Chapter 81: Fireworks and Fury

The attacks came on New Years' Eve. Joe was fucking furious. He was angry with the Senators who had approved the academies, the directors for going along with the plan, and the employees who didn't even try to whistle blow. Most of all, he was angry at himself for not seeing this coming sooner. Joe was heavily tempted to just let Alex's forces do their thing. Fuck the government. Fuck the program. He just wanted those fucking things shut down. Everyone was looking at him.

"Should we send in air support?"

Joe blinked. "No point now. The only thing we'd be doing is shooting the kids out of the sky. That's going to be even worse for optics."

There was a quiet pause. The entire room was choking in misery. Joe almost felt stifled.

"Should we shoot them down anyway? We all know they're going to be in the news."

Joe felt like he nearly had a stroke. "No! What the fuck is wrong with you?!" The one who suggested it quickly shut the fuck up. Good. "Besides, do you want your face plastered on the news when they find out it was you that suggested killing all those poor kids? This place is leakier than a sieve."

Joe pinched the bridge of his nose. Tamara cut him off.

"So, uh, what do we do know?"

Joe sighed. "Contact the Defense Committee and make sure that whoever does the bipartisan statement isn't a fucking blowhard who'll make everything worse. Next, we need to issue a statement. Pin it all on Card. He's dead, so who gives a fuck? Get his wife and kids into witness protection, but don't go overboard. I doubt Alex will target them, but other people might. Make sure you mention we were planning to shut the schools down and give the kids a nice life."

The room was still frozen. "Chop, chop. We're wasting valuable reaction time."

Everyone jumped out of their chairs and headed for their desks. Joe was left alone with his thoughts. He wondered how his wife was taking all of this. She had not exactly been thrilled with the revelations, especially since some of their family had figured out what he did for a living. There had been more than one relative that had offered to pay for her divorce. Joe didn't exactly blame them, but his wife had been furious. A few of them had refused to speak to her after she refused the divorce. All in all, this year was probably one of the big ones that strained their marriage. His phone rang. It was never good when his phone rang at this time of night. Joe picked up the phone.

"Charlie. Hotel. Echo. Charlie. Kilo. Space. Echo. Mike. Alpha. India. Lima."

The line clicked. It hadn't been one voice. The voice changed with each word. Joe wrote down the message. Oh, great. A phone call to remind him to check his email. Joe sighed and pulled his email up. May as well. It was an email from nowhere. Upcoming Threat. What a wonderful title line. Just what he needed. Joe kept reading. There will be two great threats to the US in the coming year. Damian Cray. Nikolei Vladimir Drevin. Files attached. M. Joe swore loudly. "Tamara! We're gonna need more secretaries!"

This was going to be a long night.

- A

CIA has been warned about Drevin and Cray.

- M

Alex nodded into the camera of his phone. He glanced around. A brief thumbs up to let Maddox know he saw, but couldn't text back now. Another two off the list. He assumed that Joe would handle it from here. The man was reasonably competent. If not, Maddox would probably take care of it. He was going to be upset if he had to send Marion on another killing spree. Alex watched the television closely for the special broadcast he knew was coming. Sure enough, the television sprung to life.

Breaking news! More CIA child assassin facilities were raided! What will the White House say this time? Stay tuned for more!

Alex leaned back into his chair and shut the telly off. Hearing the bullshit that the States would spout would only piss him the fuck off. He was hoping to wait as long as possible for the inevitable griping that Sarov would have. Alex had done three pre-recorded messages. One for the troops. One for the kids. One for the general public for as many screens as Maddox could plaster it on and in as many languages as they could get it in. Alex took a deep breath as he felt a sense of panic beginning to rise. BARK! Fenrir jumped up on the couch and snuggled him. He hugged the dog. "You know you're not supposed to be up here."

Fenrir ignored him and rolled around on top of his lap. Alex grinned as he rubbed the wolf's belly. "You're my favorite fluff ball."

Fenrir licked his hands and face. "Dog!"

Alex pressed his face into the dog's neck.

"Down."

Fenrir let out a whine and flopped onto the floor as Sarov entered the room. Alex grinned at the dog's pouting face. "You're a brat, Fenrir."

Sarov snorted loudly. "And this is news to you?"

Alex crossed his arms. "No insulting my baby."

Sarov gave him a look that was equal parts exasperation and amusement. "I believe you just adopted over a dozen more."

Alex sighed. He should have known that Sarov would have figured it out, even with the television. "Oh?"

They both knew that Sarov knew now. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Alex stared at the man. This was going to be awkward.

Alexei Sarov was suspicious. Alex Rider had gone nearly a half year without any kind of incident. Sure enough, the Russian government had sent him an emergency broadcast in his office. He quickly read through the fax. Well, there went the rest of their break. Sarov was under no illusions that Alex hadn't known what was about to happen. Alex ran the government, hell he was the head of state. The fax ended with a note that they would be shutting down the rest of the facilities within the next two months. Nobody in Russia wanted that level of bad press. Plus, they wanted to keep the treaty with Alex's country. Sarov sighed and got up. "You're a brat, Fenrir."

Sarov snorted loudly. "And this is news to you?"

Alex crossed his arms. "No insulting my baby."

Sarov was both amused and exasperated. "I believe you just adopted over a dozen more."

Alex sighed. Sarov knew that he had trust issues. This was not a surprise for either of them. "Oh?"

They both knew that Sarov knew now. "What do you have to say of yourself?"

Alex stared at the man. "Look, I'm a king. I have responsibilities. Some of those responsibilities are not being a security leak and doing broadcasts."

Sarov sighed. "I know that. I also know that you have some very deep trust issues. I'm not mad. I just want to talk about it."

Sarov knew he had one chance to talk to Alex about this without burning all the bridges they built together. Alex nodded in assent. "I understand why you have to do what you did. The Russian government has elected to close its facilities. I have been urging them to do so since I found out about their existence."

Alex scowled. "Just when is this happening?"

He was right to be suspicious. "I found out only a few months ago myself. I thought I would give them a year before anything drastic happened. The closings will happen gradually within the next two months."

Alex's eyes narrowed. "And the kids?"

Sarov sighed. "That is the problem. We would need a specialized facility. There is no guarantee that they will keep their word."

Alex did not look very happy at that announcement. "Give them to me. We already have a facility. We're allies. Plus, you know I'm not going to be doing anything dodgy."

Sarov inclined his head. "I will run it by the others, but I do not know if they will agree."

Alex arched his brow. "And if they don't keep their word. I will know."

Sarov sighed loudly. "You will not want to discuss any backup plans near me or anyone from Russia. And, keep in mind, Boris does have a shadow who may take his place. Boris also understands blackmail quite well."

Alex nodded. Send threatening notes. Expose them after three warnings. Ride out the waves of outrage. "And the others?"

Sarov snorted. "If they are smart, they will follow Russia's example."

There was silence after that. Alex was silent for a good long while. "I'm sorry."

Sarov sighed. "I'm sorry, too."

He wasn't sure what either of them was apologizing for.

Yassen was scowling at the television. It was his usual routine of watching idiots die through their stupidity. There were a lot of accidents involving fireworks. It was sort of relaxing. Yermalov had inexplicably decided to not only join him but drag Gordon along.

"So, I hear you and Nile are-"

Yassen cut Gordon off with a glare. "Feuding again."

Yermalov reappeared about six feet across the room.

"Jeez, just hit the broom closet."

Yassen felt his eye twitch. "We will not be doing anything of the sort."

Yermalov downed a shot of his vodka. Gordon sniggered away into his scotch. Yermalov edged slowly back to the couch. Whatever they were going to say next was immediately cut off.

Breaking news! More CIA child assassin facilities were raided! What will the White House say this time? Stay tuned for more!

Yassen fumbled the remote for a Russian channel.

The Russian Federation condemns the actions-

Well, it was highly unlikely that Yeltsin would miss the chance to put the States on blast. Yermalov was looking at him. "He strikes again."

Yassen rolled his eyes. Gordon grinned.

"Go, lil' mass murderer, go!"

Yermalov smacked Gordon, who was now giggling. Yassen managed to slink his way next to Gordon.

Eeeep!

Yermalov smirked. "I think I will enjoy having Alex around."

Gordon huffed. "I'm sure you'll looo- OW!"

Yassen stifled a laugh. Yermalov was now holding one of Gordon's pressure points.

"Behave, Gordon."

Yassen smirked at the two beginning a very familiar bickering match.

"...always ruining my fun, you little bitch!"

Yassen attempted to tune them out in favor of watching the message Alex was broadcasting.

"...would drink my piss if I fermented it."

Yassen sighed. And they were at it again. He quietly took his vodka back while Yermalov was distracted.

"...will continue in my pursuit of peace, justice, and equality for the children who were victimized the way I was. I will not rest until every last child that was enslaved by the great nations of this world..."

Yassen watched for a few more minutes. Alex was a decent orator. The analysts came on surprisingly soon. Then again, Alex was never one to carry on for hours. His longest speech so far had been around twenty-five minutes, not including press questions.

"...and you wouldn't know fun if it bit you in the ass!"

Yassen pinched the bridge of his nose.

"At least I won't die of alcohol-induced liver failure, you fucking lush!"

Yassen was content to watch them scream at each other now that his news day was completely ruined due to Alex pulling yet another stunt.

THUD! THUD! THUD!

Yassen rolled his eyes and opened the door to a very grumpy-looking Countess. "What on Earth is going on in here?"

Yassen shrugged. "Yermalov and Gordon got drunk in the same room again. Vodka?"

Yassen brandished his very nice bottle of liquor. The Countess sighed. "Dear God, yes. We'll add it to some of my mixers."

Yassen followed her out. It was nice that the staff liked him again. The Countess smirked and locked them in. "You're a woman of impeccable discernment."

The Countess offered him her arm. "I knew you paid attention in my class."

They would have to either destroy the expensive hardwood door or jump out the second-story window while bruised and hungover.

Tulip knew that things had been too quiet. It was deeply unnatural. Then, shit hit the fan. Again. For the CIA. Again. Tulip wondered if Joe was going to be able to eat, drink, or sleep at all in the next two years. She was just glad it wasn't her. Her phone rang.

"Tulip?"

Joe sounded like he'd been screaming at the top of his lungs for a few hours. "Hello, Joe."

Joe let out a sigh of relief. "Thank God. You're the only one picking up on New Years' Eve."

Tulip rolled her eyes. It wasn't like she had anything better to do. "What can I do for you, Joe?"

Joe knew that their agencies traded favors regularly. "Do you know who 'M' is? We got sent two huge packets, but nobody's heard of this guy. SCORPIA's foaming at the mouth because he puppeted three board member murders in two weeks."

Tulip sighed. "I wish. We could use the extra funds."

Tulip knew the bounty had gone above a million. Plus, there would probably be another hike after the latest round of drama. "Do you have any idea what a shitshow this was?"

Joe wasn't normally one for theatrics. Tulip figured that the man had probably earned a round of bitching. Her encrypted phone was taxpayer-funded anyway. "I can imagine."

There was a pause on the other end. "Russia's shutting theirs down. We can see it in the satellite photos. Are you?"

Tulip grabbed a peppermint from the tin she kept on her desk. "Absolutely not. Just because you have a leak, doesn't mean we all do. If the Russians are chickening out, that's their problem."

Joe snorted over the phone line. "If I were you, I would shut them down."

Tulip sucked on the peppermint. The cool, clean, flavor calmed her a bit. "That's not an option. Besides, it's strictly MI5's domain. We keep things local here."

Joe made a sort of rumbling noise over the phone. "Not my monkey, not my circus, I guess."

Tulip toyed with her phone cord. "If he wants to eliminate the facilities here, he'll have to either come home or import his troops."

Joe didn't seem very convinced. He'd probably just been having a bad year. Paranoia got the best of them. "Uh, huh. The last guy who decided to play games with Alex ended up in front of the firing squad. I guess we should just count our lucky stars that Yu got knocked off before he had too many meetings with Alex."

Jones felt her lips twist into a bitter expression. "That still leaves Grendel and Three."

Joe coughed. Tulip got the impression that he'd been wanting good news. "Ug, true. Three's dug in like a tick, too. Grendel might leave his side open, but we're fucked if we bomb the Italians."

Tulip sighed. She honestly wished she'd had John just poison them all back in the day most of the time. "They might give us permission."

Tulip could hear Joe's eyeroll. "Sure, Tulip, keep dreaming."

Tulip sighed. "Anything else you need help with?"

There was a pause. "The press?"

Tulip snorted. "The Prime Minister won't touch this if he has any sense."

Joe's reply was perhaps a little tart. "Does he have any sense?"

Tulip pulled out another peppermint. "Good point. I'll get on it."

Joe let out a relieved sigh. "Thank you."

Nile was having a great New Years' party with his combat squad before Brendan Chase rang him. The phone was lying innocently on his living room table. Nile glared at his phone as he downed another glass of champagne. God fucking damn it. The phone rang again. "Nile." Brendan's eerily cheerful voice greeted him. "How's it going, Nile?"

Nile felt himself glare at a wall. Sekhmet was giving him a concerned look. "I've five drinks in, so-"

Chase cut him off. "Don't worry! I robbed ASIS at about fifteen in! Just sober up on the flight back. We have a situation."

Nile groaned. "Boss, we both know that I'm not good at the subtle stuff."

Chase continued steamrolling him into his next disaster assignment. "Don't worry! It'll be fine! We'll be working together anyway."

Nile blinked. "Boss, with all due respect, how many have you had?"

Nile was not reassured by his reply. "Only eight! God, you're worse than Lucas ever was."

Oh, great, just what he needed, another comparison to his boss's one true love situation. And he didn't care what Chase said, he was clearly at least obsessed with Lucas. Possibly even more than John Rider. "Boss, maybe we-"

Chase continued, to his growing horror. "I've already booked the tickets! Don't worry, I got you first class. I'm not mean enough to do regular airplane seats while you're hungover."

Nile blinked. Welp, he was fucked. This was why the man should be escorted to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. He'd do it, but Nile was pretty sure he'd get murdered. "Seeee ya!"

He was abruptly hung up on. Sekhmet was giving him a pitying look. "Alrighty, looks like we're all flying first class to...the Bahamas?"

His captain rolled her eyes. "Is he scamming Logistics for another vacation or is there actual work?"

Nile grumbled and threw his phone into the backpack he'd barely unpacked from his last assignment. "I don't even know. This is why I don't drink around him. So he doesn't have an excuse."

Sekhmet rolled her eyes. "All of you bums start packing!"

There was swearing all around. "We're drunk!"

Nile started jamming his clothes in without even folding them or checking if they were clean. Chase could pay an extra laundry bill. "Mr. Chase doesn't care."

There was grumbling all around. Nile knew none of them were happy to have their vacation cut short on a whim. "Sorry, boys, start packing."

Nile loved Sekhmet sometimes. She was following them around. Nile decided to eavesdrop on the conversation. "Can I drink on the plane ride?"

Nile personally didn't care. "NO!"

Darn. Nile hadn't bothered reading most of SCORPIA's rules. It was just a bunch of turds from Logistics.

Alex was looking forward to the fireworks that were going to happen. Sarov had promised to take him to the city to view the official one. Alex was grabbing his final layer of outer clothes. Well, he was trying. "Fenrir, get off my down coat."

Fenrir let out a yip.

"You're a fluffy brat."

Fenrir rolled on top of the said coat.

"I said off!"

Fenrir let out the brattiest little whine that he'd ever heard. Technically, Alex didn't need a coat. He couldn't freeze to death, but that didn't mean he wanted to be exposed to the Russian winter sans coat if it wasn't necessary. Sarov was leaning in the doorway. The man was, of course, impeccably dressed in military-style winter gear. Alex was fairly certain that the man wouldn't be caught dead in anything else. Alex sighed. "I'll lift and you slide?"

Sarov was thoroughly entertained. "Of course."

Alex walked over to his dog, who, thankfully, hadn't dug his claws in. He put his arms around the dog and lifted Fenrir off his jacket. Sarov slid the jacket out from underneath the dog. Alex hoisted Fenrir up and dropped the dog on his bed. "There you go, Fenrir."

Fenrir gave him an incredibly sulky look. Sarov held his coat out for him. Alex took it. "Thank you."

Sarov ruffled his hair, eyes twinkling. "You are most welcome. Now, we don't want to get caught in Moscow's traffic."

Alex quickly followed him out the door. The cold bit into him, even in the short distance to the car. The icy blast of the wind made his lips numb. Thankfully, the car was already warmed for them. Sarov had decided to be merciful and stock his favorite type of tea in a thermos. Alex took a sip of it. "You will want most of that later."

Alex closed it reluctantly. "So, we're watching from the top of the building?"

Sarov inclined his head. "After your...experience in South America, I did not think that crowds and noises very similar to being shelled were a good idea. I am not entirely sure that the fireworks won't send you into some sort of flashback or panic attack."

Alex was touched by the consideration, he was. Ian probably wouldn't have thought of that in a million years. "What if I do?"

Sarov gently laid a hand on his shoulder. "Then I will do my best to get you home safely and relatively quietly."

Alex paused. He was hoping for a bit more of a concrete plan. Sarov handed him a pair of earmuffs. "Earmuffs?"

Sarov looked amused. "They are graded for reducing the sound damage to ears for bombings. It will likely completely tune out the sound of the fireworks if need be."

Alex nodded and stuffed them inside his coat. It might come in handy.

Dimitry was anxious to begin the new school year. His father was being distinctly unpleasant, though at least winter limited the hunting opportunities. It was a shame that they wouldn't be meeting with Alex any other time during the break. Mandy, he could do without, but he missed his friend. He was one of the few people who wasn't intimidated by his dad's job or wealth. Or out to get it for themselves. There was a reason that Dimitry refused to date. Victor was despairing over him ever finding a wife at this rate. "Bad Grades and no girlfriend?"

It should be noted that Victor's version of bad grades was 'not the top of your class.' Dima rolled his eyes. "I'm in the top ten students. And remember how marriage worked out for you?"

His face turned into a scowl. "The conditions of your inheritance include two children born in wedlock."

Dima sighed. Here they went again. "I know. Worst comes to worst, I'll find a nice ballerina."

Dimitry would have said actor, but he didn't want to be hit again. Victor's scowl deepened. "Don't think I didn't notice that you're behind Alexander."

Dima rolled his eyes. "He conned the CIA and rules a whole country. I think it's safe to say that he's the smart one."

This did not seem to convince or placate his father. Then again, nothing ever did. "Exactly, he rules a country. How is it that Alexander gets higher grades than you while rebuilding a country from war and attending almost as many diplomatic functions, dinner dates, social events, and holidays as I do? He can outlift you and likely outfight you. He knows at least three more languages and can perform first aid and is rated to dive professionally. He can hunt. He can shoot. He can arch and throw knives. He carries himself with grace, charm, and efficacy as he navigates the diplomatic field. He kills his enemies with confirmed alibis or utter impunity. He is superior in every way to you. Alexander is everything that you should aspire to be, Dimitry."

Dima huffed. "I'll bet he could win the goddamn Olympics if he wanted. It's deeply unnatural."

His father glared at him. "I am trying to have a serious conversation with you, Dima."

Dima crossed his arms. "So am I. I'm telling you, he seems pretty normal to me."

Victor seemed to be in a snappy mood. "His marksmanship is a thing of beauty. I honestly wish that I could trade you for him, most days."

Dima had known deep down that this was the truth, but it still hurt to hear. "Well, why don't you blame you and mom's shitty genes? Maybe you can dig up his mom and dad for some DNA!"

Dima stormed out of the library and slammed the door. God, his dad was an unmitigated dick sometimes. Maybe he shouldn't have married a cocaine-addicted shoplifting actor if he was going to hold his children to superhuman standards. Dima wasn't quite sure what had been done to Alex, but it was deeply unnatural. Everything about him screamed predator. Sure, Alex was nice enough as long as he liked you, but it was very clear that most people were doomed if he decided to kill them. Sure, he seemed like a human...until you got to know him. There were some holes in his, well, human-ness. It was like he was pretending to be a human child, but had only read about them and didn't understand how most people worked intuitively. Dima liked him, to be sure, but he wasn't normal.

Ian was snuggling next to Crawley when Alex came on the television once again. Dear God, Patrick was going to be insufferable. The man hadn't shut up about how much Alex was taking after him. Patrick had once been an incredibly popular general who'd made regular television appearances. Fuck him. Right, moving on from his very-hard-to-resist homicidal rage directed towards that side of the family. Did this mean he could blame Patrick's genetics for this? Ian felt like he could blame Patrick's genetics for this. "Alex!"

Tom was adorable. "Why is he giving the speech in English?"

Ian sighed. "He must have sent the recording in English to the press. Alex is multilingual enough to pull it off."

Tom was glued to the telly while Alex spoke. The speech ended fairly quickly. Tom looked at him. "So, is the CIA getting disbanded?"

Ian laughed. "Don't get your news from The Guardian, Tom. I think they're here to stay. The most that they'll probably do is publicly fire people and maybe a bunch of blithering by some Senators."

Tom sighed. "I miss him."

Ian gave him a soft smile. "So do I."

Tom looked at Jack who was glaring a hole in the telly. "Five?! Five?!"

Tom lightly patted Jack. "There, There."

Jack scowled. "Don't 'there, there' me, Tom! What the fuck were the rest of the CIA doing?! Sitting on their pasty white asses?! Who on Earth needs five facilities worth of child assassins?!"

Ian sighed and went to get some coffee. "You get back here and explain right now!"

Ian took a sip. "The Americans were always fans of overkill."

Jack was bright red. Her skin almost matched her hair. "Excuse me?!"

Ian downed the rest of his coffee. "Look, Jack. Do we know anyone else with missile drones?"

Jack glared. "That's not what I meant and you know it! What do you mean other countries have them?!"

Ian knew he should have kept his trap shut. This was how you got into trouble. "Technically, I don't know."

Jack's eye twitched. "Technically, I can creep into your room and shove a white-hot poker-"

Ian held up a hand. "Unofficially, expect a lot of scandals in the next few years."

That seemed to placate Jack for now. Ian mentally sighed as Crawley came up to him. "How many scandals?"

The question was whispered in his ear. Ian answered out of the side of his mouth. "It depends on how many get shut down."

Crawley pouted at him. Ian knew that meant there was going to be a lot of cajoling, bribery, and threats in his near future. It was a shame for Crawley that he rather liked all three of them when it was Crawley doing it. "Iaaaan."

Ian quirked his brow. "Something you want to know, John?"

Crawley's eyes gleamed with determination. Score. This was going to be fun. Crawley walked up to him and lightly ran a hand down his back. "What do you think, Ian?"

Ian gave John his most innocent look. This was going to be fun. Crawley never could resist a good mystery.

Nile was not happy when he got off the plane. He was already going to be hungover, but plane rides made it exponentially worse. His squad was likewise hungover, excluding Sekhmet. She had volunteered to be their 'sober monitor' aka babysitter. "Booooosss."

One of the men was grumbling. "Yes?"

The man paused. "Can I at least down all the water in the hotel and charge it to Logistics's account?"

Nile dug out some ibuprofen and gum. "Sure. Make sure to buy a whole case of expensive airport water and one of each snack we all like while you're at it."

The man scurried off to make his dubious purchases on the company card. Good, good. Sekhmet rolled her eyes. "At least he had the sense to not let you drive."

Nile grinned. "He knows me so well."

The woman seemed very much done with SCORPIA, him, and Mr. Chase at the moment. "I want a pay raise."

Nile kept grinning. "Don't worry, I'm sure if you argue more than three sentences, you'll get it. He probably drank more than I did."

Sekhmet rolled her eyes. "Both of you need handlers and it is very sad."

Nile laughed as the man showed up with an entire case of water and four bags of snacks. "Good job."

The man grinned. "It tallied up to about six hundred US dollars."

Nile shrugged. "That sounds like Mr. Chase's problem."

Sekhmet made a noise that was between a whimper, a scream, and a laugh. "Alright, everyone is moving to the car now."

Nile pouted. "But I want the cheese plate! And the wine!"

Sekhmet glared at him. "Enough is enough. Besides, you can find an artisan cheese shop with Mr. Chase and he'll manage to dump at least five thousand dollars on cheese."

Nile brightened up. "Good point."

Sekhmet surveyed all of them. "Nobody had checked luggage, right?"

It was no all around. They were quickly hustled out of the airport by his captain. The driver eyed their egregious amounts of snacks dubiously but didn't say anything. They were paid to shut up and drive, not lecture them on their eating habits. Nile was on his third bag of skittles before they got out of the airport traffic. Was he going to be sick later? Probably. Did he care? Absolutely not. Sekhmet sighed. "At least drink some water with those."

Nile took the bottle from her. "I knew you loved me."

The woman rolled her eyes. "I prefer you not yacking all over the boss's carpet, though Mr. Chase will probably be more lenient than, say, Mr. Kurst."

Nile took another swallow of water. "Does he even have carpet?"

Sekhmet rolled her eyes. "Shut up and drink your water."

Nile decided not to push it. She was touchy about the time she spent working for Kurst. The car pulled up to a hilariously large white beach house about four hours later.

Brendan was nursing a hangover. Perhaps those ten drinks hadn't been the best idea ever, but they had unlimited blue lagoons at the bar special that night. Nile strolled in wearing sunglasses and munching on what looked like a year's worth of airport snacks and water. Brendan knew it was most operatives' way of getting back at SCORPIA when they were pissed off at an assignment. "Welcome!"

Nile sighed. "Did you buy a house while drunk again?"

So little faith, honestly. Brendan scowled. "Unfortunately, no. This house belongs to SCORPIA, not me personally. A shame, because the waves are amazing out here."

Every single one of them spoke at once. "No surfing, Mr. Chase. It's a security risk."

Brendan rolled his eyes. Security risk, his foot. What a bunch of killjoys. "Would any of you like a blue lagoon?"

Brendan had the supplies.

"No, sir."

Nile answered for all of them. "Alright, moving on to the subject of this meeting."

There was a long pause. Chase decided that he was going to have the lemonade sans booze this time. He grabbed it from the fridge. Everyone was eyeing him suspiciously. Oh, come on. He wasn't that bad. "Sir? The briefing?"

Chase grabbed the file. "Right. There's been a series of incidents."

He laid out the pictures. "Winston Yu. Murdered by the mother of one of his old school bullies while attending a diplomatic function in Russia with yours truly. Pushed down the stairs. Best we could tell, his mother murdered said bully. Disappeared into Russian custody. Presumed dead."

Chase took another drink of lemonade. "Jason Stackwell. Murdered by the wife of a business partner he did in about a decade ago. He was coming home from a business meeting. The car was blown sky-high. She took a cyanide pill that stopped being made about fifteen years ago."

Chase took another sip of lemonade. Ug, the store-bought stuff was crap. Where was a little kid with a lemonade stand when you needed one? "Jean Picoq. Murdered by the child of one of the men he stabbed to death early in his career. The kid saw him while hiding in a closet and the government-funded therapy didn't work. He was stabbed thirty-five times."

There was a pause as the information sank in. "So, what's the link?"

Chase took another drink of lemonade. "I'm glad you asked, Nile."

Chase pulled the notes and text from the file. "The only thing linking them is notes from a person who calls themselves M. Just the letter M. He or she presumably did all of the work except pulling the metaphorical trigger. The texts, letters, and receipts indicate that M made the original contact, bought the plane tickets or other items, and shipped them the weaponry to be picked up via dead drop. If they hadn't just knocked off three of the board, Logistics would probably be frothing at the mouth for a recruitment drive."

There was a pause. "So, who is this guy?"

Chase finished off his lemonade. "That's the kicker. Nobody knows. Pierre hasn't written back yet. There have been no other solid leads from any side. No matter how high the bounty goes, nobody is talking."

Nile sucked in a breath. That was a lot of money for people to ignore. "We're thinking some sort of tight-knit extremist vigilante group. Current or former black ops."

Nile sighed. "So, what do you want us to do?"

Chase shrugged. "You're going everywhere with me. In the meantime, make Yassen text Pierre so I can get my damn reply."

Chase began feeling very faint. He felt himself falling into Nile's arms. He managed to speak. "Poison."

Nile began making panicked phone calls.

Patrick was thoroughly enjoying his New Year's party with two grandkids and his daughter when there was a knock at the door. Patrick sighed and answered the door. It was never good news when someone decided to bang on your door during a major worldwide holiday. Sure, he only really celebrated Christmas for the kids' sake, but that didn't mean he particularly wanted to do shit shoveling on a paid holiday. "Ah, come in Levi, and hired goons."

One of them scowled at him. "It's Mr. Kroll."

Patrick snorted. "I daresay I knew him in diapers. I'll call him whatever I want."

Kroll rolled his eyes. "We're letting it slide today. Wait outside, boys."

The guards did not seem happy with that decision. Marion stared at him and Levi. The kids were wide-eyed. "Kids, Grandpa has an emergency meeting to do with Levi here. Carry on without me. And don't eat all the chocolate."

Kroll followed him to his office. The man was a longstanding deep cover double agent. Patrick believed that he was playing both sides to his advantage. He sat down opposite Patrick. "I have to ask. Is M one of ours?"

Patrick frowned. "Not to my knowledge. It certainly wasn't sanctioned."

They both knew that Patrick had Mossad firmly in his grip. Even if he was technically retired. Kroll pinched the bridge of his nose. "I almost hoped it was."

Patrick sighed. "It would be easy to simply have someone to leave out in the cold. At least those three won't destabilize anything too critical."

Suddenly a phone rang. Kroll put it on speaker. "Red alert. Chase has been poisoned. Currently hospitalized. Shelter as soon as possible."

Kroll hung up. Patrick winced. "I may have spoken too soon."

Kroll sighed. "He might live."

Patrick shrugged. "Don't write him off, but make plans."

Kroll gave him an amused look. "I haven't been officially under you in twenty years."

Patrick smirked. "Some habits are harder to kill than others."

Kroll stood up. "I'm sure my security team is getting anxious."

Patrick got an evil idea. "Would you like some food to take home with you?"

Kroll gave him an amused look. "Trying to give security a stroke?"

Patrick stood up from his desk. "I live to serve."

Kroll rolled his remaining eye. "Sure you do, old man."

Patrick headed for the door and found himself pulled into a hug. "I'd accuse Marion, but I know you kept her grounded here."

Patrick used his augmented strength to pin Levi. "I know."

He released the man. "Are you ever going to tell me how you do it?"

Patrick snorted. "Dream on, Levi. And enjoy my home cooking with a side of malicious glee."

Levi brushed past him towards the kitchen. "Oh, I will. I look forward to meeting your little shit of a grandson."

Patrick made sure to flip him off in full view of his security team as Levi took his first bite. "Are you sure you should be eating that, Boss?"

Patrick cheerfully slammed the door on them. "We're good to go now, kids."

Patrick was met with three pairs of very skeptical eyes. Kids these days. Not trusting him to have these things handled. Honestly. If they were good, he might let them help him search his office for bugs. You could never be too careful and Levi was one of his most treacherous students. Not that he wasn't proud of the man. Just well aware of what he'd created and unleashed on the world.

Dear Mr. Chase,

Still not your damn lacky, but Yassen is downright obnoxious when he wants to be. Seriously, he makes the harassment presentations from HR look like an example of how to make friends. And proceeds to check every box on the list of red flags. I have to say, I'm pretty stumped myself. It took a lot of digging to get anything at all. Not that there was much to find. The real knowledge likely lies in what we don't know, in this case.

Think about it. You've increased the bounty to the point that an agency head would likely sell out their own just for the money and prestige (while denying knowledge of any such events). This tells us that it's probably not them. Likewise, most criminal empires would have turned on each other by now. That leaves a few more...less conventional culprits. One, an individual. This is unlikely, considering the number of time zones, purchases, and skillsets needed to accomplish what happened in any amount of time, let alone two weeks. Two, a small group, potentially agency or privately funded. This option has my vote personally. While a lot of agents or employees might dislike you personally, it is unlikely they dislike you enough to put this much effort into murdering you. Three, a rival organization with very, very closed ranks.

To end on a better note, there are a few things we do know. Your opponent(s) are very rich or decently funded. Last-minute plane tickets are expensive, let alone the papers, disguises, etc. They have very good time management and the ability to find their opponents. The ability to smuggle weapons. The ability to access your records in a limited (or unlimited) fashion. They also knew the faces of three of your subtler board members. Make of that what you will.

Please leave me alone. I just want to live my life. In Peace. Without Pesky Board Members. I like my nice, middle-class, somewhat boring life. Now, shoo!

Not Your Fucking Employee,

Alec Pierre