Disclaimer: Everything in the Twilight universe belongs to Stephenie Meyer.
AN: Happy Thanksgiving week! I've got to thank edward-bella-harry-ginny because she helped me so much and so frequently on this chapter. We sent more than 50 emails back and forth!
I flipped on the light and my jaw dropped along with the garment bag. I tried to process what I was seeing, and felt overwhelmed by a combination of outrage, horror, and fear. An adrenaline surge wiped out the lethargy I had felt only moments before, and I felt like I was going to be sick.
There was nothing left of my bed but scraps of wood, shredded fabric, and a blizzard of feathers.
Chapter 4. Consultant
At precisely 0800 Wednesday I sat in the backseat of the car sent to bring me to Cloak and Dagger Army HQ, trying to keep my mad on. When I sat face to face with Colonel McCarty, I wanted to have every bit of anger I had built up over the past 36 hours to rip him a new one. Several new ones, if I was lucky.
Monday night, after discovering that my apartment had been broken into and my personal property destroyed with no signs of a break-in, I had (after calming down from a 20 minute hysterical breakdown) assumed it was coercion to take the consultant position from Mystery Man. I had escaped to Angela's apartment, telling her I had a broken pipe which had flooded my place. My assumption that it was Mystery Man lasted all the way until 0900 Tuesday when I found a single rose on my desk and a note of congratulations on my new position. That's when I realized the rose and the note left for me in a secure Pentagon office was Mystery Man style; destroyed bedding not so much.
I had left work at the Pentagon early on Tuesday, planning to spend the afternoon cleaning my bedroom and the evening looking for a new bed. With nondisclosure agreements signed and "confidential" notices littering my life, I was becoming paranoid. I had no idea who to trust. Even Mike was setting off my red alerts; he was overly interested in why I was leaving work early and why I had cleared my Wednesday morning schedule.
I had picked up a package of hefty trashbags on the way home and had resigned myself to several hours of hauling crap, but when I entered my bedroom it was like nothing had happened. I stood at the door to my room blinking. My bed was back.
Only, it wasn't my bed. My bed had been new and cheap, but the bedding was an old sheet set and comforter from my place in Hampton. The bedding on this bed was extremely similar, but it was all brand-spanking new. The hair had stood up on my arms for at least ten minutes while I breathed into a paper bag. And my theory that Mystery Man would not destroy my bed had been replaced with the theory that I had no clue who was doing anything to me in what was formerly a very pleasant, orderly, and productive life.
I didn't bother to watch out the darkened windows of the towncar and instead kept repeating to myself "three times. My apartment has been violated three times. Three times."
Once again, I was let out in the empty parking garage level. I took the elevator down to level 8 and was again greeted by the same young, freshly-scrubbed sergeant. He did his security checks and escorted me down the hall, but this time we ended in an office about a third of the way down.
The bleak-looking concrete block office was Colonel McCarty's. He sat behind a massive green metal desk with a sleek computer system; it seemed out of place in the barren institutional environment. A steaming cup of Starbuck's coffee sat in front of him on his nearly empty desk, the plastic lid set to the side.
"Major Swan, I'm so pleased you accepted the assignment." He didn't rise to greet me, but his eyes bore into me. I remained standing.
"Colonel McCarty. I am here to have a word with you in the only way available to me. Ever since receiving your little invitation, I have been harassed repeatedly and my apartment has been broken into no less than three times. I don't know what the assignment is, I don't know who you people are, but I want NO part of this. I respectfully request that the harassment and the break-ins come to a stop. Forget you ever heard of me."
It was a prepared speech, and not really as eloquent as I would have liked, but it did relieve some of the rage I had built up. If it weren't so unprofessional, I would have tossed his coffee in his face. Or his lap. During my rant, his eyebrows had risen, but he otherwise gave no sign of disturbance.
"Is that all?" He appeared slightly amused. Maybe the coffee wasn't such a stretch.
"If you would be so kind as to call back the sergeant, I would like to go home and continue with my life. Sir."
I watched as a muscle twitched in his jaw. "I'm sorry, Major Swan. I believe you've signed a transfer agreement. I've already had your patients in Hampton reassigned. We'll try not to interfere with your important work at the Pentagon, but as of 0803, you were assigned to me. Welcome to my unit."
There were no words, but I did have a few high-pitched noises. They sort of sounded like "Guh...buh…wha…" Yes, I have a Ph.D.
"Next time you sign a legal document offered by your employer, especially when said employer is the U.S. Army, you should be a little more cautious." He gave me a level look, and then spoke into his headset. "Major Heinz, please come to my office." He leaned back in his chair. "I'm a little curious as to why you would blame me for any harassing or break-ins."
"Oh, perhaps it's the way my job offer was delivered into a locked U.S. mailbox with no stamps, postmark or return address. Sir." I was clenching and unclenching my fists. How had I walked into this? I just had to have the last word, step into that vehicle, and sign the pack of papers they had given me. Honestly, I hadn't paid any attention to what was in the packet.
"That's one point for you," he conceded. "Three times, huh? That's extreme for only living in your place for two weeks."
I gave him a vitriolic look. If he was my new CO, I was probably on the brink of insubordination. It was tempting to just quit altogether. Unfortunately, my ultimate boss, Uncle Sam, was not the type to take a 2-week notice. I still had over three years left of service just to pay for my schooling. I hoped I wasn't turning lobster red, because I was hot. Meanwhile, my new immediate CO didn't appear to waste sympathy on stupidity or naiveté.
"Let me discuss the assignment with you. First of all, the nondisclosure agreement continues to be in effect. Technically, it isn't necessary given your security clearance and the fact that this is a top secret military installation, but some legal department hack job makes us do it anyway." He sighed. "This unit was created as a joint operation between special forces and military intelligence, a fact which makes my life a living hell, but that's not your concern. There are nine members, besides you, all elite fighters or possessing other diverse assets. We are invisible in the command structure and our work remains undocumented for a large variety of reasons. Officially, we are attached to this top secret DARPA research facility. It's just a way of hiding our budget."
"What does your team do?" I asked grudgingly. I was intrigued in spite of myself.
"We do whatever we're asked. At this time, I have a 100% mission success ratio. We find people, we rescue people, and we get rid of people. Occasionally, we do information gathering, but we're not often called out for such trivial missions."
"The United States government does not assassinate people," I said weakly.
"Exactly." He gave me a mirthless smile which did not reach his eyes. "Which brings me to your position in the unit. We've been required by someone higher up in the command structure to undergo psych evaluations."
"Who?" I couldn't help myself.
"We're not exactly sure. It wasn't my boss; he made that clear. In any case, the members of this team have been through a lot. There are concerns that some members could lose touch with reality and become liabilities. I'm required to show that an outside source agrees that the team is safe to continue its work."
"Do you have files on the missions and the team members?"
"Actually, no. Everything, and I mean everything, is undocumented."
"But, this is the army! Everything is documented."
"One of the first things I learned about this unit is that we are the dirtiest little secret there is. No documentation means complete deniability from the government and the army. We can be termed a rogue unit and prosecuted by whatever means necessary. It's an unlikely scenario, given how careful we are and how successful we've been. Think of it as just one more on-the-job challenge." His demeanor was serious, intimidating even, and I sensed he had a quiet frustration about impossible success rates and the total lack of recognition for his work.
"It's going to be difficult to meet and analyze so many people with no notes or background information." I watched his response intently.
"I never said this would be easy." He had a hint of a smile. "In fact, there are several team members who are likely to be uncooperative."
"Heinz! Enter!" The barked order took me by surprise, and I started. The door opened behind me, and a man probably about my own age or slightly older entered. He was dressed in fatigues, and he wore a headset as well. Unlike Colonel McCarty, he did not have a regulation haircut. He didn't glance at me, but saluted the colonel.
"Sir."
"I need you to meet with Major Swan, and then introduce her to the team."
"The entire team, sir?"
"I'll deal with the asset when you're done."
"Yes, sir." He finally turned to look at me. He was about six foot, with dark brown hair and eyes, and a hard look to his face. He was intimidating, the way being in the room with an angry german shepherd would be intimidating. "To my office, then." He turned on his heel, and I had no choice but to follow.
The office was only two doors down from Col. McCarty's; it was also on the left side of the hallway if you were facing away from the elevator. I wondered where the stairs were, given I was possibly 8 stories underground.
"Have a seat, please." He gestured towards the only chair besides his own, an armless chair with a gray metal frame and a green padded seat. Army surplus from the fifties? Like Col. McCarty, his desk was green metal, large, and held a computer and a phone. I supposed that if you never documented anything, the paperwork wouldn't build up on your desk.
I examined Major Heinz for a moment, and he was clearly doing the same with me. I began to doubt whether my uniform was entirely clean after a moment. His demeanor was reminiscent of a patient of mine. Correction, former patient. Jack was a hard man, broken only by the loss of his son.
"Do you have a family, Major Heinz?"
"Is that how you begin all your evaluations?"
"Do you answer every question with a question?" I realized I was taking out my anger about my accidental transfer on the major.
He regarded me with a look of annoyance. "Let's try a different track," I suggested in a slightly more conciliatory tone. "Have you read my file? I assume my documentation hasn't disappeared yet."
"Yes, I've read it."
"So you know why I was chosen for this job."
"Yes. That doesn't mean I approve of the decision."
"Of course. Unfortunately for both of us, your approval was unnecessary. Perhaps you could just give me a sketch of your role on this team." Okay, so not as conciliatory as I should be.
"Col. McCarty is our CO. I'm the field command. I have eight years of experience on the team, and I've been field command for the past two years."
"Col. McCarty tells me the team has a 100% success rate. That's an amazing record."
"Yes. The team is excellent, unparalleled even." I could sense the pride. Was there frustration as well?
"If all the work is undocumented, how do you issue promotions and commendations?"
"Fake paperwork. The promotions and commendations are real, but the documents to back it up are all lies. That's Col. McCarty's responsibility."
"Can you tell me about a recent mission?"
"We all have an agreement. Once we've debriefed here at the base, there are no more discussions of a mission." I gritted my teeth. They had just made a difficult job near impossible.
"Do you lose many men?"
"We have a high mortality rate," he admitted. "It can wear you down. If we're assigned a mission, that's an indication that someone has decided it's either a suicide mission or impossible, something you would never agree to send a team to do. Everyone on the team is aware of the risks."
"The others lose friends and comrades, but you would be losing a man under your command. The response can be very different." I watched his stoic features.
"I know what you're trying to do here. I've mourned every loss as it's happened, but my conscience is clear. We serve this nation in a way no one else can. Each mission is carefully planned and even more carefully executed, but the unknown is always a factor. Our mission debriefings have always shown that the casualties have been from forces outside our control. This team is solid."
I nodded. "I appreciate your candor. It can't be easy to have someone come in to second-guess your work."
"I believe it is time for you to meet the rest of the team." He stood and motioned towards the door. I stepped into the hallway, and he led me to a stairwell at the opposite end of the hall from the elevator.
"Do you know the time, major?" I asked. Without my cell phone, I was lost.
"It's 0930," he answered without looking at me.
"Thank you. I'm expected at the Pentagon at 1330."
"That shouldn't be a problem." He still didn't turn his head. I wasn't sure if I classified Major Heinz as uncooperative. Perhaps coldly professional was more realistic. It was fine with me; I hadn't joined the team to get friendly with anyone. Yes, in fact, I hadn't really purposely joined the team at all. I was fuming again, partly with my own stupidity, partly with the situation, and a whole lot with high-handed colonels.
Two flights down, and we were at the bottom of the stairs. We passed through a set of double doors, and I found we had entered the mess. There were four long tables with benches, and seven people in fatigues seated in various spots, some with newspapers, some with coffee cups. They all appeared at their ease.
One very attractive blonde man approached. "Rodney. Lt. Rodney Jones. Very nice to meet you. You must be the famous Major Swan." His hand was warm and dry, and his smile was very charming. "I'm considered the front-man for the team. My specialty is negotiation, among other things."
"Cut the crap, lieutenant. Major Swan is not a mission." Major Heinz was not impressed with Lt. Jones.
"Hey, I can't turn it off. That's what makes me so lethal." His eyes twinkled, and I found myself charmed in spite of myself.
"Team!" barked Major Heinz. "Today's activity with Major Swan is a meet and greet only. We'll be on a thirty minute schedule in her office starting at 0830 Friday morning. Plan on complete honesty, she's on the team for the foreseeable future." Every eye was on me, measuring. It felt as intimidating as my thesis defense, but I maintained posture and level eye contact as I surveyed the room.
"Let me introduce her to the quadruple knockout," urged Lt. Jones. Heinz merely nodded, and departed from the mess.
"I'll bite," I said, shrugging off my less than happy welcome. "What's the quadruple knockout?"
"Brock, Jack, Rick and Franc. They all end in the "k" sound, right?"
"Sounds more like four strikeouts to me. I think a knockout is a KO." Thanks to Charlie, I was pretty good at sports jargon.
"Not bad, major." Lt. Jones led me to a table with three men and a blonde woman. They were all very physically fit. One of the men was Asian, the other two were both brown-haired and average-looking, although one was sandy brown and the other was a darker shade.
"Let me introduce the four K's: Lt. Ivan Brock." The sandy-haired man waved. "Lt. Jack Solomon." The darker brown-haired man waved. "Lt. Rick Goldstein." The Asian man looked up and nodded, then returned to his perusal of the Post. "And the jewel in the crown…"
"Shut it, Rodney." The blonde woman stood to shake my hand.
"Call me Franky. Full name is Lt. Valentina Franc, but as you might imagine, I prefer Franky." She was about five eight, not as skinny as a model, but in my opinion fully capable as masquerading as one. She was more muscular than a model, though. She wore an olive-drab tank which was tucked into camo pants.
"I can sympathize. I'm Major Isabella Swan. I can't even use the last name to escape."
"So, these are the four K's. They're the elite fighter core to the group." Rodney beamed at the group, almost like a proud father.
"Rodney. Shut. It." Franky gave Rodney a look which could have cut diamond. "Let me take over." Franky walked me to the second table, which had two more seated, an African-American woman and a bald man.
"Shannon." The two women slapped hands casually. "Major Swan, this is Lt. Shannon Truce, computers and communications expert."
"Nice to meet you, Major." She had a bit of a southern drawl to her voice.
"And I'm Mitch. Lt. Mitchel Hoone, explosives and mechanics." Mitch stood to shake my hand, and I found myself leaning back to see him. He was about six five, and very built. With his bald head, and intense blue eyes, I imagined he could scare just about anyone.
"I see you met Mr. Clean and our southern lady," commented Rodney, who joined us with a cup of coffee.
"I'm sorry, hon. Rodney suffers from an overdose of personality. We've been trying to cure him, lo these many years." Shannon rolled her eyes, but I sensed she was more pleased with him than she let on. I decided I would explore that later.
"All of you have the same rank," I commented.
"The team always has a chain of command, but all of us are highly trained professionals," said Franky. "And we always know Heinz is in command."
Thinking back to comments from the morning, I surveyed the room again. "Is someone missing?"
"Ah. Yes." Everyone looked a little uncomfortable, even Rodney. "There is one more member of the team. He doesn't usually come to the mess, though."
One of my eyebrows popped up a fraction, but I managed not to look like a landed fish. Somehow, between sports and fish, I was thinking of Charlie. At times like these, when I felt out of my depth, it would have been nice to talk with someone solid. I reminded myself that, even were he alive, I would be prevented from saying anything to him by the security requirements.
"May I ask who's been on the team the longest?" I actually wasn't sure if I could get an answer.
"Among those of us in the room, that would be me," offered Mr. Clean. Mitch. Mitchel Hoone. I was going to have to practice my mnemonics if I was going to get anywhere with these evaluations. "Nine years total in about a month."
"That's longer than Major Heinz," I commented, slightly unsure if my timeline was correct.
"Yes, Major. Just a bit." He nodded agreement, but went silent.
"I'm the most recent," volunteered Shannon. Shannon Truce, I repeated in my head. "Only thirteen months." I noticed that Rodney gave her a light punch on the shoulder, and she hip-checked him. Definitely something going on there.
"Commander on the floor," announced Rodney, and we all swiveled and saluted. Colonel McCarty returned salute, and we all stood down.
"Major Swan, with me," he said, his eyes sweeping the room quickly. He turned on his heel, and I followed. Apparently the meet and greet was over. He took me down a corridor on this bottom floor which I hadn't noticed when exiting the stairs earlier. There were locked doors along the right wall at regular intervals.
"These are the dormitories," he commented. "The team is assembled for extended periods here, so they all have rooms." We passed another set of double doors to the left. "This is the gym area," he commented, not slowing his brisk pace. We had passed over 20 dorm rooms, at least I supposed that's what all the doors on the right led to, when we finally reached a set of double doors ending the hallway. The colonel pulled out a swipe card and turned to face me.
"People under my command do not talk. They do not leak. When a mission debriefing ends, discussion of the mission ends. No one on the team knows about old missions or lost comrades from before their time. You may think we are paranoid, but you've heard the basis for having this unit. Now you're going to see the secret of our success. If your loyalty to the army and to this country means anything, you will never breathe a word of his existence to anyone, even if they know who he is. This area is secure for a reason, Major Swan."
I knew my eyes were wide with astonishment, disbelief, or maybe just plain fright, but I nodded.
Colonel McCarty swiped his card, and the double doors clicked open. I noticed there were cameras on the ceiling.
"Closed-circuit only, Major Swan. No records," he said, acknowledging the surveillance.
We entered a short hallway, and he swiped me into another room. It reminded me of the interrogation room from my interview, only the mirror was actually a window.
"He prefers to meet you here. There's an intercom connecting the rooms. I'll leave you to it, Major Swan." He exited the room, and left me alone. I observed the room opposite me through the window. It included a couch, a stereo system, and a piano. The wall around the stereo system, the right-hand wall to me, was covered with floor-to-ceiling shelves of vinyl LPs. The speakers were enormous, and there was a turntable. There were no signs of CDs. I stepped up to the window to peer at what I could see of the album titles. The ones that I could see were classical albums. The upright piano took up the left-hand wall, and the couch was set to face the speakers. I guessed that the angling of the speakers was designed to provide the best experience for someone seated on the couch. The back wall had a closed door on the right hand side.
I noticed music on the piano, and I stepped up to the left side of the window to see what the pieces were.
"Are you musical?" asked a smooth, velvety voice through the intercom. I whirled in surprise, and saw him for the first time.
I think because I was on sensory overload, I noted first the clothes he wore – the standard headset, olive drab short-sleeved t-shirt, black belt, camo pants, and black lace-up boots. He was tall, over six feet, and while not built like Mr. Clean, he was defined. Like the rest of the team, his hair was not regulation cut (it must be a spy thing?) and was a wild array which looked both untouched and artfully styled at once. My mind searched in futility for a name to describe his hair color – it wasn't red or brown, but some combination of the two. His flawless skin was a pale white. For some reason, I noticed the hand he had casually set on the door frame; his fingers (pianists' fingers) were long and graceful.
My perusal of his face began at the outside and worked its way in. I noted the strong jaw line which seemed to balance out his wild hair in a graceful symmetry. I didn't want to linger on thoughts of his lips; my usually professional thoughts were reaching an incendiary plateau. He had a straight and very shapely nose and gracefully arched, but slightly menacing eyebrows.
And his eyes were burning into me. I was uncertain about the passage of time; I became aware that my mouth was slightly open. I had come face to face with the most attractive man I had ever seen, and he was going to be my patient.
He cocked his head slightly, as if trying to understand me. It occurred to me that he had asked a question, and I hadn't responded yet. I was sure he thought I was an idiot, some plain woman in military uniform come to ogle him while checking his psychiatric condition.
"I'm sorry," I began, my voice coming out rather higher than normal. "You startled me. And the answer is 'no.' I'm not musical at all, although I enjoy listening."
At that point, I realized that his eyes were also an unusual color, somewhere between brown and yellow. I decided his eyes were a topaz, his hair a bronze. He was like a jeweled dagger; a beautiful weapon. I snorted internally at my atrocious poetry.
"I'm Major Isabella Swan. We haven't been introduced as yet?"
"Edward." I could tell the intercom was voice-activated, as a hiss came on whenever he spoke. The electronic noise was insufficient to dilute the quality of his voice; he was a smooth, mellow baritone.
"No surname or rank?"
"My current rank is major," he said, a slight smirk on his features. His eyes had not yet left my face, and I had a feeling I was going to start flushing from the intensity of his stare. "But no, no surname." So, he had the same rank as Heinz, but was under his command. It was at that point that I realized only Col. McCarty, Major Heinz, and Edward wore the headsets; perhaps it was a command issue.
"Can you describe your role on Colonel McCarty's team?" The stray thought that I would need no mnemonics to remember Edward passed randomly through my mind.
"I'm the assassin, Major Swan." Beautiful weapon indeed. His pose seemed to shift in my mind, no longer a man at casual rest, but a lion, waiting to spring.
"Why you?"
"Because I'm the dangerous one." I could feel the hairs lifting on the back of my neck, and it wasn't entirely fear. He was at once the most beautiful and the most powerful presence I had ever experienced.
I heard a compressor kick in, and felt a cool breeze from the overhead vent.
"Major Swan, these rooms are connected on the same ventilation system, and I recommend that you end our interview now." He hadn't moved, but I saw the muscles in his arms and legs tense. Suddenly his eyes darkened to a pitch black, and his nostrils flared. His non sequitur had me frozen in place; I was hypnotized by his demeanor. I had a fleeting thought that if he were an assassin, I was an easy target, not even taking his advice to escape.
"Now, Major Swan."
Before I had time to blink, he was suddenly at the window – I had registered no movement. He could move faster than I could perceive. One of his hands was splayed on the window, his face only two feet from my own. His beautiful features were contorted in either rage or pain, his eyebrows glowering over his coal black eyes. Even in shock, I found myself more drawn to him than repulsed, my only desire to understand his mercurial nature.
"Now!" he roared at me, and I backed rapidly out the door of the anteroom, the heavy door slamming shut behind me.
AN2: Believe it or not, I've never written a Bella-meets-Edward scene before. They already know each other in all my other stories.
Challenge entries are being accepted until November 30 for the Twilight Anniversary Challenge sponsored by me, edward-bella-harry-ginny and Justine Lark!
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www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/~twilightanniversarychallenge (or check my profile for a link)
The entries are collected in a C2 (check my profile or the anniversary profile for a link).
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