Chapter Fifty Six – The Best Laid Plans

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Benedict Vale was walking down a dark alleyway, grasping two cups of hot coffee. He usually made a point of avoiding dark alleyways, in the early hours of the morning. He knew DC's crime statistics well enough to know better. Tonight however, he had made an exception. He was in a rush, and this alleyway was a short-cut between where he was parked and Ardelia Mapp's favourite coffee shop.

Mapp had been called in to work about half an hour after Vale had arrived back in Arlington, fresh from his operation with Starling at the Woodley house. The new lovers had barely jumped into bed when her cell had begun to ring. Unfortunately for Vale, Mapp was not the sort of Agent who let her cell ring out and she answered to hear her supervising agent on the other end. Something had come up on her drugs case – a hole in the prosecution case paperwork that she had to clear up before court the next day. She was ordered to come in and get it cleared up.

Vale had persuaded her to let him tag along, to keep her company (and to prevent her from committing the homicide she had threatened on her colleagues). As it was nearly twelve, and Mapp could barely keep her eyes open, they had stopped for coffee along the way. Parking was a bitch in downtown DC, so Mapp stayed in the car while Vale made the coffee run to the next block.

It was frigid outside – a real North American January night. As Vale crunched back through the snow and ice, his body began to shiver violently. The cold distracting him from his task, Vale did not notice a supicious dark patch on the concrete until he was practically on top of it. He managed to avoid standing in whatever it was, but the sudden movement caused scalding hot coffee to spill over his hand.

Vale swore.

"Damn it."

He stopped dead, trying to rearrange the polystyrene cups in his hands in a way which would allow him to wipe his hand on his coat. This was more difficult than it sounded. As he struggled, Vale became aware that though his feet were still, the sound of footsteps was still reverberrating around the dark alley.

He was not alone.

The moment was like something straight out of a movie. Vale stood stock still, spinning slowly around to take in his surroundings. Nothing looked out of place, there was no intruder in sight, but the alleyway was very dark. The shadows down it were almost pitch black. His heart had begun to thump audibly in his ears. Paranoia began to filter through his thoughts. Shadows behind the dumpster could provide cover for a mugger, the back entrance to a bar could hide an assassin. Vale spun around a second time, scanning for any possible assailants. His gun belt felt heavy around his waist. He could grab for it, but that would mean dropping the coffee cups.

Vale spun slowly again, searching.

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Crouched in the darkness, the assassin waited. His target was in sight, preoccupied and tired. The assassin's fingers curled around the trigger of his newest toy. The gun was long and slim – a carbon dioxide pressurised tranquiliser dart rifle. (His job today was not to kill, an unusual request for a man like him, but the pay was good enough).

The assassin liked the projection rifle. Generally, he was used to working with lethal weaponry, but this was all right. It was light, easy to handle, a little flighty on the kickback, but nothing that he couldn't handle. The rifle was not used by the police because of the difficulties of tranquilising a target of unknown weight. Too little tranquiliser would have no effect, too much could cause an overdose. For his purposes, however, the rifle was perfect. He knew his target's weight, height and physical description off by heart. His employer, a Mr Brian Palden, had sent him it an hour ago, by email. The assassin had already been on his way in to town. It was wonderful, what technology could do, nowadays - less than an hour to set up a hit.

The assassin cocked the rifle against his shoulder and leant into the shot. He did not wonder what the target he was about to capture and deliver had done. He did not have any qualms about what would happen to them after his employers had taken what they wanted. He was a man of simple pleasures – guns and money; two pleasures that walked hand-in-hand often enough for him to earn a decent living.

He stroked the rifle's trigger with one gloved finger. From his position, he could just about mark target's shoulder. The shot would be almost perfect. He breathed in, then out and held it.

The target moved.

Cursing inwardly, the assailant shifted to the left, regulating his breathing. The shot was all about the breath – always on the exhale, on the hold, with a squeeze. Always squeeze the trigger, never pull. It was something his father had taught him, nearly thirty years ago.

The target was in his sights again, shoulder exposed. The assailant relaxed his shoulder, breathing in, then out. Hold. And squeeze...

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A crash caused Vale to drop both cups of coffee, his hand sweeping instantly to his gun belt. Years of training, both in the military and for the Bureau, had prepared him for this moment. Aiming at head height, he swept around towards the noise and prepared to pull the trigger. When he reached the source of the noise, however, his eyes met nothing.

Vale froze, gun aimed, safety off.

For a moment, nothing moved, and then a figure appeared from the shadows, both hands raised.

"Woah, man, don't shoot, okay?"

It was a kid, no more than twenty or so, wearing a shirt and jeans. A vomit trail ran in a path from his chest to his white sneakers – clearly a client of the bar next door, come outside for a breath of fresh air. Vale lowered his gun, slowly.

"What are you doing here?"

"Just standing, man..." the kid gave a goofy grin, a string of saliva hanging from his mouth. Despite evacuating his stomach, he was still very obviously drunk. "No law against that, right?" He tripped and fell against the wall. "Who the fuck are you, man? Are you a cop? Did someone call about me, because if they did they're lying..." he coughed and spat.

Vale stowed his gun away in its belt.

"You should probably get home, sir."

"Yeah, well fuck you!" the kid scowled, and staggered off back into the bar, through the back door. It took him two attempts, but he eventually made it back through the door and disappeared from sight.

Vale watched him go, his heart slowly returning to normal speed. He looked down at the spilled coffee cups at his feet and cursed. This was why you should never work with a three-day sleep deficit hanging over your head. You got sloppy and paranoid. You started making assassins out of assholes.

Rubbing his face vigorously, Vale turned back to the end of the alleyway that he had just come from and set off. He would buy them another cup of coffee, he would make it back to the car this time – without being stopped by anymore invisible assassins on the way. Cursing himself for having such an overactive imagination, Vale stomped off through the snow.

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He managed to purchase replacement cups of coffee quickly. The line at the all-night cafe was shorter than it had been the last time. Walking back through the snow, Vale gripped them tightly, determined not to have to buy a third. He took the alleyway fast, and - emerging at the front of the bar - saw the kid who had been puking in the alley being put into a taxi by the bar bouncers. With a smile, Vale plodded onward through the snow.

The pickup was parked around the corner from the bar, under a leafless oak sapling. As he drew closer, Vale was surprised to find that the front seats were empty. He frowned. Where was Ardelia? She had agreed to stay there, and make sure they weren't ticketed. Arriving at the truck, Vale set the coffee cups down on the roof of the pickup and tried the door handle. The pick-up was open. If she had left the car for any reason, why wouldn't she lock it?

Vale checked the road around himself for Mapp, but she was nowhere in sight. He was just about to walk back the way he had come, in case she had followed him to the cafe, when his phone began to sight of the caller ID filled him with relief. Mapp calling... (He still hadn't changed her name to Dee, though he had been meaning to for a few days now).

Vale answered eagerly.

"Dee, where the hell are you?"

"Well good morning, Special Agent Vale."

His blood cooled in his veins. The voice on the other end was not Ardelia Mapp's. Vale did not recognise it, but the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach told him that the situation did not sound good.

"Who the hell is this?" He cleared his throat, which was suddenly very tight. "What have you done with Ardelia Mapp?"

"Now come, Benedict, I am offended. Why do you assume we have done anything at all to your beautiful lady friend?" The voice sounded amused.

"Who are you? Why do you have Mapp's phone?" Vale demanded, a little more forcefully this time. "I'm going to call the police!"

The voice laughed, then cleared its throat.

"Oh, I wouldn't do that. Very unwise. Any contact with the police, and I can no longer guarantee Miss Mapp's safety."

"What have you done with her?" Vale demanded again.

"Nothing, as of yet." The voice cleared its throat and continued. "Now, for the purposes of simplicity, I would ask you to call me Brian for the remainder of proceedings."

"Proceedings?" Vale's face creased with confusion.

"I will be negotiating the return of Miss Ardelia Mapp, on behalf of my employer."

"What employer? Negotiating the return... is this a ransom?"

"My employer would prefer to think of it as an exchange of resources." The voice called Brian added, clipped and business-like. "You have something that belongs to us and, now, we have something that belongs to you. I'm sure, between us, we can work something out."

"I have something that belongs to you?" Vale spluttered indignantly. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

"Six inches, black plastic, one terabyte - ring any bells?"

Woodley. Vale's blood ran cold.

"Yes."

"I trust that Miss Mapp's well-being is sufficient to keep your attention and prevent you from calling the authorities?"

Vale could not breathe. He was rooted to the spot. His feet were cold but his skin was hot and his heart was pumping crazily fast inside his chest. His ribs felt like they were about to break under the pressure. He was going to freeze to death, burn alive, spontaneously combust.

"What have you done to her...?" he asked again, this time in a whisper.

"As I have said before, Agent Vale, Ardelia Mapp has not been harmed. Nor will she be, should you continue to be compliant."

Heart throbbing in his neck, Vale swallowed.

"What do you want me to do?"