Author's Note:

JBAngel28: You're a legend xD

Nakashima Hatsuharu: "... whether Alasdair will play an important role in the future" I don't you what you're talking about. *sips on tea suspiciously*

Please enjoy, you wonderful Ladies and Gentlemen, and keep reviewing!


Unknown Waters

Quick-witted, modern, charismatic... The article was a sheer bombardment of positively connotated words, Victoria realised as she read it over and over again. As much as she agreed with Alasdair being praised to the skies, it did come across a little over-enthusiastic or insincere, as though this was merely meant as a satire or, worse, the author somehow being paid to write in such a complimentary fashion. But after buying nearly every British newspaper Victoria could get her hands on in the area around the hotel, one thing became clear: Everybody loved Alasdair Whitehall. The Morning Star applauded his modern and open-minded approach to both the presentation itself and the matter it actually dealt with, the Times already named him the most promising businessman and potential politician of the coming decade, and the Sun treated his looks like a national treasure. In case today's mission proved to be successful in solving the crime against his company and Kingsman, Victoria might even be able to marvel at her best friend's face every time she set foot into Galahad's home office. The thought conjured a big smile on her face which her gas mask would luckily conceal.

Averting her gaze from the small docks they were walking up to, Victoria shot a glance at Abbiati next to her. His hands were at his sides, fingers wrestling with each other, his face wore a blank expression, let his nervousness show only slightly, though, right now, even slightly might be too much.

The sight of him reminded her of her first mission. Oh, so much had happened since then; it seemed ages ago! Back then it'd been scientists working for some Turkish terrorist group who'd been in Abbiati's place, and Galahad in hers. She could almost hear them repeat after him, repeat the punishment he promised them to receive for blowing their cover: bullet to the head. They hadn't even sounded that scared, rather concentrated, focused on getting their act right. And it had worked. Everyone in that goddamn cave had bought their story, hadn't suspected a thing… well, not until later, that is, and not at the fault of any of the scientists. However, Victoria was certain that this sort of manipulation wouldn't have the same effect on the craven man next to her. No, she needed to approach the subject without threatening him, or at least not in an obvious way.

"Signor Abbiati?"

"Yes?"

"Are you always looking horrified during handovers?"

"… No?"

"Then, I fear, it won't do any good if you do now.", she said, turning her head so that he could see himself in the visor of her mask.

"I – I …", he stammered, audibly struggling with the dryness in his mouth. "I try, it's just…"

"Noone's going to hurt you. We'll make sure of that." Victoria wanted to give him a reassuring look but remembered that he wouldn't be able to see it and patted his arm instead. "Remember, you are doing the right thing here. You're helping the good ones. That's a very noble, very brave thing to do. You can be proud of yourself… But only if it works and, for it to work, we'll have to have you calm, as calm and reserved as it's realistic for you. Can you do that for me? Can you look calm?"

He'd cringed at the touch, but her words had made him relax against her hand. A bit at least.

"Yes,", he sighed and wiped sweat from his brow. "I can do that. I'll just… If I fail to look calm, I'll just tell them that I had a lot of coffee to stay awake."

Victoria chuckled. "That's the spirit! We'll make it, don't worry. Everything's planned out. Just pull off the deal the way you'd normally do and let us do the rest." From the corner of her eye, she saw Galahad, who walked on Abbiati's other side, nod.

Yes, they did have a plan… Abbiati just didn't need to know how vague it was. It wasn't their fault, not a lack of skill regarding the arts of espionage that forced them to rely on uncertainty in their strategy, but the lack of information. With so little Abbiati could tell them as to who the buyers, and therefore the sellers, might be, Galahad and her just hadn't been able to come up with a more sophisticated scheme than just attend the meeting and try to pick up some detail that might allow them to pinpoint their origins and, in case they fail to do so, stow away on board their ship and continue the investigation there. Being forced into flexibility wasn't ideal at all, but, given the circumstances, Victoria had no choice but to cope with it.

However, all reflections on strategies of identification hinged on this moment: the acceptance of them as Abbiati's bodyguards, and, given the way the likewise masked man at the small pier they were approaching instantly reached for the machine gun on the ground upon seeing them, the prospect of that wasn't exactly rosy.

"What is this? Who are they?", he asked with an Austrian accent. Victoria noticed that, unlike his boss – she should give him a name, Nemesis, perhaps – he didn't speak Italian with Abbiati, which was either due to him not knowing the language well enough, or he refused to speak it for some reason.

"They're my guards.", Abbiati replied surprisingly casual, as they came to a stand next to the boat the man had readied for them.

"We are your guards, my colleague and I."

"I like to be accompanied by people I know and trust. Not that I don't trust you, but I can't possibly know if you'd protect me with your life in an emergency situation and such are always a possibility to be taken into account in this business."

"Did you ask the boss for permission?"

"No, but don't worry, I won't charge him for them. But I will charge him my full fee for the handover even if I get there too late."

The man stood there without so much as cocking his head pensively, but Victoria knew that he was eyeballing her and Galahad, who just sighed and folded his arms at that whilst she stood arms akimbo in a likewise impatient manner. A little bit too vigorously for her liking, but still within limits allowing her to not intervene, he let go of his weapon, hung it over his shoulder and turned to jump into the boat. "My colleague and I'll have to talk to the boss about that…", he grumbled, but didn't stop them from embarking as well.

San Michele was only a ten-minute drive away, but in the black of the night it only truly emerged in Victoria's sight when they were already docking. She wasn't sure if it was the overall tension of their situation or the fact that it was housing the dead, but there was something ghostly about it: Softly howling wind let a concerto of rustling rise and fall in the trees around them; marble, glowing white in the moonlight, flashed the names of the 'forever missed' as their group passed rows after rows of cremation niches; shadows occasionally danced away in the corner of Victoria's eye, making her wonder why she powered on her nightscope only now. When she looked to find out what caused the movement she'd witnessed in her peripheral vision, it didn't provide any answers either. There was nothing there. Her eyes must have played a hoax on her. Or her head had suffered more damage from the beating it'd taken at the hands of her nemesis two days prior than she'd thought.

Kingsman and still flapping about from walking through a cemetery at night, Victoria thought, rolling her eyes and readjusted her pace to Galahad's and the others'.

They eventually stopped at the main landing stage, a rectangular docking area at a grassy field whose space was now largely taken up by a number of glinting metal drums and, amidst them, another masked man with a machine gun he suddenly levelled at them.

Abbiati froze, Victoria and Galahad reached for their pistols, though, they didn't draw them as that would certainly not end well. For their counterparts, that is.

"Who the fuck are they?!", the second guard hissed, his voice muffled but no less aggressive.

His colleague quickly held up one hand. "Easy!", he said both calmly and rebukingly. "They're Abbiati's bodyguards."

The angry one turned his head in Abbiati's direction. "The boss didn't agree to that!"

"I – I don't – No, I mean – ", the Italian stammered.

He's blowing it. She shot Galahad a glance, saw his muscles work beneath the black uniform. He was preparing for a shoot-out. They'd have to be precise and quick. The bodies and any evidence of fight must be hidden before the buyers came, which should be any moment now.

"I take the left one.", Victoria was about to whisper, when, all of a sudden, the square was ablaze with light.

Everyone shielded their eyes.

The light was glaring, but also gone as fast as it'd come.

Resisting the urge to tear this damn mask from her face to rub her eyes, Victoria squeezed her lids together, her hand fumbling for the off switch of her nightscope. Everything went from green to black when she found it, everything except that glowing thing in the distance, which, as she realised between still hard-blinking eyes, turned out to be a boat. No, not a boat; its size contradicted that terminology, though, the label 'ship' would be just as unfitting. It was just small enough to sneak through the night without anyone noticing it, and big enough for… well, storing a dozen of thirty gallon drums.

"The buyers…", Abbiati stated the obvious under his breath, as Victoria watched the vessel head towards them, the bow still casting out this beam of light that danced over the black water.

A hissed German curse tore her eyes away from the mesmerising sight. The two guards were standing close to each other, having a hushed conversation, that turned out to be very brief when they turned to them, beckoning Galahad and her over.

"You will stand in front of us.", the angry one explained, continuing to gesture as if they were too dull to grasp his command without it. Before they complied, however, they made a show of asking Abbiati for permission with a look. For a second, he seemed confused, then got back into character and gave them a nod.

From the slight tenseness in his shoulders, Victoria could tell that Galahad was just as discontent with this formation as she was. Being the ones closest to the buyers aside from Abbiati would make examining them for clues without attracting attention much harder, especially with an M4 in their backs. Their concentration needed to be at two places at once, which, of course, Kingsmen had been trained for, but it would definitely let the thoroughness of their inspection suffer.

The beam of light began creeping over the field again as the boat approached, let the smooth metal of the drums to Victoria's left sparkle… and reflect their environment. Well, to some extent at least. Their surface was of a rather matt texture than a glossy one, but the illumination of their surroundings did let some blurry shapes appear on it, shapes of the things closest to them… and people.

Acting annoyed with the slow speed which the boat was docking with, Victoria sighed noisily, shifting her weight from one leg to the other and positioning in a way that let her see the hazy figure of the two guards behind them.

The man descending from the boat when it finished berthing was not wearing a mask, but, in its place, a smile.

"Good morning, friends!", he greeted them with open arms in the sort of English that didn't reveal anything background-related. Six armed men followed him down the gangplank, but, unfortunately, their individual physical appearance was so diverse that it couldn't serve as index of their origin, either. Though, it was insightful in other ways: None of the men was equipped with protective gear, no bulletproof vest, no gloves, no anything but the AK-47 in their hands, which either stemmed from a lack of prosperity in their organisation or just a worriless attitude towards this deal. The latter grew in probability when she saw wariness seize their features at the sight of their black ops BDU-wearing counterparts, and at the way their leader, or rather spokesperson, cheerfully shook Abbiati's hand.

"I've had about twenty cups of coffee to stay awake for this. Handovers at night are the worst, don't you think?", he blathered without pause and then didn't even give Abbiati a chance to respond, but instead took a U-Turn both in conversation and physically as he regarded the cannisters behind him. "So, this is the substance, right? It's not much, really, don't you think? My clients are very ambitious in their schemes and goals, and I'm not quite sure if this amount will satis—"

"It's the amount you requested.", Abbiati cut in so abruptly, Victoria couldn't help but be favourably impressed. He was not abandoning his professional manner, but, thinking back at how submissive he'd been during the interrogation, it seemed to her as though the infamous Italian temper finally gained the upper hand again. "And given its classification as potential WMD, this amount should be sufficient enough. Your clients are certainly aware of that, which is why this exact amount has been requested and here it is."

For a moment, Victoria considered whether Abbiati knew more about the substance than he'd admitted before but dismissed the thought immediately. After all, it wasn't too uncommon to keep pitching a product after it's been sold already, especially when the buyer expresses some kind of dissatisfaction. She wasn't sure whether it was common to get personally offended, though, as Abbiati did now.

Was his crossness some strategy to establish dominance? Some defence mechanism stemming from his otherwise submissive appearance to not reflect badly on his client? Or was it a result of the stress they were putting him through here? Perhaps he was caving in after all.

Victoria stopped scanning the buyers and their ship for a moment, glanced at her semi-bald spokesman.

He was sweating. His look did radiate determination, as would be expected of a man in his position, though, calmness appeared to be forsaking him more and more with every passing second. The buyers didn't seem to notice it, though. Their spokesman was too focused on himself, constantly switching between presenting himself as affable business partner and uncompromising negotiator, and his minions were too busy following the conver—

Victoria shot a look at the drums.

There'd been something behind her, a noise, like a voice distorted with static, quietly and just one or two words, yet it managed to put her on the alert.

Had the two guards been contacted by their boss? Had he given them instructions concerning her and Galahad? Did their strategy of positioning behind them pay off?

The hazy reflections told her that the formerly angry guard was looking at the other, who just stood there, stiff as a statue, seemingly staring straight ahead. A second passed like an eternity.

Another noise.

The motionless one suddenly raised his gun… and shot his colleague in the head.

"DOWN!", Victoria shouted knowingly and yanked Galahad to the ground with her, before whoever that guard was in contact with already opened fire.

Three of the six foreigners were taken down with one shot, the others were wounded or just grazed. The annoying spokesman screamed. He must have been hit as well.

"STOP! HELP ME!", Victoria heard Abbiati squeal after her and Galahad as they were running for cover, before he was abruptly silenced. Galahad shot over his shoulder at the fake guard, Victoria at the people firing down from the roofs. There was at least half a dozen of them, probably more; it was hard to tell with just having moving shadows as target.

Her brain hadn't tricked or after all. There had been some movement in the dark, someone lying in wait and stalking them like prey, but who the hell were they? The police? Some third party interested in the substance? Victoria couldn't make out any revealing detail about them, but, right now, she didn't give a damn. Right now they had to flee, and they had to flee fast.

They reached the nearest building, ran down the hall of cremated bodies. There was scattering above, shouting, then it shifted to coming from behind and, with one glance back, Victoria saw the men from the roofs climbing into sight at the end of the corridor.

"Right!" They turned as Galahad commanded, barely dodging some more bullets thereby.

The roofed part came to an end, opening up into a field of graves. The tombstones were too small to give cover, so they ran along the trees enclosing the field.

More shouting behind them, some hesitation, then open fire again.

Victoria winced when a shot into the branches above her let splinters rain down on her and took Galahad's hand to guide her as she dealt some bullets herself. One man got down with a grunt, another yelped but stayed on his feet, while the others split up, took shelter back under the roofs or behind bushes and trees. That might buy them some time. But not much. They needed to get off this island. Now.

Victoria looked ahead again. In the distance, she could see Venice, braving the black of the night in hundreds of tiny lights. They'd almost reached the edge of the island, the spot they'd berthed at somewhere being to their left as her sense of direction told her.

"Where is it?", she panted, as they ran down the entire length of the waterside without the boat ever coming into sight.

They only stopped when they reached the end. Galahad cursed under his breath.

Footsteps came from somewhere behind them, approaching them.

They were coming. They didn't know where they were exactly, but they were coming.

"Get in the water.", Galahad said quickly, starting to push her towards the gurgling blackness before her.

Images suddenly flashed before her eyes, memories of water dragging her down, throwing her against rocks, water in her lungs, that almost made her shove Galahad away or whimper in fear or both, but she had to get in there, she had to or they'd both get shot. Quickly yet cautiously, she got into the water, clenching her teeth when she realised how chilly it was. She took Galahad swimming next to her by the arms for support, counted down silently: Three, two, one.

They took a deep breath and dived.

Water filled the inside of her mask, burning in her nostrils. The weight of her armour dragged her down to the bottom of the sea. The squishy ground was merely eight or nine feet beneath the surface, but to her it felt like sinking more and more and more into darkness, this ice-cold darkness that swallowed her like some monster of the depths.

The biting cold crept into her bones, numbed her, paralysed her, which made fighting against the undertow so much more exhausting. She wanted to panic, wanted to scream, wanted to get up there and cling to land and never ever let go anymore… but she couldn't. Not yet. Not before those men broke off their pursuit or looked for them somewhere else. But when would that be? She couldn't take this any longer. She needed to move, to warm, to breathe!

Galahad's hug came like a soothing pill. No, not a hug. He was opening the straps at her back, freeing her from the ballast that kept her down here. Apparently, he thought it time to resurface, so she reached around him too, blindly helping him out of his armour until they both floated upwards, slowly, yet not slowly enough. In case their pursuers were still around, bursting through the surface, gulping for air, would definitely catch their attention. So, they had to withstand their natural instincts, control themselves… which didn't keep Victoria from taking a deep yet silent breath when she finally reemerged from the dark.

Her weapons and protective gear were gone and so was her mask, so she couldn't rely on night vision to locate her enemies. Instead, she fell back on her perception skills, listened, listened closely.

They were gone, probably still on the island, but far away, searching for the two runaways that slipped through their fingers.

They made it. They escaped.

Victoria looked at Galahad. Despite being so close to him, she could only make out the silhouette of his head, turning, searching as well. Then he sighed.

"Are you alright?", he whispered.

Victoria wanted to say yes, but all she could bring herself to do was nod.

"Good." She rather heard than saw him turn the other direction, towards Venice. "You still got some energy?"

She frowned, then glared at him. Don't you dare saying it…

"Because we're going to have to swim back."

Damn you.