One time in Rome, I stumbled into an old enemy at a bar. I was in no mood for a fight, but it didn't look like I was going to have much choice. I avoided him by joining a table of acquaintances and staying until the bar was mostly empty. But eventually we were all shooed out and I couldn't avoid him any longer. My remaining companions were very drunk and I let them wander off on their own instead of trying to use them as a buffer. Better just to get it over with. Marcus, being the vengeful soul he was, had refused to let me out of his sight and now stood in the doorway of the bar with me, glaring malevolently. I refused to meet his eye, not out of shame but because I couldn't really muster any anger or defiance. The only thing I had at that moment, emotionally speaking, was a great weariness. I was tried of fighting, tired of pretending I cared, tired of everyone I knew being angry with me, and above all tired with the cycle of violence and vengeance.
But Marcus wasn't. He stood there, waiting for me to say something or make a move or otherwise start things. I'm not sure why, I guess he was a subscriber to the theory that whoever struck first was more vulnerable.
"Poliksena," he said at last. That was the name he knew me by.
"Go home, Marcus," I replied wearily, knowing he wouldn't but trying to make a point that I didn't want to fight him.
"You killed Allis." I think he said that for his own benefit more than as an accusation.
I sighed. "No I didn't. I just fought him. That Moor kid killed him." I looked at him, finally, to quell his objections. "But I was responsible for his death."
"You let that-"
"Marcus, please. If you want to fight me, too, fight me. You already killed that Moor. Don't bait me, don't sit here justifying killing me, either attack me or go home. I don't have the patience for your agonizing and circular logic. If it makes you feel better, yes, I was responsible for his death. Just get it over with already."
I leaned against the doorframe, emphasizing my exhaustion. I wasn't physically tired, but I was close enough to depression that all I wanted to do was lay down and go to sleep somewhere. Marcus considered me, obviously still struggling with himself. I knew what would happen. He would eventually remember my reputation for being manipulative and deceptive and would decide to attack. There was very little I could do in the face of my reputation. And I was manipulating him, but I wasn't trying to deceive him.
Sure enough, he deliberated for a while, on the cusp of backing off, but then he began to get angry again. I groaned inwardly as I hear him draw his sword. I ducked just in time and tried to kick the back of his knees. It sort of worked, but he didn't go down. I darted out of the doorway into the narrow alley. He took a few more swings at me, which I avoided easily.
"Draw!" he shouted, angry that I wasn't fighting back. I was mildly surprised. Surely he knew I didn't carry a sword.
I let him attack me a few more times before hitting him again, this time right above his hipbone. He gave a short cry, and I take a few steps back to watch him limping slightly. He turned back to me, giving me a murderous look.
"Marcus, I can keep this up all night. Just go home."
He attacked me again, with such renewed force that you would have thought I was baiting him. This time he gave me enough of an opening that I hooked a leg behind his and shoved his shoulder hard. He hit the ground hard and I quickly stepped on his sword wrist. To his credit, he didn't let go, but I didn't need to break his fingers to get it out of his hand. Holding his sword at his throat, I stood over him again, keeping my foot on his wrist.
"This is your last warning. Go home."
His fear turned to anger and he kicked out at me, trying to make me drop his sword, or maybe just knock me down. Deciding that keeping him on the ground wasn't worth the effort, I retreated, still holding his sword. He stood up warily, drawing a knife. I wasn't impressed; his knife looked like it's primary purpose was whittling. Still limping slightly, he circled me again. I waited for him to attack, more to give him another chance to retreat that because defense was a more tenable position.
That time he was more careful and I actually had to move quickly to get away from his blade. But he left himself open, and I hit him with the broadside of his sword. Finally I took the initiative and pressed him hard with my own attacks. I was careful to always strike him with the flat of the sword, and before he really knew what was happening his knife was out of his hand and in the air. I snatched it, then hefted it to test its balance. He went pale then, obviously out of weapons. That would have been a better time to let him retreat, but I had given him his last chance already.
I attacked him again and again, mostly with the flat of his sword than the knife, which I really just used as a threat. I had many, many more chances to kill him but didn't. After about forty-five minutes of him trying to defend himself and get his weapons back, he started to get tired. Finally I had him more or less in a corner. Panting, he spat at me.
"Go on. Kill me like you did my mentor!"
I rolled my eyes. "I didn't kill him. Nor am I going to kill you. I'm taking your sword, though. You're smarter than Allis was, you should be able to find another one before anybody else comes along to kill you. Now listen to me. If we meet again and you attack me, when I leave you next time, you'll wish you were dead. Goodnight, Marcus."
I started to back away and at first he looked like he was giving in. Then he leapt at me again. Trying not to show my annoyance, I hit him with the flat of his sword again, this time nearly knocking the wind out of him. He crumpled to the ground and tried to get up again. I kicked him in the ribs, but not hard enough to break anything, I really only wanted him on his back.
"Look, I'm not going to kill you. So knock it off." Satisfied that he wasn't going to be able to get up for a minute or two, I turned and left quickly.
The following morning I pawned his sword and distributed the money among the street urchins on my way out of town. I thought ruefully as I did that I was likely to see Marcus again some day.
I'm still working the phone in an attempt to find Pao and Ben when something happens that never happens. My cell phone rings. I'm not quick to panic, but when I do, my flight and fight responses are really dramatic. Before really realizing it, I'm out of my chair and backed against the wall, staring at my phone. As my rational mind comes back, I think of caller ID. I approach my phone again and look, but as I suspected it's blocked. My caller ID isn't really very advanced, as I don't take calls on my cell. Or much at all. Thinking quickly, I grab my phone and head for the back door. I'm not an explosives expert, but it's probably better if I'm not where I'm supposed to be when I answer it. Hiking up the hill behind the house and into the bare trees, I find a good vantage point, scan the ridge and neighborhood and answer the phone.
"Hello?" I say, businesslike.
"I hear you pulled rank on Powel pretty effectively today." It's Michelson. I breathe again, but don't let my guard down. I have to resist the temptation to curse rather profusely at him.
"I noticed you got that Orbanski kid involved. Does that mean you lied to him or has he decided to join your camp?"
"He's a smart kid. You're not; you're not supposed to use names in unsecured communications."
I roll my eyes. "That's during ops. Is this what you called me for?"
"How do you know this isn't an op?" He's bluffing, but I can't figure out what he wants. It's not to gloat, he doesn't sound pleased enough with himself. Is this really his plan B for if those three agents failed? Maybe he's trying to distract me? Possible, but unlikely. When he's trying to distract someone, he usually has more of a point to his conversation.
"What do you want, Bob? Surely your little stunt today was a waste of government resources. As is this phone call, but who's counting."
"I think the government is more interested in how you spend your time than I do mine. I take leaves of absence for vacation. You seem to spend them working for someone else."
"When you're my superior it'll be your business. Go back to work. If Collins had a problem with me I doubt he would put you in charge of the op. Now stop wasting my time." I hang up.
Stalking back down to the house, I think about the last time Michelson caused trouble. I had been working with an underground organization on India, trying to keep a certain candidate from being elected Prime Minister. Somehow, the CIA got involved, and I had to explain my involvement afterwards to multiple high ranking agents and a very unimpressed committee. They decided my actions were in keeping with their interests since my information on the candidate proved good, but Michelson found out about it after I started working with him. He thought no one but the USA should interfere with foreign elections, and despite explicit instructions from our superiors to stay out of my business, he has campaigned to have me rotated to a desk job and on one previous occasion, to have me arrested.
On that rather infamous occasion, he found out that I had informants within a Green Peace splinter group. He thought I was feeding them information on Interpol so they cold stay ahead of pursuit. What I was supposed to get out of that arrangement was unclear. I officially denied all the claims; even though I made it pretty clear off the record that I did have agents within the splinter group, but that information only went one way. To be honest, even if the allegations had been true, they still weren't serious enough for the CIA to cut me loose. I have been very valuable to them in the past, and continue to be so when I work for them, and that is partly because I have so many other connections and affiliations. I have never worked against their interests, not because I'm loyal, but because I have never had reason to do so. If I do work against them, I won't be working with them at the same time. That's not my style.
Michelson can play power politics all he wants in the office; I'm not wasting time on a pissing contest with him right now. If the CIA becomes my enemy, so be it. It's doubtful that's going to happen today.
I don't know what makes me think of it, but I decide I need an ally in looking for Pao. Someone who can hold the fort nearer the border while I go looking for Pao in the Catskills. I know I only really have one choice in that department. There are very few individuals I trust that can just drop what they're doing and work with me full time, and even fewer that have the required skills. And only one on the East Coast. Luckily for me he's based in NYC.
I pick up the secure landline again and before I can think better of it, I give Frank Taylor a call.
"Taylor and Co. Investigations," a young, female voice answers.
"I thought this was Frank's private line," I say, surprised.
"It used to be. How can I help you?"
I don't really want to go through his secretary. "I need to speak with Frank immediately. Tell him it's his spooky sidekick." I try to speak quietly in case there's a bug in the kitchen.
This gives the girl pause. "Mr. Taylor isn't in at the moment, but I could take a message for you." I smell bullshit.
"Yes he is. Buzz him, he'll want to speak to me." I hate speaking to secretaries.
"One moment please," she says, a bit flustered.
I hold. At least there's no background music. Finally there's a click and I'm speaking with Frank.
"Well well well, if it isn't the mysterious-"
"Don't say my name, Frank."
"Oh, fine. You haven't changed a bit. What can I do you for?"
"How busy are you?"
He gives a surprised laugh. "Never too busy to help a lady."
"Good. I'll pick you up in Albany-Rensselaer. Get on the first train you can."
"Jesus! Here I was thinking you were asking about next week!" He knows I'm in a permanent hurry.
"Ha ha. I'll reimburse your for the ticket. If you can catch the 1:30 train we'll get there around the same time."
"How long should I pack for?"
"A few weeks. And don't use your cell phone."
"Pfft. Anything else I should bring? Kevlar vest? Automatic weapons?"
"Don't make me regret including you."
"What, a guy can't make a joke?"
"Oh, there is something you can bring. Bug sweeper. Whatever kind is your favorite."
"Ah, how I missed working with you."
"Shut up. See you soon."
He laughs as I hang up.
I crouched on the wall overlooking the square. I glanced around, noting the placement of the archers and the foot soldiers. Nothing too complicated, but there were several plain-clothes soldiers hanging around the market. Their cloaks gave them away; it was too hot a day for long robes. I guessed they had planned on it being colder, but summer was persisting longer than the regional norm. There was at least one more professional thug in the whorehouse doorway. He was giving hand signals to someone I couldn't see across the way. My escape route was pretty secure, but there were a few dangerous bits where all it would take was some bad luck. Well, nothing ventured nothing gained.
The wind was coming pretty steadily from my right. Not too difficult to compensate for, but my downfall could be if it changed much. This was a pretty long shot to be making.
The merchant had just left the main palace. He was in a well-guarded carriage, but their sniper precautions were woefully inadequate. My shot stayed clear.
This particular merchant was well known for his security, which was the only reason I agreed to this job. Infiltrating the square had been much more difficult than finding a good position to shoot from. Escape would be difficult, as well. But I had spent the better part of a week in this city planning this out, so at least I had no gaps in my geography. But for the moment I had to put thoughts of my escape route out of my head. The merchant's carriage was coming around the corner into view.
He really should have been using a palanquin or something. If he kept the curtains drawn I wouldn't have been able to snipe him like this. I would have found another way to kill him, of course, but still. I carefully raised my bow and strung an arrow, trying not to catch a guard's eye with a quick movement. Right before I took my shot, I felt a pang of disappointment. I wanted a boastful warrior, someone who could give me a really good one on one fight. Someone who could, despite all my balance and skill, get his sword point an inch from my neck before I killed him. The closest I could get to that these days was fighting an army. And even that had gotten boring; I had gotten too good.
I loosed my arrow and watched it slam through the merchant's Adam's apple. With an anticlimactic feeling, I jumped from the wall and darted off into the outer city, hearing arrows thunk against the rock of the wall roughly where I had just been. I cursed myself for being distracted; I had been hoping to sever the merchant's jugular instead of his windpipe. Ah well, best not to report success until I confirmed him dead. But for now I had to run for it.
Frank looks happy to see me. I have to admit it's good to see him again. He doesn't look that bad, considering it's been about two decades since I saw him last. When I first met him, he had just moved from NYPD to the CIA. He had been the new hotshot, one of the brass's favorites and a real asset. It had been my rather unfortunate job to partner him first. Ex-cops have a bad habit of thinking like cops, even after training. To him, it wasn't what you knew; it was what you could prove. To me, and the CIA at large, it's not what you know, it's what they know you know, and what you know they know, and what you know they know you know, ad infinitum. Not exactly Frank's cup of tea.
Now, after however many years as a spook, he's a PI, and one of the best. Why the CIA ever let him go I'm not sure, or how he'd managed to get their hooks out of him. Maybe he hasn't. I've worked with him twice before since he's left the CIA, and his style hasn't changed much, although he's more experienced. He still takes matters I consider important a little too lightly, such as the danger of cell phone conversations being "overheard."
He gives me a firm handshake as I approach him in the station.
"You look like you've gained weight," he says to annoy me. I'm frequently mistaken as being anorexic.
"Yeah, and you look twenty years younger. Come on, you get to drive my car." We head towards the parking lot.
"Oh ho! Finally yielding to chivalry?"
"No, I'm heading back down state. My train leaves in half an hour. Come on, let's find somewhere safe to talk."
"What, it's not safe here?" Mainly he's just trying to needle me, but I might as well fill him in a little first.
"Two days ago I had four tails pinned to my ass. I'm taking no chances."
He snorts. "Your ass don't have room for four tails. They here now?"
"Not that I can tell. But Michelson is making trouble again."
"That prick! He didn't get promoted, did he?"
"No, I made sure of that. But we're both under the same guy, so I have to deal with him more than I'd like. If any spooks bother you at the house, have them call this number." I hand him a piece of paper with the number I'd given the police officer on it. Even though I haven't told him what I want him to do yet he takes this in his stride. "I told the company that you're allowed to be there."
"Uh huh. So, oh expert one, where's safe to talk?"
"In here." I indicate the bathrooms.
Looking skeptical but amused, he lets me shove him into the men's bathroom, where I unabashedly stare down the remaining two occupants until they leave, then lock the door. Trying not to laugh, Frank checks the stalls for me. I check the windows to make sure there's no easy way to listen in on us. Satisfied, I turn to him.
"Pao's missing. I think I've located her, and I think she's headed for Canada. On foot." I ignore his laughter. "I'm going to look for her. I need you to go back to my newest base of ops and keep everything coordinated. Ben is in Ontario somewhere, I've got a team looking for him. I've also got one tailing Pao, supposedly. Basically I'm concerned she's going to pick up some form of transportation while I'm hunting for her in the Catskills. If I loose her, we're probably going to have to wait until she gets to Ben before to find her. There's just too many ways she can cross the border."
I hand him an envelope with, among other things, a password for the satellite database, a list of numbers for people I've got working on locating Pao and Ben, keys to the house, complete instructions on how to secure the phone, and a descent description of my various tails and encounters in the last few days. I've also got an earpiece and microphone for both of us, which I've debated about and decided necessary. Basically they don't use any particular frequency but oscillate up and down frequencies at random as well as being encrypted. Not fool proof, but it's better than me being out of contact the whole time.
"Harchet in Atlanta will be doing most of the satellite tracking, but it's mostly a computer analysis program now that we've found her. Any questions?"
He grins mischievously at me. "Pao, you mean your daughter? You mean the one you left the agency for?"
"Yes, wiseass. Any real questions?" I don't really mind him baiting me. It's a routine we've developed and it keeps us both entertained and on good terms.
He pretends to consider it. I tap my foot.
"Can't think of a thing."
I smile, for real this time. "Good. I'll show you to the car. Oh, and, um, be careful when you pick up the phone at first. I was concerned Michelson would send someone to tap it or something while the house was empty. I laid a little trap. I'm sure you'll spot it if you pay attention. Oh, and sweep the kitchen for me, would you?"
"Hey, I thought I was supposed to be your partner, not your maid!"
"Yeah, well, I'm an entomophobe." That one takes him a minute to puzzle out.
"I'm rubbing off on you already," he says with a satisfied grin.