A/N: To those of you who have noticed that Hermione is OOC, keep in mind that she is no longer much of a Brit since the Grangers got out of England right after the accident. So all I guess you can say is that she is 'Americanized'. I know, everybody thinks Americans are weird. We're loud and rude. That's almost how I want to portray Hermione. Complete opposite of what she was in Hogwarts. Dynamic and outgoing. You get my drift.
And personal thanks to CedricDiggory2, for actually pointing out some mistakes. Why don't people ever actually review about my mistakes? Anyhow, I'd also like to thank other reviewers who have read my story and actually BOTHERED TO REVIEW. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. You guys just make my day better.
Okay now… onto chapter four…
Title: Amnesiac
Chapter Four: Partners
Langley, Virginia
"Are we there yet?" Trish asked for what seemed like the millionth time. Hermione's eye twitched. "In another few minutes."
"That's what you said last time," Trish yawned.
"And that's going to be what I say this time. So shut up."
They rode in silence until Hermione pulled into the apartment garage. Alex woke just as Hermione turned the engine off and gave her a sleepy smile. Trish's heart turned over in her chest. God, he's so cute, Trish thought.
"Okay, everybody get out of my car. I need to sleep. And I have work tonight. So scram." Each of them get out of the car and left for their separate apartments, exchanging good byes and hugs. Hermione eyed Trish. "You don't have to hug me."
Trish grinned. "Sure I do. You're my own cuz. C'mere." Hermione managed to duck away. "If I'm going to be living with you for the next two months, at least spare me that."
Hermione entered her apartment, thinking only of how she was going to spend the next few hours in bed. Trish gave the apartment a glance and said one thing. "Neat freak."
"So? It's nice being organized. Unlike some people I know."
"Disorganization shows character."
"Disorganization causes many sleepless nights brooding over lost work." With those words, Hermione walked to her bedroom and slept like rock in bed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Draco left the airport in Langley, heading first for the nearest hotel. He found one, set in the middle of the city. Inside was cool, the walls decorated with pastel and Impressionist paintings. The woman at the Registration table smiled at him.
"Good afternoon. Do you have a reservation?"
"Oh, no. I'd like a room for one. A presidential or penthouse suite if you please."
"Of course. Please fill out this form please." Draco glanced at the form, quickly filling it in with necessary information. "Do you have a restaurant here?"
'Yes, sir. Right over there." The woman, Desiree it said on her nametag, pointed toward a small restaurant on the other side of the lobby.
"Can you have a bellman carry up my bags? Charge his tip to my bill."
"Right away, sir." Desiree handed him a key card. Draco thanked her and headed straight for the restaurant. The maitre'd, recognizing wealth and class, hurried over to Draco.
"Table for one. Just me. Do you have a smoking section?"
"Oh, yes, of course. Would you prefer a table there?"
"That would fine." The maitre'd signaled to one of the other waiters and spoke rapidly to him. Draco watched absently, idly thinking that muggles seemed to constantly suck up to money. But wizards did that as well so he couldn't really blame them. Draco was quickly showed to a single table in a section that was half-filled with hazy blue smoke. Ordering a lobster in white wine at a ridiculous price, Draco took out a cigarette and lit it, watching it burn the dark tobacco for a moment before drawing it in.
And he wondered what Hermione was doing at that moment.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Trish flipped through a magazine, the T.V. blinking with daytime soap operas and talk shows. Hermione was dressing in her room muttering to herself about damn men who couldn't simply wait for her. Trish rolled her eyes.
"Turn down the T.V., goddamn it!" Hermione yelled, her voice muffled.
"Why?"
"Because one of my neighbors is probably going to sue me for a public disturbance! The woman has ears like the fifteen cats she owns."
"Okay, okay, don't get all worked up." Trish was looking for the remote control when Hermione walked out carrying her usual laptop and briefcase. A small Louis Vuitton bag was slung over her shoulder.
"I said to turn down the volume."
"Just wait another minute. I'm trying to find the remote." Hermione sighed and turned down the volume herself. "Why do you watch that crap on T.V. anyway?"
Trish stuck her tongue out at her Hermione. "It's not crap."
"Yes, it is. The sole purpose of daytime shows is to turn you into one of those zombies who're glued to the screen."
"Are you saying that I'm a T.V. junkie?"
"Depends on how you look at it. Look, I have to go. I'll be back at around six. In the meantime, go do something."
"Yes, mum. I'll be sure to be back before curfew." Hermione slanted Trish a look designed to degrade. Trish smiled serenely. "And don't bring back any strange men," Hermione said.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"You know exactly what I'm talking about. I overheard my mum talking with your mum about it. Okay, now I'm going to be late. Bye."
"Bye-bye." Trish turned the volume back up again the moment Hermione stepped out. Hermione sighed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hermione zipped through afternoon traffic and into the CIA parking lot. She showed the security guards her ID and pass. They let her through with polite hellos. In her office, the answering machine held a message from her superior, Michael Brandor, summoning her to one of the many conference rooms held on the fourth floor. The message had come through only seconds before she came in.
Exiting her office, Hermione took a legal pad and pen and speed walked to the conference room. The room was large with a single table in the center and several chairs by it. Brandor was already standing at one end with another four people seated in the chairs, two of which she knew. Brandor scowled at Hermione. "Where's Cullen?" Hermione felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Frank was involved. Hermione merely shrugged and hoped Frank never showed up. She took a seat by Luke Harting, a handsome middle-aged man with a quiet voice. Frank entered the room, striding in as if he had all the time in the world.
Brandor scowled at him. "You're late, Cullen." Frank shrugged. "Had some business to tie up."
"As I recall, you have been doing absolutely nothing in the past week except cooing on the phone. Phone calls that, as I remind you, are paid by the taxpayer's money. So you better start straighten your ass up pretty soon or you're off this project." Frank paled a bit. Hermione could have kissed Brandor.
"Now that we have all our asses here, I'm doing the introductions. The three people that are with us today are profilers specifically sent by the FBI director what's-his-face."
One of the FBI profilers piped up. "Director Robert Malstrom."
"Whatever. Okay, the reason why we're all here's because of the new Project Redstone. Granger here was already informed of the project. You better got some work done ahead of time, Granger." Hermione nodded.
"Good. The purpose of all you profilers is to predict reactions and moves that are going to be made by leaders in terrorist and crime organizations. We're here with the FBI because we're going to combine both international and national information and assistance. If this project proves successful, it will spread from the U.S. to around the world. When that happens, Interpol will join." Hermione noticed that when Brandor said the project going international, he said when instead of if. Brandor expected the best and nothing less.
Brandor continued, "This project thus so far is top secret and confidential. This is nothing to be told to friends when you're piss faced or feeling lonely. It will stay that way. Each CIA profiler will be partnered with an FBI counter part. You will work with together. I don't give a shit if you don't like each other. This project will work. I'm demanding that it works. For now, I will be your superior. You will report to me for whatever you find or need. I'll tell you your partners now. Alright, Cullen, you're with Sanchez." A tall woman, Hispanic, with black hair and eyes nodded. Frank waved a hand toward her, flirting. Sanchez didn't smile back.
"Harting, you're with Foster." Harting looked toward another woman, this time a petite brunette with cool blue eyes. She looked friendly, giving him a smile of acknowledgement.
"Granger, you're with Pearson." Hermione jerked her head up at the name. The last FBI agent was obviously a man who had not looked up at all during the entire meeting. He looked up now. James Pearson, Hermione thought weakly. James Pearson, driver of the SUV she had crashed into. James Paterson who made progress in the possible origins of Alzheimer's disease. Oh my God, thought Hermione. He recognized her as well. Pearson had black hair was wearing glasses. Just as he had in the accident. Hermione realized for the first time that he had green eyes. Or it could be hazel, she wasn't sure. He recovered first. "We meet again, Dr. Granger."
Brandor looked at them. "You two know each other?"
Hermione found her voice. And said, dryly, "We've met." Brandor only raised a brow before dismissing them with dossiers on leaders and men they were to study.
Pearson met her outside of the door. "You know, I still have that dent on my car."
"Your problem that you tried to cut me."
He actually looked sheepish. "Yeah, I was in a hurry. I was late for a party in New York."
"Strange, so was I."
Pearson chuckled. "July Fourth rage and all that. Listen, it was nice meeting you. You're very well-known around the medical community." Hermione frowned. "Is that so?"
Pearson smiled. "Yeah. Hey, walk with me for a bit. We could talk, you know, get to know each other. We are going to be working together for a while." Hermione couldn't help herself, but she liked him. He had a friendly aura around him, drawing people.
"Why not? How am I so well-known?" Hermione inquired, interested.
"You'd have to be pretty oblivious to not know you're something of a celebrity. You're parents are known and respected members in society, right? Your dad was some actor's dentist."
"Yes, I know."
"So everybody knows your mum and dad. Society member's daughter gets into Ivy League school, goes into CIA. Then that thing you did a few years ago with Mafia was pretty cool since you were the one who pretty much literally brought that guy down. All over the news with a civilian taping you chasing him and doing that karate stuff and-"
"I know." Hermione remembered the chase. She had asked to be where Capoli was going to be taken in. Somehow, he had been informed of the setup and ran just before the agents could move in. She remembered everything from that night clearly.
An explosion. A black sedan racing down the long driveway. She remembered leaping into a dark SUV and chasing the sedan, knowing that the man who had killed innocents for money and power was inside that car. The chase ended when the sedan fishtailed and struck a lamppost and smacked into an outdoor restaurant. Three men came out and took cover from the car, grabbing a hostage. The rage she'd felt scored through her, heating her blood. And she attacked. With a semi automatic Glock, Hermione shot Capoli's bodyguard in the shoulder and slammed the driver into the car. Capoli had been a giant of a man, towering over her with an exotic revolver in his hand.
"Hey, you okay?" Hermione woke up from her reverie and stared at Pearson for a moment before remembering where she was.
"Sorry. I'm fine, thanks."
"Hey, you just looked a little sick for a minute. You want to get started on this project? I don't have an office yet, so we'll have to use yours."
"Oh, fine. This way." Upon entering the office, Pearson grabbed a chair and pulled it over to her desk. "Hey, Hermione-Can I call you Hermione?"
Hermione felt her mind go blank for a moment before responding. "Alright."
"Okay, and you call me James or Jimmy. So we are doing the-"
"Triads. Chinese Triads."
Pearson looked through the dossier. "I don't really know much about them. They've done some serious shit and all that from what I hear from the FBI." Hermione sat behind her desk and took out her glasses, looking through the dossier again. "I expected as much."
"What?"
"That you wouldn't know much about the Triads."
"Oh. Okay then…" Hermione continued to look through the dossier and started to explain.
"The Chinese Triads date back to feudal China. Centuries upon centuries. They started out as secret societies, based on the principles of clan alliance, personal indebtedness and mutual protection. They're still highly secretive and the Chinese government have only recognized them in 2001in Taiwan, Hong Kong and Macao. They've spread. Throughout China and into parts of Europe and North America. They take advantage of the freedom offered in Canada and use it to get into the United States.
The Triads operate as clans, not as one giant syndicate. You could say that they're like the Scottish clans. Friends with some and enemies with others. They've branches over some major cities in the U.S. The Triads have pretty much committed every crime there is. Murder, kidnapping, drug trafficking, prostitution, smuggling aliens into the country, forgery of money and papers, bribery and money extortion. They work together. Very systematic. They're immensely powerful but secretive. They still perform ancient rituals to allow new members in. Something like drinking 'blood wine' is one of them. They have hired assassins to kill people. These assassins are given 24 hours usually to make the hit. If they don't succeed, they have to kill themselves or Triads will be after them." Pearson took a breathe. "Not very friendly are they?"
Hermione glanced at him. "What exactly did you expect when you took this assignment?"
Pearson shrugged. "Dunno, really. They asked, I accepted. I mean, why not?"
"Yes, indeed," Hermion murmured. "Why not?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
New York City Ling Triad Organization Branch
Location: Confidential
Time: Present
A man sat behind a large mahogany desk, the wood real and polished, the office large and spacious. The entire wall behind him was made of glass that showed the beauty of New York City. His Armani suit showed glamour, fashion and power. The same could be said with his face and body. The office was luxurious, soundproofed so that no one could hear what went on inside. On the side was an entertainment center, with a small, cleverly hidden refrigerator. Beside it was a bar with top brand name wines. On the other side of the room was all new gym equipment as well as mirrors so whoever was working could watch themselves as they worked their muscles. Along the walls were pieces of art; a vase from the Ming Dynasty, ancient Japanese swords used by warlords, paintings by Monet and Rembrandt. Most of these were either smuggled or stolen. But some were legally bought.
A knock sounded on the door. The man didn't move from his spot behind the desk, but called out a command.
"Enter." In walked another man, built like a bull and sleek. His suit easily hid an unregistered Beretta with an illegal silencer. He stopped not in front of the desk but in the center of the room, his stance that could be called militaristic though he had never served in the Armed Forces. His hands were sweaty from fear of displeasing the man known and wanted by over ten countries and agencies as Danny Ling. The head of the New York City Ling Triad Branch.
"Sir. The file from the CIA infiltrator."
"Excellent," Danny murmured, taking the file from him. The man didn't move from his spot in the center of the office. Danny read through the file, his brow slowly starting to frown. The man, one of the Triads numerous spine crackers, began to sweat. Danny looked up to him. Smiled. "Well, it seems that the CIA has launched a new anti-terrorist and crime syndicate project. Can't have that now, can we?"
"No, sir," the man stuttered.
"No, indeed." Danny smiled again. "Ah, it looks like the illustrious Dr. Granger is also involved. Quite a woman." Danny placed the papers onto his desk and called up Hermione Granger's profile on a sleek state-of-the-art laptop. On the side of it showed a picture of her. The rest listed everything there was to know about her.
SUBJECT: HERMIONE GRANGER
AGE: 26
DOB: MARCH 11, 1976
SEX: FEMALE
BLOOD TYPE: A POSTIVE
EYE COLOR: BROWN
HAIR COLOR: BROWN
HEIGHT: 5'8
IQ: 176 (ADULT SCALE)
BIOLOGICAL PARENTS: RICHARD AND KATHERINE GRANGER
NATIONALITY: AMERICAN CITIZENSHIP
ABILITIES: TAE KWON DO, JUJITSU, TRADITIONAL KARATE; STANDARD CIA FIELD OPERATIVE TRAINING INCULDING WEAPONS TRAINING, HAND-TO-COMBAT, LONG AND SHORT TERM TACTICS, LEADERSHIP AND COMMAND, CODE BREAKING AND COMPUTERIZED HACKING. (SUBJECT HAS MASTERED ALL LISTED ABILITIES TO MAXIMUM CAPACITY)
LANGUAGES: ENGLISH, FRENCH, ITALIAN, GERMAN, RUSSIAN, ARABIC
OCCUPATION: CIA PROFILER AND PSYCHOLOGIST.
HISTORY: ENROLLED INTO ST. CLAIRE'S CATHOLIC SCHOOL OF LONDON, ENGLAND FALL 1982; GRADUATED SPRING 1987; WINTER 1993, HOUSE BURNED DOWN DUE TO ELECTRICAL FAILURE, INJURIES: BROKEN WRIST, MILD CONCUSSION, VARIOUS MINOR INJURIES; SPRING 1994, MOVED TO UNITED STATES WITH PARENTS; SPRING 1994, ENROLLED INTO HARVEY PREPATORY SCHOOL (NY), GRADUATED WITH HONORS SPRING 1994; ENROLLED INTO HARVARD UNIVERSITY FALL 1994, MAJORED IN PSYCHOLOGY, MINORED IN SOCIAL ECONOMICS; GRADUATED MAGNA CUM LAUDE AND CLASS VALEDICTORIAN AND SPEAKER, FIRST IN HER CLASS RESPECTIVELY IN SPRING 1998; SUMMER 1998 APPLIED AS CIA PROFILER; WINTER 2000 MAJOR KEY PLAYER IN ARREST OF MAFIA INTERNATIONAL SMUGGLER AND ASSASSIN DOMINICK CAPOLI ALONG WITH SEVERAL MINOR MAFIA LEADERS.
NOTES: MS. GRANGER IS POTENTIALLY THE IDEAL FIELD OPERATIVE FOR ANY MISSION OR SITUATION. DEMONSTRATES COOL HEADEDNESS IN DIFFICULT SITUATIONS AND OFTEN AN ALMOST UNNATURAL LACK OF FEAR TO ARMED OPPONENTS. THIS LACK OF FEAR CAN POSSIBLY BE DIRECTED AT HER NEAR DEATH EXPIERENCE IN HER LATE ADOLESCENT YEARS. THAT EXPERIENCE THAT SHOULD HAVE MADE HER MORE FEARFUL TO DEATH SEEMS TO HAVE THE OPPOSITE EFFECT. MENTAL CAPABILITY IS REMARKABLE. GENETIC DESIGN IS QUESTIONABLE; STRENGTH IS TWICE THAT OF THE AVERAGE MAN; POSSIBLE DUE TO HER INTENSE COMBAT TRAINING, SPEED IS THE SAME. MS. GRANGER IS POSSIBLY ONE OF THE FEW WHO ARE SUPERIOR TO THE ENTIRE HUMAN RACE.
Danny smiled again. "Very impressive, Doctor. Very impressive. Marcus." The man snapped to attention. "It seems to me that the good doctor could prove a threat to us. After all, this profile is very accurate. Superior to the human race. Hmm." Danny looked thoughtful. "There are a few who are superior, like Dr. Granger. They often go through life without ever knowing, though the few of these almost always have high paying jobs and such. Their superiority is mostly based on their intellect and IQ levels. Dr. Granger seems to have been endowed in both the physical and mental sense. Quite amazing. Why don't we pay Dr. Granger a call? After all, no matter how superior you are, you can't stop a bullet."
But strangely enough, Danny noticed that there was nothing on Hermione's high school and junior high years. He dismissed it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Draco simply looked at the building where she lived. It was a trendy apartment building. Nice views probably. It almost seemed to suit Hermione Granger just fine. He shook his head. Slowly, he walked inside, knowing exactly where she lived. He rode the elevator up and counted the doors though the numbers were there for all to see. Here it is, Draco thought. Sixth floor, door number 26A.
Draco raised his hand to knock.
A/N: Well there's another finished chapter. I know, I was mean to stop just there where Draco was on the brink of seeing Hermione again. Cliffy. Ah, I enjoyed writing Hermione's profile. Yes, I have thought it over. Hermione is somehing of a superhuman. She's not aware of it, of course... Okay, now why don't y'all go run along now and review? I promise, the more reviews, the faster I'll get the next chapter up. *I LIVE ON REVIEWS*
And personal thanks to CedricDiggory2, for actually pointing out some mistakes. Why don't people ever actually review about my mistakes? Anyhow, I'd also like to thank other reviewers who have read my story and actually BOTHERED TO REVIEW. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. You guys just make my day better.
Okay now… onto chapter four…
Title: Amnesiac
Chapter Four: Partners
Langley, Virginia
"Are we there yet?" Trish asked for what seemed like the millionth time. Hermione's eye twitched. "In another few minutes."
"That's what you said last time," Trish yawned.
"And that's going to be what I say this time. So shut up."
They rode in silence until Hermione pulled into the apartment garage. Alex woke just as Hermione turned the engine off and gave her a sleepy smile. Trish's heart turned over in her chest. God, he's so cute, Trish thought.
"Okay, everybody get out of my car. I need to sleep. And I have work tonight. So scram." Each of them get out of the car and left for their separate apartments, exchanging good byes and hugs. Hermione eyed Trish. "You don't have to hug me."
Trish grinned. "Sure I do. You're my own cuz. C'mere." Hermione managed to duck away. "If I'm going to be living with you for the next two months, at least spare me that."
Hermione entered her apartment, thinking only of how she was going to spend the next few hours in bed. Trish gave the apartment a glance and said one thing. "Neat freak."
"So? It's nice being organized. Unlike some people I know."
"Disorganization shows character."
"Disorganization causes many sleepless nights brooding over lost work." With those words, Hermione walked to her bedroom and slept like rock in bed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Draco left the airport in Langley, heading first for the nearest hotel. He found one, set in the middle of the city. Inside was cool, the walls decorated with pastel and Impressionist paintings. The woman at the Registration table smiled at him.
"Good afternoon. Do you have a reservation?"
"Oh, no. I'd like a room for one. A presidential or penthouse suite if you please."
"Of course. Please fill out this form please." Draco glanced at the form, quickly filling it in with necessary information. "Do you have a restaurant here?"
'Yes, sir. Right over there." The woman, Desiree it said on her nametag, pointed toward a small restaurant on the other side of the lobby.
"Can you have a bellman carry up my bags? Charge his tip to my bill."
"Right away, sir." Desiree handed him a key card. Draco thanked her and headed straight for the restaurant. The maitre'd, recognizing wealth and class, hurried over to Draco.
"Table for one. Just me. Do you have a smoking section?"
"Oh, yes, of course. Would you prefer a table there?"
"That would fine." The maitre'd signaled to one of the other waiters and spoke rapidly to him. Draco watched absently, idly thinking that muggles seemed to constantly suck up to money. But wizards did that as well so he couldn't really blame them. Draco was quickly showed to a single table in a section that was half-filled with hazy blue smoke. Ordering a lobster in white wine at a ridiculous price, Draco took out a cigarette and lit it, watching it burn the dark tobacco for a moment before drawing it in.
And he wondered what Hermione was doing at that moment.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Trish flipped through a magazine, the T.V. blinking with daytime soap operas and talk shows. Hermione was dressing in her room muttering to herself about damn men who couldn't simply wait for her. Trish rolled her eyes.
"Turn down the T.V., goddamn it!" Hermione yelled, her voice muffled.
"Why?"
"Because one of my neighbors is probably going to sue me for a public disturbance! The woman has ears like the fifteen cats she owns."
"Okay, okay, don't get all worked up." Trish was looking for the remote control when Hermione walked out carrying her usual laptop and briefcase. A small Louis Vuitton bag was slung over her shoulder.
"I said to turn down the volume."
"Just wait another minute. I'm trying to find the remote." Hermione sighed and turned down the volume herself. "Why do you watch that crap on T.V. anyway?"
Trish stuck her tongue out at her Hermione. "It's not crap."
"Yes, it is. The sole purpose of daytime shows is to turn you into one of those zombies who're glued to the screen."
"Are you saying that I'm a T.V. junkie?"
"Depends on how you look at it. Look, I have to go. I'll be back at around six. In the meantime, go do something."
"Yes, mum. I'll be sure to be back before curfew." Hermione slanted Trish a look designed to degrade. Trish smiled serenely. "And don't bring back any strange men," Hermione said.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"You know exactly what I'm talking about. I overheard my mum talking with your mum about it. Okay, now I'm going to be late. Bye."
"Bye-bye." Trish turned the volume back up again the moment Hermione stepped out. Hermione sighed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hermione zipped through afternoon traffic and into the CIA parking lot. She showed the security guards her ID and pass. They let her through with polite hellos. In her office, the answering machine held a message from her superior, Michael Brandor, summoning her to one of the many conference rooms held on the fourth floor. The message had come through only seconds before she came in.
Exiting her office, Hermione took a legal pad and pen and speed walked to the conference room. The room was large with a single table in the center and several chairs by it. Brandor was already standing at one end with another four people seated in the chairs, two of which she knew. Brandor scowled at Hermione. "Where's Cullen?" Hermione felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Frank was involved. Hermione merely shrugged and hoped Frank never showed up. She took a seat by Luke Harting, a handsome middle-aged man with a quiet voice. Frank entered the room, striding in as if he had all the time in the world.
Brandor scowled at him. "You're late, Cullen." Frank shrugged. "Had some business to tie up."
"As I recall, you have been doing absolutely nothing in the past week except cooing on the phone. Phone calls that, as I remind you, are paid by the taxpayer's money. So you better start straighten your ass up pretty soon or you're off this project." Frank paled a bit. Hermione could have kissed Brandor.
"Now that we have all our asses here, I'm doing the introductions. The three people that are with us today are profilers specifically sent by the FBI director what's-his-face."
One of the FBI profilers piped up. "Director Robert Malstrom."
"Whatever. Okay, the reason why we're all here's because of the new Project Redstone. Granger here was already informed of the project. You better got some work done ahead of time, Granger." Hermione nodded.
"Good. The purpose of all you profilers is to predict reactions and moves that are going to be made by leaders in terrorist and crime organizations. We're here with the FBI because we're going to combine both international and national information and assistance. If this project proves successful, it will spread from the U.S. to around the world. When that happens, Interpol will join." Hermione noticed that when Brandor said the project going international, he said when instead of if. Brandor expected the best and nothing less.
Brandor continued, "This project thus so far is top secret and confidential. This is nothing to be told to friends when you're piss faced or feeling lonely. It will stay that way. Each CIA profiler will be partnered with an FBI counter part. You will work with together. I don't give a shit if you don't like each other. This project will work. I'm demanding that it works. For now, I will be your superior. You will report to me for whatever you find or need. I'll tell you your partners now. Alright, Cullen, you're with Sanchez." A tall woman, Hispanic, with black hair and eyes nodded. Frank waved a hand toward her, flirting. Sanchez didn't smile back.
"Harting, you're with Foster." Harting looked toward another woman, this time a petite brunette with cool blue eyes. She looked friendly, giving him a smile of acknowledgement.
"Granger, you're with Pearson." Hermione jerked her head up at the name. The last FBI agent was obviously a man who had not looked up at all during the entire meeting. He looked up now. James Pearson, Hermione thought weakly. James Pearson, driver of the SUV she had crashed into. James Paterson who made progress in the possible origins of Alzheimer's disease. Oh my God, thought Hermione. He recognized her as well. Pearson had black hair was wearing glasses. Just as he had in the accident. Hermione realized for the first time that he had green eyes. Or it could be hazel, she wasn't sure. He recovered first. "We meet again, Dr. Granger."
Brandor looked at them. "You two know each other?"
Hermione found her voice. And said, dryly, "We've met." Brandor only raised a brow before dismissing them with dossiers on leaders and men they were to study.
Pearson met her outside of the door. "You know, I still have that dent on my car."
"Your problem that you tried to cut me."
He actually looked sheepish. "Yeah, I was in a hurry. I was late for a party in New York."
"Strange, so was I."
Pearson chuckled. "July Fourth rage and all that. Listen, it was nice meeting you. You're very well-known around the medical community." Hermione frowned. "Is that so?"
Pearson smiled. "Yeah. Hey, walk with me for a bit. We could talk, you know, get to know each other. We are going to be working together for a while." Hermione couldn't help herself, but she liked him. He had a friendly aura around him, drawing people.
"Why not? How am I so well-known?" Hermione inquired, interested.
"You'd have to be pretty oblivious to not know you're something of a celebrity. You're parents are known and respected members in society, right? Your dad was some actor's dentist."
"Yes, I know."
"So everybody knows your mum and dad. Society member's daughter gets into Ivy League school, goes into CIA. Then that thing you did a few years ago with Mafia was pretty cool since you were the one who pretty much literally brought that guy down. All over the news with a civilian taping you chasing him and doing that karate stuff and-"
"I know." Hermione remembered the chase. She had asked to be where Capoli was going to be taken in. Somehow, he had been informed of the setup and ran just before the agents could move in. She remembered everything from that night clearly.
An explosion. A black sedan racing down the long driveway. She remembered leaping into a dark SUV and chasing the sedan, knowing that the man who had killed innocents for money and power was inside that car. The chase ended when the sedan fishtailed and struck a lamppost and smacked into an outdoor restaurant. Three men came out and took cover from the car, grabbing a hostage. The rage she'd felt scored through her, heating her blood. And she attacked. With a semi automatic Glock, Hermione shot Capoli's bodyguard in the shoulder and slammed the driver into the car. Capoli had been a giant of a man, towering over her with an exotic revolver in his hand.
"Hey, you okay?" Hermione woke up from her reverie and stared at Pearson for a moment before remembering where she was.
"Sorry. I'm fine, thanks."
"Hey, you just looked a little sick for a minute. You want to get started on this project? I don't have an office yet, so we'll have to use yours."
"Oh, fine. This way." Upon entering the office, Pearson grabbed a chair and pulled it over to her desk. "Hey, Hermione-Can I call you Hermione?"
Hermione felt her mind go blank for a moment before responding. "Alright."
"Okay, and you call me James or Jimmy. So we are doing the-"
"Triads. Chinese Triads."
Pearson looked through the dossier. "I don't really know much about them. They've done some serious shit and all that from what I hear from the FBI." Hermione sat behind her desk and took out her glasses, looking through the dossier again. "I expected as much."
"What?"
"That you wouldn't know much about the Triads."
"Oh. Okay then…" Hermione continued to look through the dossier and started to explain.
"The Chinese Triads date back to feudal China. Centuries upon centuries. They started out as secret societies, based on the principles of clan alliance, personal indebtedness and mutual protection. They're still highly secretive and the Chinese government have only recognized them in 2001in Taiwan, Hong Kong and Macao. They've spread. Throughout China and into parts of Europe and North America. They take advantage of the freedom offered in Canada and use it to get into the United States.
The Triads operate as clans, not as one giant syndicate. You could say that they're like the Scottish clans. Friends with some and enemies with others. They've branches over some major cities in the U.S. The Triads have pretty much committed every crime there is. Murder, kidnapping, drug trafficking, prostitution, smuggling aliens into the country, forgery of money and papers, bribery and money extortion. They work together. Very systematic. They're immensely powerful but secretive. They still perform ancient rituals to allow new members in. Something like drinking 'blood wine' is one of them. They have hired assassins to kill people. These assassins are given 24 hours usually to make the hit. If they don't succeed, they have to kill themselves or Triads will be after them." Pearson took a breathe. "Not very friendly are they?"
Hermione glanced at him. "What exactly did you expect when you took this assignment?"
Pearson shrugged. "Dunno, really. They asked, I accepted. I mean, why not?"
"Yes, indeed," Hermion murmured. "Why not?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
New York City Ling Triad Organization Branch
Location: Confidential
Time: Present
A man sat behind a large mahogany desk, the wood real and polished, the office large and spacious. The entire wall behind him was made of glass that showed the beauty of New York City. His Armani suit showed glamour, fashion and power. The same could be said with his face and body. The office was luxurious, soundproofed so that no one could hear what went on inside. On the side was an entertainment center, with a small, cleverly hidden refrigerator. Beside it was a bar with top brand name wines. On the other side of the room was all new gym equipment as well as mirrors so whoever was working could watch themselves as they worked their muscles. Along the walls were pieces of art; a vase from the Ming Dynasty, ancient Japanese swords used by warlords, paintings by Monet and Rembrandt. Most of these were either smuggled or stolen. But some were legally bought.
A knock sounded on the door. The man didn't move from his spot behind the desk, but called out a command.
"Enter." In walked another man, built like a bull and sleek. His suit easily hid an unregistered Beretta with an illegal silencer. He stopped not in front of the desk but in the center of the room, his stance that could be called militaristic though he had never served in the Armed Forces. His hands were sweaty from fear of displeasing the man known and wanted by over ten countries and agencies as Danny Ling. The head of the New York City Ling Triad Branch.
"Sir. The file from the CIA infiltrator."
"Excellent," Danny murmured, taking the file from him. The man didn't move from his spot in the center of the office. Danny read through the file, his brow slowly starting to frown. The man, one of the Triads numerous spine crackers, began to sweat. Danny looked up to him. Smiled. "Well, it seems that the CIA has launched a new anti-terrorist and crime syndicate project. Can't have that now, can we?"
"No, sir," the man stuttered.
"No, indeed." Danny smiled again. "Ah, it looks like the illustrious Dr. Granger is also involved. Quite a woman." Danny placed the papers onto his desk and called up Hermione Granger's profile on a sleek state-of-the-art laptop. On the side of it showed a picture of her. The rest listed everything there was to know about her.
SUBJECT: HERMIONE GRANGER
AGE: 26
DOB: MARCH 11, 1976
SEX: FEMALE
BLOOD TYPE: A POSTIVE
EYE COLOR: BROWN
HAIR COLOR: BROWN
HEIGHT: 5'8
IQ: 176 (ADULT SCALE)
BIOLOGICAL PARENTS: RICHARD AND KATHERINE GRANGER
NATIONALITY: AMERICAN CITIZENSHIP
ABILITIES: TAE KWON DO, JUJITSU, TRADITIONAL KARATE; STANDARD CIA FIELD OPERATIVE TRAINING INCULDING WEAPONS TRAINING, HAND-TO-COMBAT, LONG AND SHORT TERM TACTICS, LEADERSHIP AND COMMAND, CODE BREAKING AND COMPUTERIZED HACKING. (SUBJECT HAS MASTERED ALL LISTED ABILITIES TO MAXIMUM CAPACITY)
LANGUAGES: ENGLISH, FRENCH, ITALIAN, GERMAN, RUSSIAN, ARABIC
OCCUPATION: CIA PROFILER AND PSYCHOLOGIST.
HISTORY: ENROLLED INTO ST. CLAIRE'S CATHOLIC SCHOOL OF LONDON, ENGLAND FALL 1982; GRADUATED SPRING 1987; WINTER 1993, HOUSE BURNED DOWN DUE TO ELECTRICAL FAILURE, INJURIES: BROKEN WRIST, MILD CONCUSSION, VARIOUS MINOR INJURIES; SPRING 1994, MOVED TO UNITED STATES WITH PARENTS; SPRING 1994, ENROLLED INTO HARVEY PREPATORY SCHOOL (NY), GRADUATED WITH HONORS SPRING 1994; ENROLLED INTO HARVARD UNIVERSITY FALL 1994, MAJORED IN PSYCHOLOGY, MINORED IN SOCIAL ECONOMICS; GRADUATED MAGNA CUM LAUDE AND CLASS VALEDICTORIAN AND SPEAKER, FIRST IN HER CLASS RESPECTIVELY IN SPRING 1998; SUMMER 1998 APPLIED AS CIA PROFILER; WINTER 2000 MAJOR KEY PLAYER IN ARREST OF MAFIA INTERNATIONAL SMUGGLER AND ASSASSIN DOMINICK CAPOLI ALONG WITH SEVERAL MINOR MAFIA LEADERS.
NOTES: MS. GRANGER IS POTENTIALLY THE IDEAL FIELD OPERATIVE FOR ANY MISSION OR SITUATION. DEMONSTRATES COOL HEADEDNESS IN DIFFICULT SITUATIONS AND OFTEN AN ALMOST UNNATURAL LACK OF FEAR TO ARMED OPPONENTS. THIS LACK OF FEAR CAN POSSIBLY BE DIRECTED AT HER NEAR DEATH EXPIERENCE IN HER LATE ADOLESCENT YEARS. THAT EXPERIENCE THAT SHOULD HAVE MADE HER MORE FEARFUL TO DEATH SEEMS TO HAVE THE OPPOSITE EFFECT. MENTAL CAPABILITY IS REMARKABLE. GENETIC DESIGN IS QUESTIONABLE; STRENGTH IS TWICE THAT OF THE AVERAGE MAN; POSSIBLE DUE TO HER INTENSE COMBAT TRAINING, SPEED IS THE SAME. MS. GRANGER IS POSSIBLY ONE OF THE FEW WHO ARE SUPERIOR TO THE ENTIRE HUMAN RACE.
Danny smiled again. "Very impressive, Doctor. Very impressive. Marcus." The man snapped to attention. "It seems to me that the good doctor could prove a threat to us. After all, this profile is very accurate. Superior to the human race. Hmm." Danny looked thoughtful. "There are a few who are superior, like Dr. Granger. They often go through life without ever knowing, though the few of these almost always have high paying jobs and such. Their superiority is mostly based on their intellect and IQ levels. Dr. Granger seems to have been endowed in both the physical and mental sense. Quite amazing. Why don't we pay Dr. Granger a call? After all, no matter how superior you are, you can't stop a bullet."
But strangely enough, Danny noticed that there was nothing on Hermione's high school and junior high years. He dismissed it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Draco simply looked at the building where she lived. It was a trendy apartment building. Nice views probably. It almost seemed to suit Hermione Granger just fine. He shook his head. Slowly, he walked inside, knowing exactly where she lived. He rode the elevator up and counted the doors though the numbers were there for all to see. Here it is, Draco thought. Sixth floor, door number 26A.
Draco raised his hand to knock.
A/N: Well there's another finished chapter. I know, I was mean to stop just there where Draco was on the brink of seeing Hermione again. Cliffy. Ah, I enjoyed writing Hermione's profile. Yes, I have thought it over. Hermione is somehing of a superhuman. She's not aware of it, of course... Okay, now why don't y'all go run along now and review? I promise, the more reviews, the faster I'll get the next chapter up. *I LIVE ON REVIEWS*