Chapter 9 - Part 2
Zach's POV
"Rise and shine, get up Blondie!"
I poke Cammie on the shoulder as that the only visible part of her body that isn't covered by the duvet or her mane of hair. I get no response though and I grunt in annoyance. Remembering how Ace got me up a couple of days ago, I grab the edges of the duvet from under her arms and yank it away so that it lands in a crumpled heap on the floor beside me. Cammie immediately rolls over and curls up into a little ball, wrapping her good arm around her knees, leaving her bad arm splayed out in front of her. I can see her face now and it stuns me a little. I have never seen Cammie look so peaceful, so relaxed. Her face is all smooth, not a crease in it, so unlike the times I have seen her where her face is always scrunched up in frustration or annoyance. Her golden hair frames her face so perfectly, except for this one stray curl, which falls across her face over her mouth. It moves up and down with every breath she takes, until I wrap it around my finger ever so gently so that it moves back to its proper place behind her ear. Brushing the soft, pale skin of her cheek just reminds me of last night's events, where I stupidly took things to far with my touch. Dammit, I just wanted to pull her to me and crush her into a hug, to say I am sorry for being such a jerk, and I'm sorry I failed her in training and I'm sorry she's hurt.
God, I'm sorry for a lot of things.
I don't know, but something changed when I saw her unconscious in my arms for the second time in a week. The first time, I was too enraged to even comprehend how she moulded so perfectly in my arms, how delicate she is under the hard shell she projects to protect herself. The second time, after I had caught her in my arms and cradled her head to my chest, I was able to properly see her. Her arm was all purple and bruised and bent at a weird angle, and all I could see were the injuries she had sustained whilst training with me. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the scratch that runs down the entire left side of her face. I gave her that, deliberately, and looking at it now made me sick.
"Zach?" Cammie's voice sounds groggy with sleep.
"Yeah, I'm your wake-up call Blondie."
She responds with a grunt, and brings her knees closer to her chest.
"Let's be honest, my face is a pretty good sight first thing in the morning. Be thankful."
"Be thankful my ass," she replies and tucks her face deeper into the cradle her arm and chest creates. I let out a small chuckle, not at the statement but at the use of the expletive so early in the morning.
"Get up Blondie," I urge as I tug at her arm so that I can see her face. "Joe needs us, he has a lead on the Chameleon." She moans in return and murmurs something unintelligible.
I sigh, "you know what, I'll give you a kiss, maybe that will wake you up." I lean forwards slowly, a grin splitting my face open as I watch her unresponsive. As I get close to her face I can make out the small specks of brown on her cheeks: her invisible freckles. They puncture the pale canvas of her skin, but look so in place underneath her light brown eyelashes. Even though I threatened a kiss, I don't want to go through with it. I don't know why, normally I would be ready to jump at this opportunity. Free kiss with a girl, sure, I'm up for it. But... not Cammie. She's too good, too different. So instead, I blow out my breath onto her lips and move slowly horizontally so that my lips graze the apple of her cheek. Her eyes flicker open, revealing the deep dark blue that's so different from the normal pale blue of her eyes. Her eyelashes flutter frantically as her eyes adjust to the light of the morning.
"Zach? What the hell are you doing here?"
I roll my eyes, "wow Blondie, you sure are dumb when you're sleepy." I watch as her forehead crinkles into a frown, and I am overcome with a sudden urge to smooth out those creases. I cross my arms to stop them from wandering in forbidden places.
"Joe has a lead. Ex-FBI who apparently had a hand in looking after the subject as a case." At this, Cammie bolts upright and her face lights up ever so slightly.
"Great, let's go. Why didn't you tell me that before?" She jumps out of bed, being careful of her injured arm, and rushes into the bathroom, leaving me sitting on the bed bemused by the sudden enthusiasm. I stand up to make my leave, but her head pops round the bathroom door, her blonde tendrils of hair curling round her pale face.
"Stay where you are Newbie, I need your help getting dressed. And please, for the love of God, don't make it into a sexual innuendo or something like that please. It's too early in the morning for that."
My lips involuntarily lift up in a sort of smile and halt my steps as I raise my arms in the worldwide sign of surrender. A couple of minutes later, Blondie emerges in black skinny jeans wearing only her bright orange neon sports bra, showing off her tanned toned stomach and her long arms. My breath escapes for a second at the sight of so much of her skin on show before letting out a small whistle of appreciation.
"Damn, Blondie, is it my birthday?" I mean, I know I saw her like this yesterday night, but in the daylight streaming through the window, I can just further appreciate the smooth lines and planes that make her. Helping her put on her top last night, was strangely intimate. And Cammie, shutting me down and full on ignoring me was very frustrating. I almost wanted that extra contact with her, like my body was pulling me to her in a magnetic sense. So I leant in and observed as her eyes roved over my face, absorbing the details and more than once glancing down to my lips, her intentions clear. And when I jutted my face out a little in encouragement, she immediately backed off, breaking the connection, and I can't remember whether I thought it was for the best or for the worst. Today, I keep my mind blank as I help her into her white tee, which she promptly throws a leather jacket over.
"Where did you get the leather from?" I quip as she zips up her boots.
"Joe had some clothes delivered to me. You guys don't have personal shoppers at the Pentagon right? Because these are pretty fashionable and all in my size." I shake my head as I don't know the answer to that, and smile at her enthusiasm as she jumps up, clapping her hands in excitement. The heels on her boots make her only slightly taller, but she is still just under a foot shorter than I.
"Ready Blondie? First interrogation, you and me, let's go."
When we step outside of the Pentagon, I carefully watch Blondie's reaction. She obviously expected one of those town cars belonging to the CIA directors waiting for us, but in its place sits an impossibly sleek car. Her breath hitches for a moment, just like mine did when I first laid eyes on this beauty. I had honestly considered the possibility that I had died and gone to heaven.
"It's a – "
"Is that an Aston Martin One-77?" She breathes out, unable to tear her eyes off the car. My eyebrows rise in shock as I stare at her.
"You could tell the exact make and model from here?" I ask pleasantly surprised. She never fails to surprise me.
"Are you kidding me?" she retorts, finally tearing her gaze away from the car to glance at me quickly, before returning immediately to the car. Wow, I can't even hold her concentration on me for more than a second.
"0 to 60 in 3.7 seconds and a 750 horsepower engine, it can go more than 200mph. I've never seen an Aston Martin before but I'd know the car anywhere."
My face splits open at her pure unbridled joy, "well, she needs some air, wanna go for a spin?"
She whips her head to the side to stare wide eyed at me. "You want me to get in that car? I am going to be riding in that car?" I give a small chuckle, before unlocking the doors with a small flourish and bowing low and opening the passenger door for her to get in. She walks forward as in a daze, and before climbing in she flashes me a genuine smile, which I return. It was nice.
On the drive to the safe location, I fill Blondie in with the information Joe has provided us with. Obviously, as soon we were sent on the trail for the Chameleon, the FBI, CIA and all other departments under the jurisdiction of the DoD were instructed to hand over any information about or pertaining to the disappearance of a baby girl, possibly taking into the care of DoD agents. The FBI sent us on the trail of a certain Josh Abrams, a former FBI agent who shadowed the girl as a baby, between the ages of 2 months to 4 years. Joe instructed me to get Cammie ready for her first interrogation, to 'break her in' so to speak. No other information was given to us about Mr Abrams, other than the address of his most recent safe house.
We take the highway out of the city, into the surrounding suburbs, and continue out until the glass skyscrapers give way to plains filled with grass. I catch Cammie more than once gazing out of the car window, her hair flowing in the breeze, wafting the scent of her strawberry shampoo aroma around in the car. It is a nice day outside, the sun is high in the sky, and it reflects in her golden hair, bringing out the lighter blonde strands. The journey out is filled with the mindless tunes from a local radio station, and apart from the information I shared with her earlier; there is no further chat. I am slightly thankful for this. It's pleasant to just drive, without filling the space with useless small talk that just complicates the already complicated relationship between Cammie and I. I don't even know what our relationship is. It is strained, and I know why. Probably because the only relationship I ever have with girls are usually the small conversations held in a noisy bustling club before I take them back to my place for some time between the sheets. With Cammie, I have to be strictly professional. However, I am noticing her little beauties, the quirks that make her her. I'm enjoying our sarcastic arguments, the insults thrown at each other that sort of sound endearing now. It's unnerving. I don't like it. Half an hour later, after my mind replaying the events from last night and that morning over and over again, I pull up to a large modern house situated on a side-road. Resting my hands on the steering wheel, I look over at Cammie, and see her blue eyes locked on mine.
"So, what's the drill Newbie?" I push open the car door.
"Follow me Blondie."
Cammie's POV
I follow Zach out of the car. I still can't believe I drove in an Aston Martin One-77. Those are the cars of James Bonds, the super spies, the rich and famous. It is elegant, sleek, stunning, the list could go on and on. I grew up adoring the gorgeousness that entwines to form that wondrous machine. I'm stunned that Zach had access to one, let alone drive one. I could see the surprise registering on his face when he realised I had recognised the car. I grew up on car magazines and old Bond films with John. It goes to say I was brought up as a tomboy: cars, films, sports and food were the things John and I bonded over as a child. So of course, I would recognise the holy grail of cars.
We walk together up the stairs leading to the front door of the dilapidated looking house. I focus on my feet; I don't particularly want my clumsiness to come into play in front of my target and in front of Zach. Stairs and I have a love-hate relationship. Without sparing a glance behind at me, Zach raps a sharp two knocks on the door, knocking the peeling grey paint onto the floor. I'm surprised he didn't knock the whole place down with his force.
He turns around to me and I am not surprised to see his previous playful attitude tucked behind this new cold exterior. Long gone is the playboy, this is the agent. "Stick to me. Follow my lead. Don't mess up. Don't embarrass me." I can't help thinking of a Nazi guard instructing me into Auschwitz.
I raise my eyebrow at him, "seriously? You are doing this now? Right before we go into one of the safe houses of an ex-FBI agent. Wow, way to make a girl more nervous."
Before he can respond the door opens a crack, a chain locking it from opening further.
"I didn't order Chinese," a husky voice comes from behind the door. Inside, it is completely pitch black, so I cannot match a face to the disembodied voice. Confusion clouds my brain, but as I open my mouth, Zach's hand clamps down, preventing any noise from escaping. I had a desperate urge to stick out my tongue and just give him a slice of payback.
"Your yuk sung is here ready for you, sir." He replies coolly and calmly. Ah, I see. Secret code. Clever FBI. The door closes, and a few seconds later it opens ominously.
"Come in agent."
Zach releases my mouth with a smirk thrown in my direction. Ugh, cocky bastard. As we step into the threshold, the whole place is illuminated with light, showing a modern looking house that does not match the shady looking exterior that portrays a house about to collapse under its own weight. In the large hallway just beyond the threshold, an aging man leans against the banister, a small smile playing on his lips.
"Zachary Goode. Nice of you to make the trip out. Do you have my Chinese?"
Zach smiles, "Joshua Abrams, thanks for having us. By the way, yuk sung? Yuk sung is gross"
"So is your face," escapes me before I can stop myself.
"Cameron Morgan, your wit is delightful."
I turn my head towards the ex Fed and shoot him a small smile of thanks. In the corner of my eye I can see Zach turning away, evidently trying not to snicker as he walks into the living after Josh, leaving me stood alone in the entrance hall feeling like a total fool. The living room is massive and open double doors show me a stainless steel kitchen. The windows that look boarded from the outside are now wide and open, shedding light into the roomy space. Everything from the massive widescreen television to the large and luxurious sofas screams of wealth and importance. That's it; I'm joining the FBI and retiring as soon as possible.
I quickly walk so that I fall into step alongside Newbie as we walk into the large spacious living room.
Josh gestures to the sofas and chairs, "please, take a seat. I have a feeling we are going to be here a while."
I look over to Zach for confirmation. He nods. "On behalf of the CIA, we would like to thank you for your time here Mr Abrams," Zach starts, but is cut off by Josh raising his hand.
"Please Zachary, Mr Abrams was my father. Call me Josh."
"Well, call me Zach."
I raise my hand up. "Call me Cammie," I quip in, but quickly simmer down after receiving a glare from Zach before he turns back to Josh.
"So Josh, can you transfer your intel please?" I study Josh, the way his eyebrows furrow in concentration, the way he intakes a large breath before launching into his story. He's a middle aged man, around his late forties maybe, however years of being in the field and experiencing trauma and distress have painted wrinkles and age onto his face. A pair of thick black-framed glasses sits on top of his hooked nose, and his black hair is tinged with grey. His voice is husky, but mellow, like golden honeycomb crumbling on a hot summer's day. What I would give for some honeycomb and a glass of milk right now.
"The Chameleon? I gather that is what you call her now. She was called subject Charlie Mike, because the only thing that was found on her the normal wristband issued by the hospital to new-borns with the initials C.M written on it. She is the supposed offspring of two DoD agents, but the department is unknown. She was taken into care from the hospital after her parents ditched her in her incubator. She was two days old."
I can't help feeling sorry for the poor girl, how horrible it must be to grow up knowing that your parents deliberately left you, probably choosing career over their own flesh and blood. I couldn't imagine growing up without them knowing that you were unwanted. At least I know my parents loved me and wanted me. It makes their deaths a little easier to bear I guess.
"So, when was this? When was she born?"
"23rd of December 1997." Oh shit. I gasp in surprise slightly at the mention of my birthday, catching the attention of Zach who raises a questioning eyebrow at me. "It's not everyday you learn that you have the same birthday as a top-secret agent/fugitive/target," I clarify before nodding at Josh for him to continue.
"So, you're saying that we aren't looking for a middle aged woman as previously suspected? We're looking for a teenager at Gallagher Academy? A student?" Zach confirms, the surprise and slight frustration not hidden in his voice.
Josh nods his head. It's interesting to know that the FBI and CIA have very limited contact or conversation, because evidently if they did, this information would have been passed straight on. I had a small glimpse of the rivalry between the two agencies, and its ferocious. Sometimes missions would be completely compromised due to the lack of communication between the two. It's frankly stupid in my opinion; they are both bowling for the same team! But Zach and the other boys treat it as the Bible; everyone in the agency knows to respect the boundaries and to treat the rest of the DoD as children in comparison to the great wealth and intelligence of the CIA.
"She was taken into care and was pinged around several agents for three years. She needed to be kept in care; the daughter of two DoD is quite rare considering the lifestyle required from the parents, and she undoubtedly would've have inherited her parent's skills. She is also of great interest to the terrorist group the Circle of Cavan. She is necessary part of their group because she has the potential to be the best agent we have, she can be groomed to perfection and to be an excellent weapon. Charlie Mike is an orphan, with talents and gifts, so who better to be used in their plans? That is why she was immediately taken into our care, and was under protection, until the 26th June 2000, when she was taken from the house of an operative by supposedly a team of four assailants. The operative was killed trying to protect the child. She has never been found since. No sightings, no reportings. Nothing. According to the FBI, she is dead. I don't know why you CIA are bothering with her. She is a lost cause."
I can't help but feel slight fury towards the FBI. How could they give up on the girl, and allow her to be taken from their care to be trained as a weapon without caring? To write her off as dead and just give up in abysmal. I can tell that Zach thinks along the same lines as me as I can feel all his muscles tense as he sits beside me. I give him a small nudge with my elbow to reassure him. If anything, it reassures me that the CIA are nothing like them, and aren't just heartless. I can tell we are done here.
Zach sighs ever so slightly before standing up, and I follow his lead silently. He extends his hand in thanks towards Josh who takes it, and I do the same. As I grasp his hand, I notice a luminous red dot sitting above his left breast. I tilt my head in confusion, but at that moment I feel something whizz by my ear, causing a small distortion of air.
You know how some people claims that things go in slow motion sometimes, maybe during accidents or moments where great care is needed? Well, this was one of those moment. I turn to my left, thinking it an insect or something, but then feel Josh's grip on my hand loosen slightly. I turn back towards the FBI agent. But instead of him standing there, Zach is behind him, cradling his body and taking his weight as he lowers Josh to the floor ever so slowly. My eyes zone onto the blood flowing out of a bullet wound in Josh's chest, and I suppress a small scream of shock.
Overhead, the sounds of an approaching helicopter bring my out of a stupor, and I can suddenly feel the adrenaline pulsing through my veins. I don't know what to do with my hands, and so I plaster them to my side otherwise they would be waving around frantically. I rush over to Zach and watch him as he whispers curses after checking the pulse of Josh.
"He's gone, and we need to go."
A/N: Cliffhanger! Well, sort of. Things are about to get interesting. Many of you are asking who the Chameleon is, and hopefully this chapter should clear things up a little bit for you. Please comment and review, I would love to know what you think of this chapter, and also, could you let me know what you think about the chapter lengths? Are they too short, too long? Thanks for reading!
