Magic Bullet

Disclaimer: SM owns Twilight.

Ch. 14: Hell hath no Fury... Pt. 1

BPOV

Bloody Mondays, I thought as the distinctive sounds of automatic gun fire echoed through the area, followed by brickwork exploding as the bullets missed me and hit the wall I ran past. The edge of the rooftop was coming up fast when I felt the familiar sting as a bullet shredded my left shoulder and almost made me stumble. Just another couple of meters, my mind calculated the distance.

"Marko, I need extraction from the ally on the East side of the building. Double time it, I'm coming in hot," I yelled into the com unit that hung from my right ear.

For the past two months, since Jacks organized T-Unit, we've constantly been out manned, out classed and out gunned by the damn Thule. Of the fifteen original Agents assigned to T, only three of us are left; Myself, Rosalie and Joshua Uley, the only human. Jackson had to pull dilapidated ass from behind his desk to do field work again.

At first, we couldn't figure out why we suffered so many losses. Then, after one nearly blown mission, Joshua came back with a prisoner. It turned out that Thule had been using fucking psychics against us, but for some reason they couldn't get a read on me. We learned that my brainwaves are a natural deterrent to mental powers.

Rosalie was able to use a recording of those patterns to jury rig our first shielding device, which she named a screamer after how we spent any down time we had. After that, the Thule started taking losses; it was our first break.

During a raid on a Thule cell that operated out of New York, Joshua found plans for a break-in of a secure warehouse in Geneva, Switzerland. I had been the closest Agent to respond because Rosalie was back at HQ upgrading the screamers so that they were more portable and Jacks was busy re-allocating our remaining field assets to more crucial areas.

The information had been bogus; the bastards had laid an ambush for me. Ten to one odds usually meant bad luck for them, but not today. The cheeky buggers started out using concussion grenades. Then things went from bad to worse, my gun jammed. I had to use my flare gun. When the flare hit the fool I aimed at, he was distracted enough that I snagged his weapon and made a break for it.

Somebody had watched too many James Bond films growing up, but the stolen Walther PPK worked in a pinch. I was just pissed that I was stuck with a 9mm. Larger calibers left bigger holes, after all.

I reached the edge of the warehouse roof then leapt off it backwards and fired three shots. Each one hit dead center on my pursuers. A soft pop came from a third floor window as I fell past it and a tranquilizer dart pierced my abdomen. My eyes widened in shock as I saw a ghost from my past.

"Goodnight, Lover," the Dutch accented brunette woman said then blew me a kiss.

Deceleration trauma broke some of my bones when I came to that abrupt stop in the alley below. I had been too stunned to twist around and attempt a more graceful landing. The drugs had taken effect and dragged me into darkness as my mind catapulted into the past.

Paris, April 20, 1917

I walked into the bar with the rest of the Officers and sat down. Tommy went to the bar to order our drinks.

"Name your poison, Duncan," he called back to me. I told him Scotch before he disappeared into the crowd.

A beautiful brunette woman flanked by a pair of Colonels walked past me and gave me a playful wink. I felt a heat in my sex that I had never known before. All I could think of was the seductress at the table in the back. My eyes never left her the whole night. The rest of my companions were unable to rouse me from my ogling.

"Who is that," I asked and indicated the vision at the far table.

"That, Duncan old chap is the Mata Hari," Capt. Smith responded with a laugh.

I had heard the name before. She was an exotic dancer of some sort and a Courtesan. Her exploits had been legendary for some time now. My mind raced through all the possibilities of speaking with her in private. It was well know she had penchant for Officers.

Paris, June, 1917

The past two months had been bliss. At least when I wasn't on a mission; I was in the arms of my love, Margaretha Zelle; the Mata Hari. There was a mission in the morning and I wanted to ignore the outside world for a few hours. Margaretha was good at making that happen. When we were together, nothing else mattered. She made me feel human.

I told her all my secrets and for the first time since my change, I no longer felt the need to fight. My world had become the woman in my arms and I was happy. I hoped Mother and Papa would understand where ever they were.

London, October 15, 1917

I had finally recovered from my last death when the news of the Mata Hari's execution for treason reached me. My knees buckled and I fell to the floor. I did not realize I had been screaming until Harry broke down my door and rushed to my side. My heart was broken; I would never know love again.