Part 7: Strange Breed

The Audi veered sharply to the right, passing by the burning Jag before screeching to a halt. Smith was glad that his reflexes were as fast as they'd always been; a driver who'd been only human would have either hit the other car or flipped over their own. Luckily there were no other vehicles nearby…he could see why Collins had waited to start the chase until they'd reached an open stretch of road.

Collins had jumped out even before they'd stopped moving and was now halfway to the fire, her weapon drawn. Smith was intrigued. Aside from his desire to see who was behind all the clandestine activity, he wanted to see just who'd managed to perturb the lead agent enough to bring her emotions to the surface. While some of his former colleagues had been more demonstrative than others, they were always the agents who'd been online the longest. They were the ones who'd had time to evolve. Collins would no doubt return to her detached and inexpressive self once this was over with.

But from the look on her face, it didn't seem like that would be anytime soon.

"No-one was in there," she said stiffly, as Smith and the others caught up to her. She was standing very close to the wreck -- the agents were more resistant to fire than humans, but it could still be quite damaging to them -- and she seemed to be sniffing the air, as if trying to pick up a scent.

"That's impossible, there had to be at least two people in there, the driver and the shooter," replied Morpheus.

She shook her head. "They got out before the crash."

"How can you say that? Even an agent can't see through all that fire and smoke."

"I don't have to." At his questioning look, she continued. "Even exiles' bodies burn."

Smith's brow furrowed as he considered what she was saying. "She means she can't smell anyone cooking in there," he replied distastefully. "Are you sure?"

She breathed in again. "I'm sure."

"Just like you were sure you hit the tire and not the gas tank," said Smith. "This car was rigged to explode."

Morpheus frowned, and he stepped a little closer to Collins. "To destroy any evidence, and let the occupants escape in the confusion."

Collins nodded solemnly. "I'll send a message to headquarters; they can send an investigative team to search for any evidence that wasn't incinerated." The lead agent looked positively disappointed. Evans and Chapman weren't saying anything; they were probably as frustrated as their command unit. They'd been chasing these people for months, and this was the closest they'd come to getting them.

At that moment, Morpheus' cell phone rang. "Probably Link, checking to see if we're all right," Smith said, with a hint of a smile. For all his good-natured talk, their operator could be a bit of a mother hen at times. They could use some of both right now.

"Yes?" Morpheus said into the receiver. Then his expression changed. "How did you get this number?" he said suspiciously.

"Who is it?" Smith asked softly.

Morpheus didn't reply directly; instead, he turned up the volume so the voice on the other end of the line could be heard clearly by the others.

"…at the restaurant. You and the agents."

Smith recognized the voice, the accent, from both his memory and Neo's. "The Merovingian."

"We had suspected him," Collins whispered. "Although we had no direct evidence. He covers his tracks too well."

"You will not be harmed," the Frenchman continued, "although I certainly hope there will be no incident like the one you were involved in last time you were here, Morpheus." There was a brief pause, and when the Merovingian spoke again it was with a kind of forced, fake casualness, but there was a definite edge to it. "And be sure to bring your friend who looks like Agent Smith."