in disguise, perhaps? He was already pushing fifty next month, and his once proud muscular physique was already starting to strain from the intense efforts of the job. He'd hate to admit it, of course, but the things that he could've done with ease twenty years ago were requiring a lot more strength and effort lately. And he was a proud man, a byproduct of the Special Forces training that had been hammered relentlessly into his skull a lifetime ago, when he was still a distinguished major in the Army. But he'd already left that life now, and because of that elite soldier mentality, his mind still has blatantly refused to realize that his body was finally catching up with his age.
This is depressing, he thought to himself as he placed some distance between him and the Agency's headquarters, with the evening Virginian wind giving him a slight chill.
He spotted a pay phone not too far away from him, just placed at a street corner besides Langley's main thoroughfare. Without any preamble, the man went inside, grabbed the connected phone, and dialed the temporary number that connected him towards his intended contact. It didn't take long before the line was immediately picked up.
"Forster's International Exports," a lovely female voice joyfully greeted him. "how may I direct your call?"
"This is Bodark," the man gruffly replied. "requesting immediate redirect to Six." The woman's voice instantly turned serious, all apparent traits of her earlier cheerful disposition immediately vanishing into thin air.
"Authenticate."
"Blackbird six-three-niner, Zulu X-ray five."
"Wait one," the woman stated, making him wait for a few moments before she returned, voice still deadly serious. "ident codes check out, Bodark. Request granted. As always, enact protocol Sierra, transmission handover is underway. Standby."
The man understood what needed to be done. And with a routine that he had already mastered, he grabbed a small one-time scrambler from his pocket, placed it near the phone's transmitter, and activated it. What followed was something that he hated immensely ever since he was issued the damn thing. A cacophony of screeches, beeps and various noises bombarded his ears, subjecting him to a few seconds worth of agonizing audio horror before it finally stopped.
He will—and most likely always will—hate the device every time it was turned on, but over the years since it was first created, the disposable little scrambler had been an essential part of every field operator's kit, just as equally important as a gun or any viable weapon out there. What the pain-in-the-ass gadget did was relay his call towards several locations; using a powerful, yet extremely short-lived bio-matrix CPU core that not only uses multiple, worldwide switchboard servers to make the call effectively untraceable, but also automatically encodes it with a temporary 512-bit encryption software key that'll make all transmissions virtually secured as well, provided it doesn't get past the recommended duration. Otherwise, the line would be compromised.
With the scrambler, it was usually a love-hate relationship. Well, mostly hate.
"This is Six," the phone's receiver suddenly came to life with a stern voice, breaking him out of his loathing session with the gadget he was holding now. "is this line secure?"
"Do you really think so little of me as to assume I'm that carless?"
"Hmmm." He could practically picture the old bastard smiling on the other line.
"Anyways, I did what you ask."
"Ferguson's gone?" Six asked.
"Yeah, and he wouldn't approve 'FEAR'." he responded. "Just like you called it."
"His death is…regrettable," the older man, in charge of one of the most powerful organizations this side of the planet, spoke in a tone indicating anything but remorse. "were there any complications?"
"Besides getting my favorite blazer splattered with the fucker's blood, none whatsoever."
"Don't worry about that. As usual, I'm sure the funds I just transferred to your account will more than compensate for your tragic loss." For the first time during that night, the man smiled.
"They always do."
"Alright then. Now that everything's been settled, the plan's finally coming into play."
"You already found a replacement, didn't you? That was quick." he inquired, a bit curious and impressed as to what Six had in store. The cunning bastard always did thought of three moves ahead in advance.
"Even as we speak, Five's on his way now to swear the new asset in as the new director for the Division. Hopefully by the end of the year, we'll have enough skilled operators and other additional personnel recruited for 'FEAR'."
"Yeah, hopefully. Oh, by the way." He commented. "Ferguson had suggested a…'contingency', so to speak. Regarding the elimination of Matthias, his followers, and the entirety of the Star Phenomenon as a whole. It's not really that bad of a plan, actually."
"There's another way besides putting a bullet in everybody's head?" Six questioned earnestly, interest apparent in his tone. "I'm truly intrigued. Okay, so what is it exactly?"
"Well, it concerns a certain shipment. You see, what's inside of it is…"
"You didn't have to push me so hard, you know." Sam whined, all the while rubbing her gluteus maximus as she stood from her earlier fall in the living room's wooden floor.
"If I knew you were going to pull off something like that, I would've pushed you sooner." Lara quipped, reattaching the ball chain to its connector to return the dog tags and the attached ring to her neck, where it rightfully belonged. Well, sort of.
"What's so damned special about that thing, anyway?" her best friend asked, giving her a pointed glare. The fall must've hurt more than she'd let on. It was either that, or it was her bruised ego hurting for having been caught so easily. She really couldn't tell.
"Like I said earlier," Lara responded, "it's nothing."
"You pretty much chased me relentlessly for the better part of a few minutes, and then pushed me just to get those stupid tags back. Seriously, that's so unlike you."
"Maybe you really don't know me that well at all."
"Whatever," the shorter woman commented with a wave as she walked towards the direction of her room, ostensibly giving up on her aggressive inquiry. "It's not as if you got that from hooking up with some sol—wait, hold on a sec…"
Sam abruptly stopped in mid-stride, turning her head to view the young British woman with a huge smile and a face looking like it had solved an extremely grandiose mystery. Suddenly, Lara found the ceiling very interesting as she looked away, immediately conscious of her best friend's laser-focused gaze. Damn that woman's extremely unpredictable intuition…
"You didn't…"
"I don't know what you're talking abo—"
"Bullshit!" Sam happily exclaimed. "Ha-ha! Who knew Lara Croft had it in her this whole time?
"Sam, for goodness' sakes, I did not—"
"My Lara, my extremely high and mighty and goody-two-shoes best friend," Sam cut her off again, not giving her a chance to retort. "no, scratch that. My smart and incredibly hot best friend, has just scored a scorching hot soldier boy worthy of her booty-licious bod."
Lara was blushing furiously now from her best friend's persistent teasing, and she couldn't even form a single articulate sentence to defend herself with, as every argument she could rapidly think of had died in her throat. Damn it…
"I am soooo proud of you!"
"Huh?"
"He was hot, right?"
"I don't—"
"Did he have a sexy scar?"
"Well…"
"Wait—hold on, was he a local from around here or an out-of-town kinda guy?"
"Uh…"
"Did he have a body that was just to die for?"
"Wha—?"
"Lara, speak!" Sam stated with an expression filled with unadulterated glee. "Come on, girl! Details. I wanna know what he was like in the sack. You did have an orgasm though, right?"
"Sam!" Lara irately drawled out, her cheeks blushing even further if it ever was even remotely possible.
"Why am I even asking you all this?" Sam said to herself as her face lit up with yet another idea, putting the extremely one-sided conversation to a close. "Screw it, I'm just going to search him on Facebook."
"That's—! Wait, what?"
Lara, who had finally found her voice, was about to tell her best friend to bugger off; when Sam's really recent idea popped into her head. In all honesty, it was pretty much stupid, childish, and not to mention extremely stalker-ish, if there ever was such a word. She wasn't that kind of girl that would Facebook stalk every guy that she so fancied. And yet…
Why the bloody hell hadn't I thought of that first?
By the time she pulled herself together, Sam was already in her room, using her still turned on Mac as she opened up a web browser to access the extremely popular social networking site.
"Sam, quit it." Lara said to her as she walked in inside her room. "It's not right."
"What was his last name again?" Sam asked, not even bothering to turn her head as it was glued to the laptop's screen.
"Come on, let's just pretend this never happened, okay?" the young Brit pleaded with her best friend, trying to maintain her reasonable self. But a huge part of her really was curious as to what they were about to see, and as she was just besides the other woman, a huge part of her that contained her cautious and extremely smart demeanor was practically thrown into the wind.
Besides, she rationalized to herself, it can't hurt to take one quick peek…right?
"Oh, right!" Sam quickly called out as she started to type swiftly and then pressed the Enter key when she was done. "It was Collins."
A number of people with the name "Michael Collins" rapidly popped up on the search screen a few moments later, and the results were far from promising. Based on the number the search had come up, there were over a thousand people at the least with the same name as the Marine, and they were pretty much spread all over the rest of the world; with the majority of them residing in Ireland.
"We need to narrow it down, can you give me a few other tidbits about him?" Sam had requested. And when Lara didn't answer her back, the aspiring documentary film major turned to face her. What she saw was a conflicted woman who was staring intently at the Mac's screen, obviously contemplating on what she was about to do next. "Lara?"
"I'm sorry, what?" she responded.
"You alright?"
"Uh, yeah. I'm fine."
"You don't sound fine." Sam countered, with a worried gaze. "Look, if you don't want me to do this, just tell me. I'll stop if you want me to."
"I just don't want to intrude on his personal life, you know?" Lara suddenly blurted out, still staring at the screen. "It doesn't seem right, that's all."
"How about this then. Do you want to see him again?" her best friend had asked sincerely with a slight genuine smile, somewhat reassuring her.
"Well…yeah…but—"
"And there you go," Sam cheerily pronounced as she turned to face the laptop again. "that's why we're doing this. To help you see him again. And, you know, I'm a bit curious about him myself."
"Are you really sure this is a good idea, Sam?"
"Look, it's perfectly fine to feel a bit apprehensive about this at first. If it helps, just think of it as the two of us checking up on him. He is a soldier after all, and we just want to be sure that he's okay. Right?"
As much as she hated to concede to her best friend's somewhat daft and oftentimes irrational logic, she did bring out a really solid point. Mike is a soldier—correction, he was a marine—after all, and she honestly did just want to see if he was still alright and unharmed. And so, with her relinquishing the last remnants of her rational thinking, she gave in to her best friend's request.
"He's an American."
"Go on…" Sam offhandedly said as she started to do an advanced search on their query.
"He's a Harvard graduate and—"
"Really?" her best friend asked fairly out of the blue, facing her again with wonder.
"Yeah, didn't you see the class ring that was attached to the tags?"
"What ring?"
"You know what, never mind." Lara stated, right before shaking her head a bit in disbelief. Even with her brief flashes of ingenuity and extreme insight, Sam was still clueless most of the time. "Like I said, he's a Harvard grad with a degree in international relations. And he's a soldier in the Marines."
"He's a marine, huh…? Wow…you know what? That's really kinda hot…"
"Sam…"
"What? Oh, sorry about that. Anyway, is that it?"
"Yep, pretty much."
"Okay." Sam pressed Enter again on the laptop's keyboard; and this time, out of a thousand probable results from earlier, they were rewarded with just a pair of people who bore the same name, and just so happens to have matched with their second search's criteria.
"Let's see…the first one here says he's a colonel in the Marines, Harvard grad and…wait, he's fifty years old? Uh, ewww!"
"What?"
"Good God, Lara! You didn't sleep with that old geezer, did you? Because if you did—"
"I did not!" Lara indignantly cried out. "And besides, I didn't even really slee—"
"Really?" Sam questioned with a hint of doubt. "Like I said, because if you did I'll try to understand. I mean, I think I can see why you'd like him. He's sort of…distinguished and, uh, you know—"
"Sam…" Lara called out her name with an extremely dangerous tone of voice that indicated she was less than pleased. But the Japanese-Portuguese woman just let out an awfully hearty laugh at her expense.
"Relax, sweetheart. I was just messing with you. Okay, let's try the second one…" When Sam clicked on the last marine on their list, her eyes and jaw widened at the clicked profile picture that was starting to materialize in front of them. "Holy shit…seriously?"
"I can't see the bloody thing, move over." Lara said out loud as she pushed her best friend in her seat away to get a better view. And once she saw what Sam was seeing, she finally understood why she uttered those particular words.
The picture was of Mike, who still didn't have that nasty—yet undeniably sexy—scar on his nose back then, cradling a big rifle in his hands while wearing his full combat gear minus the helmet. He looked as if he was standing guard on something, and then was called out to have his picture taken. Lara looked at the image more closely. The short brown hair, his pale baby blue eyes, and the surely endearing smile etched on the handsome marine's face brought back extremely vivid, yet really lovely memories in her head about the last time that they saw each other. It was just as she remembered it.
Yep, she thought to herself with an unabashed smile of her own, I still pretty much like him.
Sam, on the other hand, was practically gawking at the guy's picture
"Oh my fucking God!" she roared out load. "I've seen soldiers before, some of them that were cute; and hell, I've even seen a few ones that were ridiculously cute. But this? This is unbelievable."
Though she was still a bit reluctant to be sharing all this with her, inwardly, Lara was swelling with pride at her best friend's choice words for the guy that she had become smitten with. But, before she decided to humor the poor girl, she couldn't help but gloat mentally at Sam. I win…
"How so?"
"A guy with a face like that shouldn't be a soldier serving overseas," her best friend ranted, "I mean, he can probably be a diplomat, sure; Christ knows he'd be one helluva real-life James Bond. But he should, without a doubt, most definitely be fit as a model. I can just picture him wearing nothing but boxers, strutting it down on the catwalk. Hey, uh, you wouldn't mind if I borrowed him for a few days, would you?"
"Hey, don't get any funny ideas." Lara tried to warn her with a funny impersonation of a harsh tone. But that just made Sam laugh even more.
"Fine. Let's just look at the other pictures," her best friend thought out loud as she scrolled throughout the rest of the photos.
The next one was of Mike, in just his fatigues, happily petting an extremely cute and friendly dog that was practically all over him. She didn't know why, but she smiled even more when she saw that particular photo.
"Okay, next one."
The one thing that really got Sam's complete and undivided attention was the third picture, of Lara's favorite marine basically topless, as he played beach volleyball on what looked like huge tracts of sand; wearing only his cargo pants and nothing else. Her best friend had become uncharacteristically quiet, and she saw the other woman's eyes were hungrily roaming on every inch of Mike's exposed torso.
And she couldn't blame the girl for ogling at the man. After the marine had left a week ago, Lara had virtually forgotten all about Mike's…other physical tributes; focusing instead on the man's noble character and his distinct personality. Although seeing all of it now was immensely distracting, and making her heat up more than usual.
The pleasingly chiseled chest, the sculpted shoulders, and of course his well-toned abdomen were definitely a sight to see. Everything was nearly glistening with sweat, with the guy's six-pack sporting an unusual gleam. She immediately tore her gaze away from the picture. It really was bloody distracting.
"Oh my…" Sam whispered as she started to undo one of her blouse's buttons, tugging the fabric back and forth to help ventilate her upper body. "Is it me, or is it really starting to get hot in here?"
"Wait, Sam…" Lara focused her eyes on the other woman's face, noticing something that was particularly amusing. "Are you…are you blushing?"
"What? Of course not!" Her best friend fervently denied as she faced her, though her cheeks were stating otherwise. Lara couldn't help but be very amused at her friend's predicament. It was about time for the tables to turn.
"Really?" she deadpanned with a slight twinkle in her eyes. "Because your face is as red as a tomato. You know what? This really is an extremely rare moment. I should take a photo of this momentous occasion."
"Don't even—I am not blushing! I'm just…it's just really…shut up!"
And with that, it was Lara's turn to laugh her heart out at her best friend, who was blushing even further as she got up from her seat to put some distance between them, telling her that she needed to go outside and, "get some air", or some rubbish like that. Her only response to that lame excuse was to laugh even harder.
After a while, she finally settled down from her giggling fit and took over the recently vacant seat. Now that she was all alone, Lara opened up the browser once again to access the site, clicking on Mike's next—and final—profile picture to see what it was; according to the site, he rarely updated his account.
The last photo was a close-up of Mike, showing only his head and the upper part of his body—thankfully fully clothed this time with an unusually tight fit shirt—smiling silly and making a funny face at the camera cross-eyed while he tilted his head. She chuckled at how goofy and happy he looked, and with a wayward thought, idly wondered if she had the ability to make him laugh like an idiot and also make him happy. She hoped that she could.
I really don't know when I'm going to see you again, but here's hoping that you'll think of me often, as much as I think of you.
With a smile, she closed the browser and left to go to her room. Classes were going to start soon, and she was going to do her damnedest to make sure she'd ace every test that was out there. She also made a note to print herself one of Mike's goofy pictures.
She was grinning from ear to ear by the time she got to her room.
"That…really is an ingenious plan." Six said softly, just after the man had told him all about the unplanned contingency the late Mister Ronald Ferguson presented for them.
"I know." The man answered back, hand still clutching the aged phone tightly. "As much as I hate to admit it, the bastard may be right. If we somehow manage to pull this off, there's not gonna be any fuss for us to deal with. It's damn near perfect."
"No shit." Six remarked. "Alright, so what do we know about the package so far?"
"According to the intel Ferguson presented, it's definitely Russian in origin, and as of now, it's still sitting in a dilapidated warehouse at a naval base in Sevastopol. In about four to five months from now, a UN inspection team will arrive there to ascertain the package's status, and if it all goes according to their plan, they'll send it to a decommissioning facility in the Pacific a week after their on-site."
"What about the other thing you mentioned? About a Quds Force funded terrorist group hijacking the package to destroy an American listening post in Frankfurt?"
"SATCOM chatter that the NSA intercepted in Tehran has confirmed that the Iranians know about the package's itinerary, and are planning on giving it to their lackeys once they confirm it's off-site."
"That's unfortunate. Four to five months, you said?"
"Affirmative, sir."
"Hmmm, we need to act on this intel while it's still hot."
"Agreed." The man said. "What do you plan on doing about it?"
"If it was up to me, I'd send in a strike. But sad to say, we're just spread too damn thin to do anything about it ever since that goddamn fiasco in Italy," Six responded calmly as he outlined his statement, though the man could pick up a faint trace of anger in his voice. "and as of now, 'FEAR' still has top priority in Trinity's overall agenda and budget."
"Shit. If the Iranians get to it first, they're going to use it to do something incredibly stupid. And we need that package more than they do. What about the secondary slush fund we have stashed in the Caymans? Can't we use it?"
"After our little incursion in France a month ago, the CIA managed to link the deaths of those DGSE agents towards that account. As of this moment, they're closely monitoring it for discrepancies. If even a single cent goes missing…"
"Yeah, yeah." The man finished that line of thought with a sigh. "We're screwed if we access it. I don't suppose you have another plan in dealing with those raghead fucks?"
"As a matter of fact, I do." The man just laughed.
"You never cease to amaze me."
"I aim to please. Anyway, a year back, Four had managed to come up with an alternative op-plan that just so happens to coincide with our little…financial trouble. It's simple, it's effective, and more importantly, it's cheap."
"What's the play, then?"
"We scrounge what little extra funds we have left over from 'FEAR' and any other projects we've overlooked, then use it to help finance the creation of a private military company."
"You're kidding, right?" the man asked in incredulity. "I mean, I know we're a bit strapped on cash after our front companies' got raided by the Italians, but isn't this a bit of a Hail Mary? If this doesn't work, I guarantee you it'll bite us in the ass."
"Then we'll make it work." Six assured him. "In the meantime, I'll contact Three and Two to help us jumpstart the development of the PMC."
"I can't believe it's come to this."
"I know. I ain't gonna lie to you, but we badly need the revenue stream right now to help fund our other projects; and I've already got some contacts out there that'll help us make the dough. Give it a year or two, and we'll recover from all of our setbacks."
"Amen to that. And what happens if we do manage to obtain the package?"
"It's too damn good of a plan for us to shelve." Six stated. "If 'FEAR' does fail to contain the situation in Yamatai, then we'll use the package as a last resort."
"I concur."
"Alright, I think it's about time for you to haul ass outta there. According to comm intercepts, local PD's been alerted of a homicide in your area. Use safe house Foxtrot near the high school. You still know where it is, right?"
"Really? You're giving me crap about my memory? Don't forget, you're much older than me, you fucking fart." From across the fleeting secured line, Six laughed.
"Just go already. And try not to get busted."
"Roger, I'm long gone." The man returned the phone to its cradle, ditched the now-useless scrambler, and left the booth; just in time to avoid the loud wailing police cruisers speeding past the road beside the payphone.