A/N: Alright everyone, so far, so good with this whole chapter a week thing. I'm even updating this a day early, although that's mostly due to George R.R. Martin's A Dance With Dragons being released tomorrow, and I know I'll just be swept up in that epic for the next couple of days… But I do have good news—the majority of the chapters are either partially or completely written, while the others, I already have a pretty good idea of how I'm going to lay them out. I think we're looking at around 11 chapters plus an epilogue, so by far, the longest story I've ever submitted. I've just always been really bad about finishing these things…
Anyway, special thanks to my lovely reviewers, who took the time to check out my opening chapter and gave me feedback. Now, allonsy! :)
"Coward."
She had called him.
"You're running away again. You always run."
She was right then, and here he was running away again. Although, when he escaped the walls of the Parisian apartment years ago, he wasn't dodging bullets… well literally anyway. "Keep going!" screamed a voice, shaking Arthur out of his reverie. Muttering a curse, Arthur pounded down the stone hallway, rapidly passing medieval suits of armor and turn of the century paintings, the subjects too much of a blur to make out.
Shots ricocheted around his body as he fled from his pursuers, the silver briefcase clutched in his right hand serving as an unwelcome beacon. His heart racing, Arthur's Cole Haans kept up a breakneck pace, up a flight of stairs and then a sharp right into a short hallway. Just ahead at the end of the corridor he spied an open door already occupied by the tall silhouettes of two of his team.
Eames—the forger. Already loading another magazine into his Glock, the Englishman wore a smirk of confidence as he smoothly took position on the right side of the doorjamb. "Alright there, darling?" he drawled. Arthur didn't dignify the man with an answer as he sprinted the last fifteen feet to the door.
Dom Cobb, former gifted architect and elite extractor, stood just to the left of Eames, his Sig Sauer Pro already pointed down the hallway. As Arthur reached door, Cobb slid swiftly aside, allowing the point man to enter the room and finally draw his own Sig Sauer. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw the fourth member of their party cowering in the furthest corner from the door. Arthur shook his head in disgust. "At least he didn't completely lose it until the dogs were loosed," Eames quipped.
"He shouldn't be losing it at all," hissed Arthur, his eyes momentarily narrowing. "He's supposed to be a damned professional." If he died today because of this man's incompetence…
"Shut it, the both of you. There's a time and a place," interrupted Cobb. "Arthur, see if we can find a way out of this deathtrap. We'll cover you."
Despite not taking orders from Cobb for over a year, Arthur smoothly turned from the door and began to take stock of the room. It was a large bedroom, although judging by the amount of dust hanging on the drapes of the window across and room and the bedclothes of the large four-poster dominating the space, the room had not been occupied for some time.
Arthur quickly strode across the room to the large window and peered out the grimy glass. It wasn't a terribly far drop—maybe sixty feet or so, but it was far enough that simply jumping the distance would most likely result in a crippling injury.
At a sudden spray of gunfire, the frightened man in the corner started to shriek, which turned into frantic yelling as Cobb and Eames returned a quick volley of fire before slamming the door shut.
"Any ideas?" prompted Cobb, ignoring the cowering man.
"Not yet. Maybe you should ask our architect," retorted Arthur, rolling his eyes in the direction of their babbling teammate.
"Oi!" yelled Eames over the panicked cries of the fourth man. "Deacon! Get it together, man!" But any hope of calming the architect down seemed to vanish as a sudden pounding began on the door behind them. Yells of fury in Italian seem to grow louder and louder as the door shook.
"Shit," cursed Cobb, his eyes darting around the room for anything that could be of help. "Looks like we're going to need to find cover. Eames, Arthur, let's get this dresser knocked over."
The three men strode across the room to the heavy wooden dresser against one of the walls and shoved it over with a loud boom to rest on its side. As the forger and the point man took up kneeling positions behind the makeshift blind, Cobb grabbed the architect and dragged him behind the dresser.
With considerable effort, Arthur began to slow his breathing and heart rate to steady his right hand holding his gun across the top of the dresser. Anchoring his right hand with his left, the gun aimed dead on with the top of the door, a deadly shot to the head for the first man through that door. As Cobb, Eames, and Arthur prepared themselves for what seemed to be their last stand, the architect keeping up his incoherent mantra behind them, the sudden pounding on the door stopped. A sharp but muffled voice on the opposite side of the door rang out, which was followed by a short silence and then a polite knock.
The three men shared wary glances, but none of them removed their sights from the door. "Gentlemen!" addressed a man's voice from the corridor. "A moment of your time please? I would wave a white flag, but I feel as if you would shoot me before we had the chance to chat."
"Damn straight," muttered Eames.
There was a pause and then, "Wait." Two heads swung to the side to stare in disbelief at Cobb.
"Are you crazy?" demanded Arthur.
"We really don't have much of a choice here, Arthur. You know if there was any other way out of this, I would take it," retorted Cobb. Arthur shared a quick look with Eames, and they both slowly lowered their weapons but left them unholstered.
"Alright," called Cobb and moved slowly toward the door. "I'll unlock the door, but keep your men back!" There was an answer of assent as Cobb unlatched the heavy oaken door and then quickly moved back to stand with the rest of the team. The door swung slowly open and in stepped a man probably in his mid-thirties. Impeccably dressed in a tailored black suit, the man also wore a slight smug smirk across his face as he took in the situation of his opponents. The man's pale skin contrasting with the dark fabric made Arthur think of an undertaker, but the way the man carried himself screamed predator.
"Good evening, gentlemen," he greeted smoothly, with that same smug smirk. "I'm so glad I was able to run into you." His voice was a bland tenor, former accent long discarded to provide him anonymity.
"Somehow, I doubt that was a coincidence," replied Cobb, eyeing the man warily. "Now mind telling us who the hell you are and what you want with us?"
"Of course, how rude of me," the man answered. "My name is Williams."
"Just Williams?" inquired Cobb.
"For now, yes, just Williams will suffice. As for what I want with you, it's more what my employers want with you. I represent a powerful firm—Cobol Engineering. I believe you've heard of it?" At the name, all three coherent members of the team stiffened noticeably, leading to Williams' smirk growing into a toothy, yet maniacal grin. "Ah good, you remember the name, because they certainly remember you, Mr. Cobb." Cobb stood staring impassively at the man, but Arthur could feel the tension flowing off of him in waves.
"My employers have been thinking about you for a long time to be honest," continued Williams. "And in an act of generosity and forgiveness, they've decided to look past your last... contract with them and give you another opportunity to redeem yourselves."
"What kind of contract?" spoke Cobb with gritted teeth. Arthur could feel the muscles in his jaw tighten.
"The kind that's right up your alley, Mr. Cobb," Williams smoothly replied.
"Specificity would be nice," put in Eames. Arthur held back a groan.
"I think specifics would be best answered in a more… official setting, Mr. Eames."
"And if we refuse?" asked Cobb.
"You walk away," Williams answered. "Although, it would be such a shame as your children have traveled so far to surprise their dear father…" Arthur made a grab for Cobb's right arm, holding him back from tearing out the throat of the stranger in front of them, gun forgotten in a father's panic for his children. Eames managed to grab a hold of Cobb's left arm, but it was clear that both men restraining Cobb were struggling hard to control their own rage.
"I'm very sorry to put you in this position, Mr. Cobb, but I think you can see why it's so imperative that you listen to what my employers have to offer."
A yell from the hallway interrupted the tense scene, followed by a small silver canister rolling slowly through the still open doorway. The point man's eyes widened slightly. "DOWN!" yelled Arthur, and a huge bang and flash of light enveloped the room.
For several long moments, the world was turned upside down… and then it abruptly righted itself. Despite clapping his hands to his ears, Arthur's head rang. As he managed to stagger to his feet, trying to quickly shake his head clear of the cotton that filled it, a black clad hand firmly grabbed his arm and started pulling him toward the doorway. Arthur sharply looked up at the owner of the hand and nearly fell as the room started to spin again.
The owner of the hand was a tall figure clad entirely in black complete with a black helmet and blacked out visor. Although it may have been a woman, the fifty pounds of assault gear the figure was dressed in led Arthur to conclude it was a man. Arthur tried to pull back, twisting his head around to look for Cobb and Eames. Three other figures, also dressed head to toe entirely in black assault gear, had slipped into the room and were helping the others to their feet. The one who had grabbed Arthur yelled something incoherent to Arthur's ringing ears, but the message was clear as the stranger resumed pulling on Arthur's arm toward the exit. This time Arthur didn't resist, although he was sorely tempted to give the downed Williams a sharp kick to the ribs. He probably would have too if the world had decided to settle down.
Out in the corridor, half a dozen of the building's security lay in various states of shock. Most were merely stunned, although Arthur could see a few injuries that clearly were not results from a couple of concussion grenades. Beyond the incapacitated troupe of guards stood another tall figure dressed exactly like his (presumably) teammates. With a sharp gesture from him, the rest of the group hurried down the corridor, which Arthur noticed seemed to be much longer now than it did before. However, instead of taking the stairs, which the Arthur had frantically scaled such a short time ago, the group continued further down the corridor, stopping at a door much smaller than the last one.
With a sharp kick, the leader sent the small door flying, revealing a set of access stairs. By now, the effects of the flash grenades were slowly wearing off, and Arthur began to feel a sense of relief as his hearing and his balance slowly began to return. But the relief didn't last very long.
"I'm not leaving without my kids!" screamed Cobb, his voice penetrating the last bit of fog in Arthur's brain. Arthur and Eames both nodded in agreement and prepared to back Cobb up, but the leader of the group stepped forward and addressed them in a loud voice, "I wouldn't be asking you to unless we already had them!" At Cobb's shocked and evolving threatening look, the man hastily continued, "My associates retrieved them from Cobol's sad excuse for childcare this morning. They'll be waiting for us at my team's safehouse."
""How do we know can we trust you?" demanded Arthur.
"You don't! But we really don't have time to argue about this!" the man snapped. At that, the figure who was holding up the limp form of the architect addressed the leader, "I was advised, sir, that this might happen and to say" as he turned to Cobb "take a 'leap of faith'." Cobb looked startled for a moment but then nodded turning quickly to the stairs.
One of the other black-clad figures went over to the help his teammate carry the dead weight of Deacon down the stairs. The group descended quickly, reaching the door at the base of the stairs in no more than a few minutes. The leader of the assault team halted the group behind him with a raised fist before slowly proceeding to open the door and scan quickly for any signs of security. Satisfied the coast was clear, he waved everyone forward.
The group had emerged beneath an overhang in what would have once been a carriage house. Although instead of a carriage waiting, there was a large black Cadillac Escalade waiting, along with three black Ducati motorcycles. With a quick wave forward, the leader sent the two men supporting Deacon toward the Escalade. "You three with them!" he barked at Cobb, Eames, and Arthur. Deacon was fairly tossed into the large third row seat of the SUV before his saviors ran to the front to jump in the driver and passenger seats. Cobb, Eames, and Arthur scrambled in the back as well, Eames none too gently shoving the architect to one side of the seat before settling.
There was a roar of engines and the SUV peeled out, flanked by three vicious looking motorcycles. The vehicles raced out of the overhang and down a long gravel access road leading from the back of the building to the woods at the edge of the property. Despite the loose gravel, the driver of the Escalade handled the car like a professional, barely slowing as they flew into the tree line.
"What the hell is going on?" yelled Eames from the backseat. The driver remained silent although his partner turned to the men behind him and removed his helmet, revealing an older man, with black hair graying at the temples and a serious looking scar down the right side of his face. The grin the size of Texas kind of ruined the grim effect. "It's a rescue mission!" he declared and then held out his hand for Cobb to shake. "Saul McCallister," he introduced. Cobb returned the shake and quickly introduced the other members of his team.
"How's Sleeping Beauty back there?" McAllister asked nodding his head toward Deacon.
"Well she's not going to wake up with a kiss from this prince," answered Eames and prodded the unconscious architect in the stomach. McAllister chuckled and turned to Cobb again. "I have to say this is the closest we've cut it so far."
"What?"
"You're the fourth extraction team we've had to pull out from one of Cobol's little deathtraps in the past 2 weeks."
Arthur started. "The fourth?"
Saul nodded grimly. "Cobol is up to something and whatever it is requires a good extraction team, and I mean a good one. They've been creating fronts and employing extraction teams for jobs, only to ambush them once they try to take down the mark."
"That sounds familiar," replied Eames.
"We were hired by a guy named Luke Thompson," spoke up Arthur. "He was supposedly representing a pharmaceuticals company looking to extract some information on a rival company's upcoming drug patent. The mark flies out to Italy every month for some sort of luxury spa in one of the villas, and we were planning on catching her here."
"But you never even saw her," stated McAllister.
Arthur shook his head and answered, "We were targeted as soon as we entered the front gate." His jaw clenched. As the point man, his job was to make sure both the employer and the mark were vetted, so the team would always be prepared. Following the miscalculation on the Fischer job, it was no surprise that Arthur put more pressure on himself to ensure the safety of his team.
"Most of them are legit," McAllister said. "The employers I mean. It's just that Cobol has no problems finding some means of leverage against people they can use. Honestly, I'm surprised it took them—"
Whatever McAllister was about to say was interrupted by a spray of gunfire from the rear. In a smooth motion, McAllister withdrew a handgun from his side holster, rolled down the window, and began to return fire.
"Under the seat, Eames!" McAllister called. Eames reached under his seat to produce a long black polycarbonate box, and when he opened it, Arthur could see Eames' smile of approval as he removed a M27 IRA.
"Pardon me, darling!" Rifle in hand, Eames pushed up through the center aisle and shouldered past Arthur, hitting the window button. Taking a cue from Eames, Cobb also rolled down his window, readying his pistol. At the depression of Eames' trigger finger, all hell broke loose, and through the back windshield, Arthur saw a pursuing jeep roll once, then twice, and disappear in a whirlwind of dust. There was a screech of tires, and two more jeeps emerged from beyond the cloud. A volley of bullets sprayed past the group of pursued vehicles, several hitting the tailgate.
Two of the cyclists dropped back, handguns raised, and fired at the tires of the lead pursuing jeep. The front tires of the jeep blew out, sending the jeep out into an uncontrollable spin. As the third jeep swerved past its newly disabled companion, the two cyclists throttled forward, speeding past the Escalade.
"Time for something with a bit more kick," announced McAllister and reached to the floor in front of him, unlatching a second polycarbonate black box and withdrawing a compact missile launcher. Gripping the handle above the door with his right hand, McAllister pushed himself out the window, taking a seat on the door and bringing up the launcher with his left hand. "Might want to cover your ears for this, gents!"
In a scream, the missile took off in a direct shot toward the oncoming jeep. The two objects collided in an explosion, the force of the projectile putting a sudden halt to the motion of the jeep in a perfect example of Newtonian physics. "Jesus…" murmured Arthur, as McAllister pulled himself back into the SUV. The explosive happy soldier flashed them another grin as he took his seat, careful to not scald himself on the hot barrel of the compact launcher. Eames started laughing and moved back to his seat, clapping Arthur on the shoulder as he passed.
"You know, the next time you plan on bringing one of those things into my damn car, will you please at least have the courtesy to ask me?" came a testy voice from the driver. The driver held the vehicle steady with one hand and pulled the helmet off his head with the other hand, revealing a much younger man with blonde hair and a scowl on his face. "Aww, Tim, but then I would ruin the surprise!" joked McAllister. Tim snorted and tossed his helmet into the area in front of the passenger seat. "And if that guy decides to lose his lunch on my new upholstery, you're cleaning it up," Tim threatened, with a glance in the rearview mirror to the architect.
The caravan drove on through the countryside for several hours, fields of wheat and orchards laden with fruit flashed by as they sped down the narrow roads. Arthur leaned back his seat, watching the scenery blur together. Eames remained mercifully silent, although when the architect finally came around, a sharp command in a low British accent quieted all querulous inquiries. Cobb also remained quiet. 'No doubt he's thinking about the kids,' thought Arthur.
At one point along the journey, the motorcycles pulled up along side the SUV. One of the cyclists waved a quick gesture at the driver of the Escalade, who returned it, and the motorcycles raced ahead, taking left at an oncoming fork in the road. However, instead of following them, the SUV took the right fork, leading toward the towering hillside. Despite the dirt roads, trees, and perilous switchbacks leading up the hillside, the driver handled it like a professional. Just when Arthur though Cobb might explode in frustration, the vehicle slowed to a stop in front of a dense stand of trees. However, before any one could speak up, Tim depressed a button on the center console of the dashboard and the trees slowly slid back from the path.
Eames gave a low whistle, "Impressive."
McAllister shot the team in the back a grin as the SUV surged forward and the tree line slid slowly back into its original position behind them. They continued to follow the unpaved road through a thicket of trees, until suddenly they burst out into low sunlight. The group had entered a large valley, surrounded on all four sides by the large rolling hills of Tuscany. Located on the largest hillside was a massive Italian villa, its towers and ramparts standing sentry over the rest of the valley.
"You call this a safehouse?" inquired Cobb incredulously.
McAllister chuckled. "It is a bit over the top, yes. But it belongs to a friend of mine—Enrico di Rossi."
"This is di Rossi's place?" asked Eames. "I had heard he wasn't in it for the money, but I guess he really isn't in it for the money."
McAllister shook his head with another grin, and the SUV continued down into the valley toward the imposing structure. "Henry's always been sort of an adrenaline junkie," he elaborated.
"Henry?" asked Arthur.
McAllister laughed, "Yes, he always preferred the English variation to the 'European gigolo version'." Arthur heard Eames let out an amused snort from the back seat.
They passed yet another set of orchards and through a set of large black iron gates before finally pulling into the long drive leading up to the structure itself. Lined with cypress trees, the drive served as an elegant entrance to the villa. After a few more minutes of driving, the SUV finally slowed and pulled through a drawbridge into a spacious brick courtyard, dominated by a large fountain topped with a maiden pouring water in the center.
"The back gate should have notified them that we were coming," said McAllister, and the large SUV slowed to a stop. Both Cobb and Arthur opened their doors, allowing the nervous architect to scramble out of the car and Eames to follow at a more sedate pace. Arthur walked a few paces from the car and straightened his tie, trying to get his bearings.
Several arched passageways led from the courtyard into different parts of the villa, a large stone staircase on the east side of the courtyard allowed for access to the battlements draped with ivy creepers. Several other vehicles were parked in the courtyard in the shade along the western wall, including a vintage white Alfa Romeo, a pair of Ducatis (one in red, the other in blue), and a sinister looking Audi A8 in black. It was clear that despite the age of the building, it was kept in impeccable condition.
'Enrico di Rossi...' thought Arthur to himself. Di Rossi was known in the world of extractors as one of the few who truly was in the business for the thrill of it. Growing up the only son of a pair of Italian nobility, he inherited billions upon the death of his parents, including the Tuscan villa in which they now stood. Despite his cavalier attitude, di Rossi carried an impeccable reputation and was known in most circles as a top tier extractor. Arthur had never worked with him personally but knew enough about him to know that he was no novice.
Most of the time, di Rossi kept his jobs to a minimum, preferring to take assignments for the adrenaline rush or to fend off boredom. For a brief moment before this whole mess began, Arthur had contemplated offering the latest job to di Rossi, but in the end, Arthur decided he needed to work with an extractor he had worked with before and called Cobb in from Los Angeles. It took some persuasion, but eventually Cobb was convinced to take a brief hiatus from retirement to join the team in Italy. Although Cobb was largely a family man now, sometimes the call of the dream world was just too persuasive, especially if one couldn't dream on his own anymore.
"Daddy!" came a shout, and Cobb whirled around to see his son and daughter come careening down one of the passageways to tackle him on the flagstones. Arthur grinned. At eleven years old, Phillipa was already the spitting image of Mal, albeit having her father's light hair and eyes. The nine-year old James resembled more of his father than his sister did, but it was easy to see that the two were siblings. With a bit of scrambling, Cobb managed to get to his knees, hugging one child in each arm. The kids laughed in delight as their father embraced them and then gently pushed them away so he could see their faces.
"Are you two alright?" demanded Cobb.
Both heads nodded. "Of course, Daddy!" James answered, as if any other answer would have been completely out of the question. Cobb looked unconvinced, but Phillipa continued, "Really we're okay, Daddy. Aunt Ari took us away from the bad men and brought us to the castle!"
If time had paused in the battle earlier that day, it ground to a full and complete halt at that moment. Arthur felt his stomach drop and heard a peculiar pounding sound enter his ears—his heartbeat. Over the heads of his children, Cobb made eye contact with his point man, mouth slightly agape.
"Aunt Ari?" murmured Eames.
"It seemed much easier to say at the time rather than trying to teach a three year old how to say 'Ariadne'," interrupted a dry voice, and from the same passageway the children had appeared from approached a third figure, stepping into the rapidly dimming light of the courtyard.
"Evening, boys," greeted Ariadne. "Rough trip?"
A/N: Please don't shoot me for the lack of Arthur/Ariadne in this chapter! I promise it's coming up soon! But in the meantime, please do me a favor and hit that little review button down there.