Hey guys! I am so motivated from the positive reaction for the last chapter! You guys are super awesome! Super cool! Amazing! Etc, etc.
Albany: ¡Me encanta que te estén gustando los capítulos! ¡No he podido responder a tus comentarios de la forma normal, porque parece que tienes apagada la función de mensajes privados! ¡Pero solo quiero decirte que cada comentario que me dejas me hace sonreír, y espero que te guste este capítulo!
So, enjoy guys!
Chapter Four
As Alex celebrated his birthday in Chelsea, the mood on the top floor of the Royal and General Bank was tense. So tense in fact, that most of Alan Blunt and Tulip Jones' secretaries had disappeared on a coffee break, afraid that breathing too loudly might get them on the Terrorist Watch List. The two heads of MI6 were crowded around a wall-mounted seventy-inch Samsung AMOLED television.
The images that were being streamed to the screen were - disturbing, to say the least. Mrs. Jones felt sick as a squad of paramilitary soldiers forced twenty men to kneel before them, with their hands on their back. Even Alan Blunt flinched as the paramilitaries rounded up the families of the men, and made them watch as they shot their fathers, husbands, brothers, and uncles in the head, execution style.
"Dear God," said the deputy head of MI6, as she unwrapped a sugar-free mint, and stuck it in her mouth. "Alan…I thought they had already been dealt with!"
"It appears," Alan Blunt removed his glasses, a sign of stress that he only every displayed to his wife and Mrs. Jones. "It appears that they have friends in high places, and they've been able to regroup."
The images from the CIA satellite morphed, and switched into a private video-chat channel, similar to the commercial ones such as Skype, or Messenger. However, this channel is protected by hundreds of levels of false information, encrypted signals, and a round-the-clock monitoring team stationed at Langley, Virginia. Oddly enough, the channel was connected directly the office of the acting director of the Central Intelligence Agency, Michael Morrel.
"Mr. Blunt, Mrs. Jones," Morrel nodded as he greeted the two heads of the CIA's sister agency, his voice and image crystal-clear even though the offices were both an ocean away, and protected by lead-walls and earthquake-proof building reinforcements. "It seems that things have spiraled out of control, as you saw."
"I thought you had agents there," interrupted the head of MI6, in an accusatory tone. "Your agents were supposed to report if the situation disintegrated!"
"My agents were burned," retorted Morrel, his eyes alight with fury. "They were betrayed to the paramilitaries. In fact, they were assassinated the night prior to when this – mass-murder."
Blunt and Jones glanced at each other, before the former apologized to his American counter-part. No matter how heartless he seemed, or how uncaring, he knew how it felt to lose agents. To attend their funerals, and to lie to their families. He also knew that for Morrel's agents, there would be no funeral, because their bodies would have been destroyed.
"What do you propose we do?" asked Mrs. Jones, taking a seat with a tired sigh. Blunt followed her lead, and promptly asked for a glass of chilled carbonated water.
"Well," sighed the American director, also taking a seat. "I'm pulling my agents out until we can identify the mole. However, I think it's time for some more direct action. Recent drone intelligence images show large caches of weapons and munitions being transported on mules from the Venezuelan border, and those weapons might be headed to the paramilitary group's base of operations."
"So basically, if we follow the mules, we find the base," clarified the deputy-head of her majesty's secret service. Morrel nodded, and sighed again.
"This has been a very- " the American hesitated, then continued; "costly endeavor, I'm afraid. The president wants a resolution, and he wants it soon. He wants this issue cleared up before Patreus takes over, and for good reason."
"I agree," Blunt said. "I think we need to eliminate this camp as soon as possible. What course of action would you recommend, Mr. Morrel?"
"If it were up to me, I'd blow the shit-hole to smithereens, along with the jungle around it. That way, we won't be directly involved, and there will be no survivors."Blunt was about to agree whole-heartedly with the plan, before he was interrupted by his deputy.
"Directors," she began, her voice stern. "I believe an airstrike would be a disastrous course of action. The collateral damage would be monumental, or have you forgotten that this group is cowardly enough to hide in the middle of three, poor villages?"
Both directors, bit their lips, slightly shame-faced. "I - " began Morrel. "Of course, you're right, Mrs. Jones. What would be your suggestion, then?"
"I think the better course of action is to manually, and personally eliminate the threat," Mrs. Jones offered, her voice laced with confidence that she had earned herself as she rose the ranks of the Special Operations community.
"Are you suggesting a boots on the ground, personal assassination, Mrs. Jones?" asked Blunt, glancing at his partner with a slightly confused look. "Do you know what the political repercussions would be if they were discovered?"
"I agree with Blunt, deputy director," offered Morrel. "If they are compromised, we are going to be forced to burn our agents."
"Then we won't use agents!" said Mrs. Jones hotly. "We'll look outside the intelligence community. We'll place two agents from each organization into a Special Operations military detachment. I'm thinking an SAS unit and a unit of your SEALS," she finished. Morrel paused, thinking over the suggestion.
"Let's say, if I were to agree," began the American. "If I agree to this plan, would we act under the radar, or simultaneously with the special forces in country already?" Blunt, who had been quiet for a while, offered a final resolution.
"I recommend we stay in radio-silence and total isolation for reconnaissance purposes," he began, drawing an approving nod from his partner and his American counterpart. "But once the shit hits the fan and we move in, we get help from the Special Forces already in place.
"Good idea, director," Morrel said, standing up. "However, the Green Berets might be a better choice, seeing as they've been in country for ages and know the jungle better than the SEALS. Now, don't tell anyone I said that, because I would have to kill you."
Blunt and Mrs. Jones chuckled, and stood up as well. "Mr. Morrel, we'll be in contact soon," Blunt said, an air of finality in his voice. "Do not contact your troops yet, but do prepare your agents. It's been good talking to you, and please send my regards to your wife."
"Same to you, Alan, Tulip," finished Morrel. "I'll be waiting for your contact. Goodbye then," and the connection was terminated. After a second's silence, Alan rounded on Jones.
"Mrs. Jones, I want you to contact Breacon Beacons. I want to know which unit is on leave and in the camp. Also, I want you to brief Smithers."
"Will do," she said. "And what about the agents?" she asked. Blunt was quiet for a moment, pondering his choices.
"Daniels, and someone else," he said finally. "I'll get back to you after I speak to the intelligence office over there." Mrs. Jones agreed, and quickly left the office. Blunt sat down, and whipped out the London Times, to see a snapshot of the video they had seen on the front page.
The front page read Mass-Murder in Colombian Village, twenty confirmed dead.
"Hm," he said to himself. "Looks like I need to have a talk with President Santos, Mrs. Williams." He said the last to his secretary, who got on the phone immediately. "Oh, and when you're done, I'll take an Earl Gray, and a couple of biscuits. I missed lunch today." With that, he got back to his endless trays of paperwork.
Alex was having a good day. James had already left by seven in the afternoon, and Jack had offered to have Tom stay the night. He readily agreed, but was now at his house getting his clothes and necessary items for a sleepover.
"So, have fun today Alex?" his guardian asked him, as he surfed the channels looking for something to watch.
"Yeah," he said, a smile on his face. "Thanks Jack, it felt good to not have an unpleasant surprise, for once." Jack laughed, and plopped down on the seat next to her.
"So, your doctor sent me the results of the exams earlier this morning," she began casually. Alex's eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"What? I thought those took forty-eight hours to process," he said, his eyes on the red-head.
"Well, it looks like he didn't want to risk us suing his office after the blood test fiasco," she smirked, satisfied that the protests she had made had been heard. "And with my expertise in law, it's a good thing. We could have sued them to the pits of hell!"
"Aren't you going to be an environmental attorney thingy?" asked Alex, puzzled.
"Well, yes," Jack said, clearly pouting. "But one can dream, can't they?"
"I suppose so, yes," laughed her ward, who stood up to answer the door after a sharp rap interrupted their conversation. "Hey Tom!" he said, and let his friend in.
"Wassup Al," said the shorter boy, as he stumbled through the foyer. "What are we going to do tonight?"
"Well," Jack said, as she bounced into the two boys. "I was going to order some take-out, and you guys can rot your minds playing Alex's new Assassin's Creed. Sound good?"
"Sounds good!" both of the kids agreed, and Alex led his friend into his room.
"So," he asked Tom, rummaging through his closet. "Did you bring your airsoft gun?"
"Of course!" he replied, pulling out a medium – sized rifle, and handing it to Alex. The young spy recognized the weapon, having used the real version during his brief sabbatical at Brecon Beacons.
"Nice," Alex said, whistling to prove his admiration. "Where'd you get it?"
"Jerry sent it from Italy," said Tom. "Where's yours?"
"Right here!" Alex handed him his own weapon of choice.
"Bloody hell man!" Tom exclaimed, looking in awe at the fully-outfited SCAR-L modular carbine, most often used by American Special Forces. "Did you buy this?"
"Nah," said Alex. "A- friend of mine got it for me, a couple of missions ago.
"A friend," said Tom, slowly. "As in, another agent?"
"Yup," answered Alex simply. It was true; Ben Daniels had sent him the weapon after working with him against the Snakehead. He had said that maybe they could get together to play sometime. Of course, they hadn't. Not yet, at least.
"So," Tom said, standing up. "Let's go!"
Alex and Tom spent the rest of the night shooting at each other with painful BB's, and only came inside when Jack said that she would eat all of the food if they didn't. They ate a dinner filled with laughs, and they spent the night watching movies and playing video games. It was about four in the morning when they finally passed out, leaning on each other on the sofa.
Jack found them like that the next morning, the television still on, popcorn all over the place. She woke them up by grabbing Tom's rifle, and shooting. She hadn't really thought it would be loaded, but was satisfied when both of them screamed and vaulted behind the couch in fear.
Tom left about two hours later, and Alex helped Jack clean up the mess. In his opinion, it had been the best birthday he had had in a long, long time.
"Thanks for everything Jack," he told his best friend. "I- it was a lot of fun." He blushed when his voice cracked, and blushed even deeper when she hugged him tightly.
"Sweetie, I'm glad you had fun," she said, still clutching the boy. "Now, go clean your room." She pushed him up the stairs, and smacked his behind to get him to speed up. It worked, as Alex ran up after a startled yelp. He ran, laughing, into his room.
The sight that greeted him, however, ended his laughter and mirth abruptly. His mobile was ringing, and his heart fell as he saw the caller ID.
Mrs. Jones, Royal & General.
No, he thought, his heart beating fast. Not now! It's too soon! Nonetheless, he answered the phone.
"Hullo," he said, his voice deadpan.
"Good morning, Alex," said the deputy-director, in a cheery voice. "How's it going?"
Alex scowled, and wished that she would just tell him his assignment, and not beat around the bush. "It's going well…or as well as it could be," he finished lamely.
"I hear you," replied Mrs. Jones, a trace of sympathy in her voice. "I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday on behalf of Mr. Blunt and me."
"Well, er-" he said, taken aback. "Thanks, I guess."
"No problem," Mrs. Jones finished nonchalantly. "Have a great rest, and get better soon. We'll contact you then. Goodbye, Alex."
"Wait," he said loudly. "What do you mean you'll contact-?"
The line had gone dead, along with his hopes for a normal vacation. Of course, he shouldn't have expected MI6 to leave him alone during the two months of no responsibilities that he had. Of course they would take advantage of the fact that he was injured, and thus couldn't really go on vacation.
"Well," he thought to himself as he went back downstairs. "This sucks."
"What sucks?" asked Jack, her head sticking out of the kitchen. Oops…didn't mean to say that out loud. "Don't tell me – was that MI6?"
"Yeah," he sighed. "But they only wanted to wish me a happy birthday."
"Well," offered Jack. "Isn't that- isn't that a good thing?"
"I mean," Alex met her confused gaze. "It would have been a very…considerate thing, sure, but then they said that they would be in contact. So that's what sucks."
"I hate that," Jack muttered angrily. "You just got back! And they don't even say thank you! Gosh!" Jack fumed, as she paced around the small sitting room.
"It's not like I have much of a choice," retorted Alex, who was getting annoyed for some reason. "I mean, it's really a job only I can do."
"But why?" cried Jack, running her hands through her hair. "Why do they have to put your life in danger with no remorse? Why can't they get one of their adult-agents to do their dirty work? You should be having problems that I can understand! Not things like assassination attempts, criminal organizations, and exploding earrings!"
"Jack, the earrings were a onetime thing. I warned you not to touch my clothes after that mission! And just what do you mean by problems that you can understand?" asked Alex, his curiosity spiked.
"You know-" replied the American, her voice still in a higher octave than normal. "Problems like – problems like girls, school, friends, zits…" she finished. Then, as if realizing that she had missed something extremely important, she turned her shocked gaze to her ward. "Oh my God! Have you even had The Talk yet?"
Alex was speechless, color rising quickly in his face. "The – the what?"
"You know!" Jack's voice was bordering on hysterics. "The birds and the bees! The 'if' questions! How babies are made!"
"Jack," Alex managed to choke out; he was beyond embarrassed. "I cannot believe you're talking about this right now."
"But I have to!" she cried, and Alex feared that she would make permanent tracks in the carpet from the intensity of her pacing. "What if you meet some sexy super-villain's wife whom you have to knock up in order to learn the secret combination to her husband's control-?"
"Bloody hell Jack! I'm fourteen! Gosh!" cried Alex. "I don't think that's going to happen for a long time! I'm not even shaving yet!"
"That doesn't matter!" she shrieked. "Kids half your age are having kids these days!"
At that statement, Alex lost it. He collapsed into a heap of mirth, and was soon joined by Jack. They rolled around the floor, laughing their heads off, and sounding strangely like drowning hyenas. Finally, they managed to regain control of themselves.
"So," gasped Jack, clutching at her ribs. "You definitely haven't met any Bond girls?"
"You know you're the only one for me, dear Jack!" Alex bowed, and had to crash to the floor to avoid the cushion that his caretaker had flung at him. "Hey!" he exclaimed, as he straightened up.
"Be serious, Alex!" Jack chided, her composure finally similar to a regular person's.
"I'm always serious, Jack. Always," Alex finished.
They finished up the day with Jack kicking Alex's butt on his new game, and the night was gone in a blur of laughter as they watched Bruce Almighty. Alex went to sleep in peace, his ribs still aching from the conversation he had had with Jack. His dreams would be rather awkward that night, as he imagined Jack giving him The Talk. Little did he know that miles away, two CIA operatives were returning from Iraq, and had already begun to train for their new assignment. At the same time, a handful of hand-picked Green Berets were on their way to the Florida Everglades, in order to begin training for the coming mission. And closer to home, a single MI6 agent was already practicing his Spanish, and getting comfortable with the country's culture. And Alex was blissfully unaware as a squadron of SAS soldiers were returning to their flats after having been briefed by the head of MI6's SO branch. And still, he slept on, his call with MI6 long forgotten.
So…what'cha think? I hate to toot my own horn, but I rather liked this. I'm not sure how it ended up with Jack fussing about Alex's sexual education, but I guess that's how the cookie crumbled! Oh, and I was watching Bruce Almighty as I wrote this, if you couldn't tell.
I think you guys are going to like the new mission. Oh, and whoever guesses who the SAS operatives and who the MI6 agent is, you get a cookie. But I want to know…did you like this chapter? Did you know that you can get 15% or more off of car insurance if you leave a review? And a nice little gecko included as well? Drop me a line, boys and girls!
Have a great night!
Oh, and this is my twitter, by the way; roa2542.