Author: Midnight
Title: Marshall Flinkman 007
Summary: Marshall's never considered himself to be the 'secret agent' type, even if he did work for SD-6. Things change however as a sudden trip to London shows everyone, including himself that he has more promise than even the deadliest of agents. Will he give up his life as an 'Op Tech guy' to become a field agent? Or will he remain as he always was? Double-agents, assassinations, elegant parties, beautiful women, The Truth, and more, are all that await him.
Rating: PG. . .for now.
Author's Note: I got this chapter out faster that I had hoped. Please bear with me as the first few chapters are like an introduction. I promise lots of good stuff to come. As usual flames will be used to keep my fireplace burning. Reviews and suggestions are always welcome, and so is constructive criticism. Enjoy.
E-mail me at: varzideh@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: In my rush to post the first chapter, I happened to forget to post a disclaimer. So here it is in all it's glory: All Alias characters and related material does not belong to me, but to J.J Abrams. Although if he would just give me Marshall and Sark, I'd be able to die a happy woman.
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Being offered a chance to work in London (other than on a secret mission) seemed very enticing to Marshall, although he had no idea how he was going to face getting on an airplane again. At least he knew now that his parachute-lined jackets were definitely useful.
The next two days passed by in a blur, as Sloane kept him quite busy. He had spent all his time checking and upgrading SD-6's servers, although he didn't know why the task was given to him, as there were specific people in charge of it. But since there didn't appear to be any missions going on as of late, there had been no need for any of Marshall's inventions or technical advice. So he was pretty much 'work free', leaving him plenty of time to think about the offer given to him.
Despite the fact that it was offered to him as a choice, he was pretty sure that it wasn't really an option. After all, in a place where telling someone (even a family member) what you did for a living could get them (as well as youself) killed, things were not 'asked' of you. . .they were 'told'.
Nearing five o'clock in the afternoon, Marshall made his way to Sloane's office. It was habit for him to become completely incapable of proper speech when he was around his boss. Luckily conversing with people wasn't what he was paid to do. Otherwise he'd be screwed.
He was pretty sure that Sloane had seen him walk towards his office, because as soon as he approached, the door opened, revealing Sloane gesturing for Marshall to come in.
"I take it you have come to a decision Marshall. Although I trust you made a wise one" he said neutrally, his eyes boring into Marshall's as if trying to figure out Marshall's decision before he told him. Of course either way. . .Marshall was off to London.
"Yes, I uh…have thought about it carefully…" he said smiling, and nervously laughing.
"Last time I was there, in London I mean, I didn't really get to see much, except for the London Symphony Orchestra. Did I mention how good they were? I'm not one for classical mus—"
"Time is short Marshall" Sloane said cutting him off before he could go on. "I take it from your tone that you've decided to take Mr. McNeilly's offer. A wise decision, of which I'll inform him of shortly."
Picking up his phone Sloane began to dial a number, giving Marshall a look that clearing showed him that he was excused.
Having no clue what to do, Marshall went back and sat at his desk, not really in the mood to do anything, as he had no idea what he was supposed to do now, or what was in store for him.
He decided to make a quick mental check-list in his head, making sure to remember to ask Mrs. Taylor, his neighbor, to feed his cat, Luke, as well as figuring out how he was going to keep up with the rent of his apartment in L.A, and whether or not he could find someone to send him tapes of the new 'Enterprise' episodes every week.. He had no time to go on any further, however, as Sloane entered his quarters.
"I've just spoken with McNeilly. He already left your airline ticket with me before he left, in case of your acceptance. . ." he said handing Marshall a British Airways envelope.
"As you can see, your flight leaves tomorrow night at eight-fifteen. Transportation to the airport will be provided, so you should expect a car to arrive at your place of residence by six o'clock. When you arrive in London, look for a man holding out a sign that says 'Royal Tours'. That will be your contact and he'll escort you to your location point. All information needed for your stay in London will be handed to you once you're safely in the car. I trust you have no trouble following all of this" he said curtly, noticing Marshall's somewhat dazed expression.
"Huh? Oh no…I mean yes, I understand. So I leave tomorrow then? Wow…such short notice. I mean, can you get by without me? Not that I'm saying that I'm so great or anything. . ." Marshall said in quick succession, about to continue on before noticing the glare that was directed his way. "Right. . .I'll just be quiet now" he added in an undertone, his eyes cast to the ground.
"Do not worry about leaving your position here. We'll get by without you until you return. You're going to be going somewhere where your skills are greatly needed as compared to what you do here. Have a safe a trip" and with that, Arvin Sloane turned around and walked out of Marshall's office, not really caring whether he saw Marshall again or not.
The next day. . .eight thirty in the evening.
Sweat dripped off Marshall's face as sat in his first class seat, not really caring that his seat could recline one-hundred and eighty degrees, or the fact that there was an unlimited supply of roasted peanuts at his disposal.
His mind was focused on the laptop in front of him, which was keeping tabs on the plane's operating controls. He had no Sydney to try and calm him down, and so by the time he arrived in London ten hours later, he was very much exhausted (although happy to have his feet back on solid ground).
Only having one piece of luggage with him (despite wanting to bring pretty much every single invention he owned with him), he quickly made his way towards the exit terminal as he had nothing to declare in customs.
He immediately spotted a man dressed in a black suit and chauffeur's hat, holding up a 'Royal Tours' sign. Walking towards him, he was thankful when the man took his luggage and escorted him out of Heathrow Airport.
Despite almost nodding off on his feet as he walked out of the airport, his eyes openly quickly again as he noted that the man was headed towards a black Mercedes Benz limousine.
"Wow. . .all this just for me" he said smiling at the chauffeur as he held the door open for him. He however, didn't get a smile back in return as the man quickly shut the door and made his way to the drivers seat.
Inside the limousine was a T.V, DVD player, a small refrigerator filled with Ginger Ale (to Marshall's delight), as well as an iced bottle of what looked to be very expensive French champagne.
Sadly, there was no reception on the T.V, nor were there any DVD's for the DVD player, so Marshall was left to just sipping on his can of Ginger Ale, which made him feel slightly better since being on an aircraft.
Nearly spilling his ginger ale on the leather upholstery, he set it down quickly before picking up the phone beside him that had begun to ring.
"Look under the seat beside you. . ." a male voice said, before hanging up.
Assuming it was the driver that had called, Marshall looked under the seat beside him. Seeing nothing, he tried lifting the seat, which to his luck, opened.
Inside was a rather thick brown manila envelope. Opening it he saw a large folder entitled 'profile' as well as various photographs. Looking through the photos graphs he was rather impressed with everything he saw. The first photo was of what looked to be a large Victorian style mansion, similar to a castle. The next couple of photos were of an office building that reminded Marshall of Credit Dauphine, and the last few photos (and ones that he seemed to enjoy the most) were of a lady, who would have looked to even be in her very late teens if she had not been wearing a suit and sunglasses. She was very pretty to say the least, but she wasn't smiling, which didn't make her seem all too nice. Of course, turning the photos around, there was no writing, or any indication of what (or who) these photographs were of.
Setting them down, he skimmed through the folder labeled 'profile'. It seemed to be information regarding his new alias and life, which surprised him as he had had no idea that he'd have to change anything about him. So for the time being, he was Alexander Benning, a VP of Parsa Global Corporation, which specialized in the import and export of computer parts.
"Hey hey. . .I'm a VP. It's a shame I can't keep my real name though. Oh well…VP" he said impressively, fighting the urge to call his mom and tell her about his new 'position'.
"I feel like James Bond!" he said loudly towards the driver. He did not however, get any answer in return.
Other things included in the profile were his address, phone number, social security number, bank account numbers, as well as his monthly salary, which after he read and counted and re-counted all the zero's, he still couldn't believe.
Making his way towards the driver, he knocked on the black plate that was now separating the front from the back of the car, and hoped to get the drivers attention. At once the phone rang, and Marshall picked it up.
"Is this really my salary?! Or is this just for document purposes? I mean, I've never even seen this much mon—"
"Everything written in the dossier is accurate, except for the job description which is your cover. You may speak with the boss tomorrow when you go in for work" and with a click, the line went dead.
Breathing hard, Marshall felt he was very near having a panic attack. Of course, he didn't even have time to beg the driver to pull over as they suddenly stopped.
They were now in front of what looked to be where the picture of the mansion had been taken. At least now he'd figure out what the picture was of.
As his door opened, and Marshall got out, he looked around, not understanding why they had stopped here.
"What am supposed to do?" he enquired from the driver, who was now taking out Marshall's suitcase from the trunk.
"These are your accommodations" he said swiftly, while carrying the suitcase to the front door.
"Oh my god. . ." he muttered under his breath, not being able to comprehend why he was being given a new identity, a six digit monthly salary, and mansion to live in. It was then that he did the only thing that came to mind. . .he passed out.
To be continued. . .