Chapter Thirty-Six: Suicide Squad
Cat groaned and hurled her pillow at the door.
"I'm up I'm up now shut up!"
The knocking continued. Knocking is so echoey when it's on steel doors in half-empty weird prison-like cells.
She crawled out of bed and pulled the door open.
"Oh lovely, it's you," she greeted Agent Rae's impenetrable, sunglass-ed face, "fancy getting me a cup of tea?"
"Get dressed," Rae shoved a bag into her arms, "food in ten minutes, then we're going on a plane."
"Where to?"
Rae didn't reply and trudged off down the depressingly dark steel hallway to the next door, clutching two more bags under her arms.
Cat shrugged and closed the door. The bag contained a conspicuous but not altogether unstylish black outfit.
"Government really knows how to make themselves look like government even when they're trying not to be government…" she muttered, holding the clothes in front of the tiny mirror. "Whatever, not like I have a choice."
One quick shower and whirlwind hair and makeup routine later, Cat opened the door. She saw Wires down the hall.
"Hey you, any idea where we're going?"
"Probably Italy," Wires shrugged, "we'd better hurry, already late for breakfast."
Cat jogged to catch up to her, Wires walked with militant intention. Her whole personality seemed to be a tidal wave of sheer brute force and will. Cat admired that.
They had spent the past few days in some facility that seemed in between a maximum-security prison and a really bad bed and breakfast. Tested on strength, agility, reaction time, and sanity (all of which were iffy on that last one) and incessantly drilled on protocol, their mission, and the consequences should they deviate from the plan, this makeshift avenger's group of criminals was somewhat prepared to work. Where to? Italy, as Wires had said, was most likely. Some mafia boss had come into possession of some information the US government would rather keep quiet. Classic quid pro quo. Their mission was to escort his daughter back to Italy, in exchange for his silence and a hard drive.
"Seems a little fishy to me," Cat had whispered to Carlyle when they'd first been told.
"They probably actually want us to kill him," he'd whispered back, "put us in a hostage exchange situation, make something go wrong, and force us to fight for our lives out of it and kill everyone who knows their dirty little secret in the process."
"You're smart, I like you."
"Flattered."
But it didn't matter, because these four had to go along with whatever they were told. Anything was better than prison or the death penalty. So, Cat did what she was told, went where she was told, and said what she was told. It was unpleasant. It reminded Cat of when her father used to bark orders at her like a drill sergeant. A lot of walls had been built between her current mentality and the memory of her childhood, but all the recent events seemed to have chipped a sizable hole in that wall, and now when a brisk instruction was given from some semi-faceless government agent, it almost seemed to take on the tone and inflection of her long-dead parent. Cat felt herself instinctively flinch at times. She did what she was told, like a child. Quick breakfast, packing, board the plane, sit in silence as Rae recited procedure guidelines, and let the apathy wash over.
Staring at the plane seats. Reid was probably flying in one of these. Off to save lives. While she was off to most likely end some.
Reid.
There was another childish feeling – a sharp pain in her ribs.
He felt a sharp pain in his ribs too, when he thought of her, but he wasn't on a plane, like she had thought. He was at a restaurant.
"Right," Dante wiped pasta sauce off his face with a starched white napkin, "did you do it?"
"I hope you know I'm risking my career."
"Yeah, yeah, careers are overrated. You should get into the freelancing business – pays well."
Reid blinked. He kind of wanted to punch him.
"I know where they're going," he twirled his fork around the spaghetti, "Italy, Milan. Pulled some records and found the plane expenses, they're in the air as we speak."
"Do you know why?"
"No."
Dante swirled his pinot noir, staring at it thoughtfully.
"Do you?" Reid squinted at him.
"Perhaps."
"Well then tell me!"
"Ehhh…"
"Ehh?" He let his fork drop in a loud clatter of frustration, "I thought we were supposed to be doing this as a team?"
"Jesus, why would you ever think that? I work alone."
"Listen, Richie –"
"That's Dante."
"Whatever, I'm not playing this stupid game. I'm only in this if you are open with me."
"Are you? Because I think you're in this regardless, given it concerns Ms. Adams."
Reid bit his tongue, really resisting that urge to deck the man in front of him. Quietly and coldly he stood up, placing his napkin on the table.
"You can cover the bill."
Dante crossed his arms and let Reid walk a few steps from the table.
"…wait…"
Reid stopped but did not sit back down.
"They're in Italy to return the daughter of a mafia boss in exchange for sensitive information." He leaned in and whispered, "only that's not really what they're doing. They're going to have the team kill everyone and take the fall as them going "off mission" because they're criminals. Carlyle has figured this out, if my sources are correct, and plans on sabotaging the whole mission, getting the sensitive information, and fleeing the country. I don't know how, but I don't doubt he will be able to. He needs to be stopped. If I understand correctly, that information is something even I wouldn't want to get out."
"We're going to Milan."
"Right."