A/N: Sorry guys, I accidentally uploaded this as chapter 37 when this is actually chapter 38. I posted the real chapter 37, and now I am putting this chapter back up after it. The chapter before it is called 'the interview.'
Chapter 38.
Divergence.
Waller had her hands folded neatly on the desk in front of her. She sat pin-straight in her chair, but not uncomfortably. She was just like that. Her hair was neat, her suit perfectly pressed.
She looked mostly like he remembered her – younger, maybe, and with a few less skeletons in her closet. His encounters with her the first time he had been in Hong Kong were few and far between, and she was usually not this calm. It was always after he had done something rebellious, so the thin mask she wore would be strained. But now she seemed genuinely tranquil. She thought she was getting everything she wanted, and she had no idea how difficult it would be to tame him. She had an almost naïve air about her – at least, that was what he saw.
"I have some questions for you, Oliver."
He thought she might. He put up his ruse, pretending he was as young on the inside as he was on the outside.
"What do you want from me?"
"We discussed that on the boat."
"No, we didn't. You barely said anything."
"Maybe that's for the best."
Oliver ground his teeth. He hated this dance they were doing. He would rather deal with enemies who were shooting at him than play mind games.
"What do you want to know?"
She looked pleased that he had given in, for the moment.
Oliver had talked to Sara about their little interview. She had asked her seemingly arbitrary questions about her life. She wanted to know why Sara was on the Queen's Gambit, and how she managed to survive on the island. She also showed her where they were keeping Ivo and wondered why Oliver had not killed him. He only had an hour to think about it, to try to uncover her motives, to come up with what he would say if she asked him the same questions.
If she was trying to catch them in a lie, she would have kept them apart. So, what did she want?
"You come from a very privileged background, Oliver."
He stared at her, waiting, until it was clear she needed prompting, "Is that a question?"
She switched gears, "Where is Slade Wilson?"
She had not asked Sara about their friends. Oliver met her eyes, his mind racing. "I don't know."
"Did you have a plan of where you would meet up if your attack on the boat failed?"
"No."
Waller did not believe him. She said, "That doesn't sound like you."
He scowled, "You don't know me."
She pressed her lips, seemingly amused by his anger. She would come to regret that. "You're right. But I've been watching you. Every move you make is calculated. Even now, I can see the wheels turning in your head, figuring out what you want to say."
He stiffened, surprised that she could see through him so easily.
She said, "You must have had a contingency plan."
His only plan was to reconvene at the cove to pick up Robert and Joleen. He knew the mission would succeed. If she had not found them on the island – which she had definitely combed – then he had no idea where they were.
He just shrugged.
She moved on, but he thought he saw a line of frustration wrinkling her forehead. "I was hoping you could clear a few things up. Yao Fei is dead, correct?"
Oliver felt the sting of his failure again. He nodded.
"What about Edward Fyers?"
He had no problem answering that question. "Dead."
"Were you the one who killed him?"
Oliver stared into her face, recalling a hand held up in defense, how he pleaded for his life, and how his body tumbled into the ravine.
Waller said, "How did you do it?"
"Why do you want to know?"
Waller said nothing, only waited.
He said, "I shot him in the head."
Her expression changed, hardened, for a split second, and then it returned to tranquility. She switched topics as if they had not just discussed a murder, "I'm going to tell you what I want from you. You need to listen carefully."
He waited.
She locked eyes with him. "Richard Martin is an American businessman currently located in Brussels. I will give you the resources you need to track him down."
Oliver felt a weight drop into his stomach. He had never heard of this man, and last time she had never sent him to Belgium. He realized all at once that he had changed something major, that they had left the island too early, or too late. He was not going to Hong Kong – at least, not yet. He couldn't even fathom what sort of domino effect this would have on the future.
He had to keep himself composed while the world imploded around him.
He managed to ask, "You just want me to find him?"
"I want you to kill him."
He frowned at her, pretending to be the kid that she thought he was, pretending to be outraged. "You're joking."
"I'm completely serious. I hope you realize the gravity of your situation."
Her tone was suddenly dark, suddenly menacing.
His thoughts went straight to Sara.
"What did this guy do to you? Is he a terrorist or something?"
"You don't need to know anything but your objective." She pushed her chair away from the desk, standing stiffly. He nodded to the guard who had escorted him into the room. "Take him back."
XxX
Oliver forgot himself for a moment.
He gazed around, following snowflakes as they drifted peacefully to the ground. It was a beautiful scene – a white field, blades of grass bent under the snow, the occasional flower lending color to the otherwise monotone landscape. In the distance, a line of trees marked the beginnings of a forest, and then a green blanket stretched downward into a valley.
But the purpose for his visit was whispering at the edge of his mind, begging him to take a closer look. He squinted, trying to figure out what he was looking for.
He felt that he had been here before, but the memory was foggy, like it belonged to someone else.
A figure appeared far away, slowly trudging toward him. It was human. Oliver stared, unable to stir himself as they grew closer and closer. He saw their face and familiarity washed over him. His chest felt warm and welcoming.
And then it was gone.
Oliver opened his eyes into a small, warm room that smelled like cinnamon. Sara was on her knees in front of him, her hands on his shoulders, wide-eyed, and the mystic, Or, was sitting across from him. She also looked surprised.
"Are you okay?" Sara asked, her hands shifting to his face. She wiped her thumbs under his eyes and came back with tears.
Oliver was baffled. "I… yeah. I'm fine. What happened?"
"You were crying."
"I was…?" Oliver wiped his face. "How long was I…?"
"Just over an hour," Or said. "What did you see?"
Oliver described the field, the snow, and the figure in perfect detail, but as he came up to the familiar face, he drew a blank. He couldn't picture it. He had no idea who he had seen.
"It felt like… like I knew them." He met Sara's worried eyes. "I think I know him."
Or looked troubled. "Are you sure that's all you remember?"
"Yes. That's it." He didn't like her expression. "Why?"
"I felt something else," Or said, staring at the table instead of meeting his eyes. "I felt something threatening. I'm not sure how to describe it. But it gave me the impression that you and I are far from done, Oliver."
Her words were ominous.
Sara looked between them. "But for now, we can go home."
His head was fuzzy. He was starting to feel exhausted. "I think that's a good idea."
"Come back tomorrow, after you've rested." Or stood up, getting the door for them. "I have a few ideas."
Sara looked weary, but Oliver thanked her.
"I don't like this," Sara said once they were back in the alley.
"You've made that clear."
"Oli, I don't like this," she repeated. She looked genuinely afraid, and the expression – a rarity for her these days – took him by surprise.
"It's the only way," he insisted. "We have to stop him. I have to stop him."
She said nothing. She just put her hand on his shoulder, as if willing him to stick around, and then led the way out of the alley.
Oliver wished he could say more, do more, to soothe her fear.
But he was starting to feel it himself.
