"Anyone remember the name I dropped with this photo last time?"
There was a flurry of hands and Alex chose one near the front.
"Three?"
"That's right." he nodded in approval, flashing a tight smile.
"Doctor Three. Is that his real name? Probably not. But the man hasn't had an actual name in years, so it's as good as it'll get."
He zoomed in a little further, ignoring the revolted grunts coming from around the room.
"Any guesses at how old this guy is?" the image blurred a little further before it refocused on the face of the obviously distressed man atop the gleaming operating table.
"Anyone at all. Don't be shy."
"Twenty-eight."
"Thirty-two"
He waited until a few more answers bounced back.
"I mean-" he turned, taking a long look at the sobering image.
"Looking at him now I guess…" he turned back, cutting his mumbled thoughts off with an almost distracted hum.
"Ibram Ganim. Twenty-two year-old doctor originally from Syria. Real young. A prodigy by all means. Moved to Turkey for a medical fellowship. Man's done some seriously amazing work on pediatric CID, also known as combined immunodeficiency. Worked as a volunteer doctor on the weekends in low-income areas. I'll stop there, but as you've probably guessed, good good guy." he glanced back once more, jaw moving of its own.
"He stepped into a kidnapping. Monday evening, after he's clocked out late, from the hospital, he heard a commotion in an alleyway by his flat. Said he heard kids screaming. Rushed over, fought the guys off-or tried to at least. And then he woke up here ." Alex keyed back a few slides to the map of Malagosto.
"He interfered with a few low-level SCORPIA trainees fucking around during a routine sweep of the area. Just happened to happen the day he came home a little later than normal."
Ben tensed from his vantage point in the back.
Alex hid it well, but he wasn't the only agent here.
It was a stumble that was only a stumble because Ben knew that the blond never paused like that when he was in front of a crowd in a lecture or an orientation or whatever else punishment type presentations 6 had him do before.
But Alex recovered just as fast within a fraction of milliseconds, clapping his hands together to gather the room again.
He casually leaned over, arms braced atop the little space left on the podium having gently scooted the laptop over.
Ben didn't have to look to know his legs were probably crossed as well, in the bloody casual way he seemed to be able to revert to in any situation.
A nonchalance that fit a little too well with his age.
"Now, I say this-" he clicked back to the zoomed-in image.
"-because I need you to realize that when I say that this man, Doctor Three, is dangerous, I mean it. He is deadly and more than a little depraved. Absolute psychopath. But he's good at what he does." he zoomed out again.
"So going by what you now know, about Ibram." he gestured vaguely at the screen behind him.
"How long do you reckon he was alive for?"
The apprehension was palpable.
Alex's posture didn't change one bit.
"Three hours…?"
"Three?" he shrugged.
"Alright. We've three hours. Anyone else?"
"Ten hours."
"Alright." he nodded.
"Snake, you're a full-on medic. What say you?"
The Scottsman grimaced, staring up at the screen.
"I'd say maybe two days at most. Not long, since his fucking intestine in literally on the floor… "
"Fair point." Alex nodded."
"This man-" he straightened up, looking down at the screen, suddenly sounding all too solemn.
"-Ibram Ganim. Stayed alive for a little over four days."
" Jesus. Poor bastard."
Tom couldn't help but agree.
"Well, technically Three was the one who kept him alive that long. A little over four days at one hundred and thirteen hours." he hissed out a breath.
"The only reason he ended up dying when he did was purely cause of someone else's fuck up."
All ears were on him again, rapt in attention.
Alex definitely knew how to handle a room.
"He died of a heart attack. Someone mixed a little too much cocaine into the 'life substance' they Three was feeding him. Poor bastard's heart couldn't take the additional stress and...he hasn't been seen since."
The somber silence sent chills down Tom's spine.
"One hundred and thirteen hours. That's how talented this man is. The lengths he can go and will go to for shits and giggles. And there are maybe, twenty people alive-" he debated "-that actually knows what this man looks like. Or what he looked like most recently. He goes under the knife every so often to shake things up."
Alex moved on to the next slide.
"What we do know is that he's very knowledgeable about poisons. Kind of like a weird hobby. But it means that there's a really good chance every now and then when someone high up ends up gets poisoned, that whoever did it was in contact with Three at some point. And with SCORPIA being-supposed to be-disbanded, it's one closer lead we get to the man."
"Supposed to be?" Alex level Snake a flat look.
"Sorry."
He didn't look sorry.
"There tend to be off-shoots every now and then-" he leaned back against the podium, arms crossed, relaxing again.
"-I mean, you were a part of the clean up for the SNAFU in Krasnoyarsk. You saw what happened." he quirked a brow.
"Like I was saying. SCORPIA isn't exactly a fully-fledged group anymore. But there are still people who used to be high-level agents who've managed to get out just fine. Like Three."
The bulleted points disappeared, replaced by a photo of a smiling young man.
Blond hair.
Bright blue eyes.
Rugged jawline.
Smiling with genuine humor donning a noticeably bright scarlet beret with crisp military blues.
"Alexander Marks. 'Alex' to his friends and family. Twenty-six years old. Airman in the US Air Force Combat Control. In case you all aren't aware of what that is, USA FCC are basically one-man attachments to other special forces teams. Highly specialized. They're trained in a wide range of skills, including scuba, parachuting, and snowmobiling, as well as being FAA-certified air traffic controllers in order to establish air control and provide combat support on missions wherever they are needed."
That earned some appreciative nods from around the room.
"He was last seen somewhere near the Bolivia-Peru border in South America on a joint exercise with Peruvian Air Force. He was listed present when they landed in camp and was cleared to join the stealth parachuting portion of the exercise as well. By all means, accounted for until they choppered back to base. And then he was suddenly not there anymore. Everyone swore they saw him get on. No one knew where he was. He'd been missing since late last year."
He moved to the next slide.
"They found him five months ago."
The image was gruesome in its own way. Not entirely the same as the last, but it set Tom's stomach flipping just as much as the other.
There wasn't much left of the man, sunken eyes and hollow cheeks indicative of starvation and mistreatment if the dark bruises on the man's neck were anything to go by. And the split lip that looked like it hadn't healed in forever.
Whoever was in charge of the sick little photo op had oh so graciously draped the torn up scarlet barret on his badly shaved head, adding salt to the already festering wound.
"CIA received this image with a set of coordinates from an informant in Brazil of all places saying they've heard some whispers."
44.5298° N, 69.2968° W
The coordinates popped up on the slide.
"Lo and behold, in a seriously twisted turn of events, those coordinates pointed them to a place called Freedom in the state of Maine. The Northeastern United States. Meaning, this man could have been in the country the entirety of his disappearance."
Alex winced.
"They searched a little harder, took them a good while, but they eventually found him. Someone put in an emergency call when a bunch of drunk vacationers had a boat collision on a lake that's popular for their rental cabins. They ran into the side of an empty fishing boat to find it wasn't actually empty."
Tom couldn't help but agree with Ben's empathetic hiss.
"He didn't survive the collision. The vacationers, unfortunately just a few months underaged, were charged with individual counts of BUI and possession of alcohol by a minor."
"The fuck's a bui…?" he didn't mean to, but before he knew it, his voice had carried in the quiet.
Tom froze as all eyes turned towards him.
"Shit. my bad…" his hand rushed to cover his mouth.
"''S fine. I'm sure you're not the only one wondering that." Alex waved Tom's apology off.
"With the Merchant Shipping Act of 1995, there are additional bylaws in the UK as well that make it illegal for anyone operating a vessel to be under the influence, for safety reasons, obviously. It's called a BUI in America. Boating Under the Influence. Very cute."
That earned some chuckles, lightening the general mood.
"And with their legal system ranging from state to state, it just happened that the state of Maine has a zero-tolerance policy. Real ballsy kids."
He shrugged with an amused smile.
"So a year and some months later, case closed. He's given a full military funeral. The end."
Another photo popped up on the screen.
"Aliona Krostnikaya. Twenty-five years old."
He gestured to the screen behind him at the photo of the young brunette on the left.
"MI6. specially recruited from MI5 for her research on possible Baltic state hostiles within the UK. A three-year personal study that yielded pretty interesting results. Particularly the arrest and repatriation of Kaspar Palm. A fifty-seven year old running a small-time money laundering business in Leeds. MI6 were interested in her vast knowledge of the Baltic States and brought her in as a specialist. She was cleared for active missions a year later. Been working on small reconnaissance ops near the Baltic shoreline, Russia in particular, but was partnered with a-" he gestured to the photo on the right "-Petras Moze. Active high-level agent."
Tom could see Ben grimace out of the corner of his eye.
"They were sent on a strictly reconnaissance only op for a possible deal between some drug lord and Doctor Three himself."
He moved to the next slide, and Tom couldn't squeeze his eyes shut fast enough.
"They found her like this in a duffle bag outside MI5 HQ two weeks ago, limbs chopped off. And yes, that is her intestines holding everything together. And in case you're wondering, that weird black thing you see dangling next to her knee, that's her heart. It's just rotting."
Jesus Christ. The imagery .
"And as for Moze, forensics think there's a good chance he was burned alive." Tom opened his eyes just long enough to see what looked like a badly colored illustration of what someone imagined a human outline to be. He couldn't really tell where his arms or legs began from the level of burnt , but the bizarre passport-style close-up photo of the man's emotionless face dangling from the nail driven into where Tom could only assume was the man's forehead just made the image that much more unsettling.
Fucking twisted ' artsy' bastards these terrorists were.
"He popped up three days ago. Some poor jogger found him laid out like this on one of the docks near Camden Market around four-five in the morning."
He moved to the next slide, not reacting one bit at the sudden drop in the temperature as the eyes in the room focused on a specific image in the rows of photos.
Three columns of three rows. Three by three by three, making up nine equally sized, equally official photos of separate nine individuals.
"Lucky for you all, you get the latest of the latest intel. And by that I mean, everything you've heard today post Doctor Three, and everything else you'll be hearing; it's only passed redactions and vetting as of yesterday."
His eyes flickered down at the screen. Tom could have sworn he saw Alex frown before it was smoothed back into the professionally blank mask.
"As for the question of credentials-" the temperature plunged further.
"-regarding SCORPIA at the very least, and what's left of it. Here it is. The full list of known operatives who have been running any and all ops connected to SCORPIA. Petras Moze was the last operative who was unaccounted for. As you can probably guess, the Xs denote KIA status."
Tom couldn't look away.
Seven.
Seven out of the nine had the red Xs. Alexander Marks. Aliona Krostinkaya. Petras Moze. All of them, dead. And those were only the ones Alex had covered.
"Operatives from the UK, US, Canada, Australia, Germany, and Israel with the same objective. But this is what happens. Seven, highly trained, highly certified operatives, dead ." He glowered down at the screen, jaw working in checked emotion.
"And for what?" he shrugged.
"We have yet to locate Doctor Three, and the island Malagosto has been recently abandoned. As of now, all of the information gathered on Malagosto and potential hideouts and businesses belonging to SCORPIA around Venice and the rest of Italy are now functionally useless. There has been minimal activity after Moze's surprise arrival."
One step forward, two steps back…
"And that's about all there is as of now you all should be aware of, concerning SCORPIA. So with that-" he moved to the next slide.
"We'll start on the next biggest issue. A SCORPIA part 2 if you will-yes, Wolfie?"
"Just had a quick question 'fore we moved on."
"Is it absolutely necessary…?"
"For my overly curious mind, yes."
Tom almost joined in with the amused chortles around him.
To hear such a ridiculous statement coming from such an intimidating man in such a deadpan manner. After the rollercoaster of emotions, they'd gone through in the past hour and some. He could help but snort as he saw the sardonically tight-lipped almost-smile-mostly-grimace his friend sent the man.
"Oh by all means…"
The cynicism turned to scorn and then to cold-blooded blankness as he realized where the question was going. His gaze moved slowly but surely from Wolf to the figure sitting in his previous spot by the door as he had the last time.
Tom glanced over, fighting the goosebumps as he realized the man was actually there. He hadn't been for the early parts of the lecture. And Tom's attention had been moving around the room. So the fact that he'd somehow gotten in past Tom's attention, and seemingly past the attention of Snake and Eagle as well…
It was creepy to say the least.
Creepy and unnerving.
"About Gan-" Wolf's forehead scrunched in momentary confusion.
"Ganim," Alex answered shortly, pulling his attention back to the man.
"Ganim." Wolf nodded in affirmation.
"How do we know about this man?"
"We?"
"6 or whoever. I'm guessing it was 6 that gathered the intel."
"Mhm."
"I understand tracing where he was to figure out what happened to the guy, but how does 6 know about anything that happened in Malagosto? Like how long he survived."
Tom's chest squeezed uncomfortably.
He'd known a little bit about Alex. Probably a lot more than any of these men sitting in the room, possibly apart from Gregorovich, but that was a different story.
And from what he knew, he could see the hazy outline of a possible answer.
One that he really really hoped wasn't going to be correct.
"Because I counted."
Wolf paused, glancing over at Gregorovich.
And then Ben saw it, between the blink of an eye.
Alex leaned forward again, elbows on the podium, propping his head up with his hands.
"We were cellmates for a bit." He nodded to himself, lost in a brief moment of recollection.
"Oh…"
"Mhm. Around when I attempted to leave."
Ben's eyes widened at the sudden sharing of previously hidden info.
"You were the-you tried to run?"
"I did. And I failed pretty badly."
" Christ , Cub!" things were getting out of hand.
This wasn't what any of them had prepared for in terms of a little topic manipulation.
No one had even come close to assuming that Alex would just go off the deep end from the get-go.
But Gregorovich's lack of action made him question everything again.
"Mhm. Three was put in charge of my secondary punishment." his eyes met Yassen's straight on, lingering a brief moment before moving back to Wolf.
"What-" Wolf took a breath.
"What did he do to you?" he asked, voice surprisingly leveled.
"Not to me. The question should be, 'what did he make me do to Ibram .'" Alex winced at his own answer.
"Because he made me do a lot ."