I don't own the Secret Saturdays. I do own Jacob, Marie, their superiors, and the thugs.

A note on fanon: One of the popular theories (shown at times on Secret Saturdays wikia) seems to be that Drew and Doyle's parents were Gypsies. I choose to accept that theory (until Word of God says otherwise...and probably even then out of sheer stubbornness)—although I still make up a lot of stuff on the spot—and it comes up rather frequently in my fan-fiction...particularly when describing some of the things Doyle goes through as a child.
Unfortunately, in later chapters, those descriptions usually involve other characters that are prejudiced against Gypsies (and sometimes, derogatory terms to go along with the attitude)....
I mention this now only because Doyle is not the only such victim; the prejudice in question begins this very chapter.
 So, um, yeah. You have been warned.

And speaking of prejudice, there are a few things in this chapter that involve racial slurs. I used one such slur by accident on Jay Stephen's blog. In my defense, I had assumed it was merely an umbrella term for certain cultures, and hadn't known some of them would take offense, and explained as such in an attempt at apology. (Yes, I know. "Ignorance is no excuse," and "never assume.")
I use it deliberately in this chapter, knowing full well why it might be considered offensive...and attempted to allude to that reason.
I'll excuse myself by saying that the good guys are on the receiving end of those slurs, and the bad guys (or the "not nice" neutral guys) are the ones giving them, but even so, I don't like using such insults, even to illustrate a character's attitude, and I don't mean to offend anyone.

And one more note on offensive concepts. The event that occurs at the end with regard to Jacob's superiors (and an unrelated event in another arc) is not meant to reflect my impression of the military. I grew up in a military family, and I don't believe that they—of any nation—are necessarily like what Jacob has to deal with. I do, however, believe that every group has some people like that.

Please don't flame me!

New Job

"Hey, Jake! Eskimo boy!"

"In...u...it," Jacob managed through his gritted teeth. He made a mental note to upgrade his dental insurance; with Marie for a partner, he'd need it before long. Or she will, if I lose my temper.... Maybe I should. It'd shut her up, anyway, and she couldn't follow me if I'm discharged...I hope.

"Yeah, whatever, Eskimo." She reached past him and snagged part of his lunch while he finished paying for it. She swallowed half his meal before he could even turn around. He snatched the bag from her hands before she could take any more. She grinned, pleased she had irritated him even this much. "Doesn't that translate to something about raw fish?" she asked, looking pointedly at the sushi he'd just bought.

He merely growled at her in response. She had a point, for once, but if he conceded, he'd never hear the end of it. Not that that'd stop her, anyway. "Did you actually need something this time, rookie, or were you just looking for an excuse to ridicule my heritage...again?"

The wicked grin grew larger. "Got a call. Break-in. Call said the tipster heard gunshots, and screaming. Maybe a hostage crisis?"

Jacob shuddered at the woman's expression; he couldn't imagine how anyone could like the job as much as she did. He was only glad that torture was illegal, or he suspected she'd start finding her own entertainment, instead of letting it find her.

They raced out to their motorcycles, the remains of Jacob's meal forgotten. Marie looked the address up on the GPS and frowned. "But that's off base. That's...outside of our jurisdiction."

Jacob glanced at the screen. "But we are the closest ones," he replied. "And they called us, right? Not just 'all cars?'" Marie nodded. They fastened their gear while Jacob continued. "So they think this break-in is big, maybe too big for regular law enforcement."

They fired up the bikes and left the base through a gate most people would find questionable...if anyone else knew it was there. The two of them had been trained for stealth missions and covert operations since they went into the military. This often meant, among other things, taking routes that a car couldn't travel.

It was by such a route that they approached the house without alerting their quarry, though there was nothing for a mile in any direction.

Marie whistled at the size of the place. "These people must have their own zip code...."

"Sightsee later, rookie," Jacob muttered, though he frowned at that. How did the caller hear...? He shook his head and decided it didn't matter. He positioned himself outside one of the broken doors and tried to hear inside. He could just hear Marie on the radio, requesting backup.

She joined him a moment later and drew her weapon. "Do we wait?" she whispered.

He shook his head. "Regular law, sure. It'd be suicide to go into the unknown without backup." He jerked his head at the door. "But this is what we're trained for. We get in there, assess the situation, handle it ourselves if we can.... And if we can't, then yeah, we wait for backup." Marie grinned, and Jacob shuddered again. "But don't forget, there may be hostages in there. We don't go all trigger happy unless we have no choice, you got that?"

Marie grimaced, but nodded.

They crept through the house, to see what they could find. Jacob felt his stomach turn at the slaughter, and thanked whatever gods were listening that he hadn't managed to eat lunch. Each room they searched only made him feel more ill. He'd seen what happened after a rabid bear had attacked one of the camps back home; that had been tame compared to this. Was anyone still alive in this place...?

A thump and a muffled cry came from directly above him. He raced up the stairs, no longer caring that he gave his presence away to any of the monsters that did this. He vaguely heard Marie struggling to keep up.

He followed the sound of crying and burst into the room. The thug didn't even hear him; he was too busy with....

The color drained from Jacob's face. He grabbed the thug and threw him off the bed and into the wall. When the thug stood and came at him with a knife, Jacob drew back and kicked as hard as he could at the offending organ.

The thug did not rise again. Jacob turned back to the bed to cut the woman from her bonds.

"Jacob, what the hell! The others are getting away...."

"Marie, call an ambulance! This one's still alive!"

—

"What is the matter with you, Jacob? I'd never thought you the sort to cause trouble. Marie, certainly, but you?"

"What?"

"You and that woman go on some unauthorized excursion—"

"Unauthorized? You people called us—"

But his superiors weren't listening. "—off the base, outside of our jurisdiction, for some petty robbery? We are guests in this country; we let the local police handle minor crimes like this."

"Petty!" Jacob never shrieked. No matter how angry he got, he wasn't the type to shriek. "Minor?!" His voice was definitely a shriek.

"And then, you storm in here, demanding that we track these people down. Even if it wasn't for the jurisdiction, there's simply no reason to waste resources on something so...insignificant."

"Insignificant? They murdered—"

"Gypsies," his superior interrupted. "They killed vermin. If I called someone to take care of the rats in my home, would you demand that I be brought to justice? Or the exterminator?" Jacob stared at him, and the man shrugged. "As far as I'm concerned, your 'thugs' did the world a favor."

Jacob felt his jaw drop. I'm not hearing this. I'm imagining things; I'm dreaming. I can't be hearing this. It just isn't possible.

"But since you got involved in this mess, did you have anything else to report?"

Jacob clamped his mouth shut. "No, sir."

"Then you are dismissed."

"Sir—"

"Dismissed."

Jacob stormed out the door. Vermin? Minor? Insignificant? What the hell is wrong with them? What difference does it make that the victims were gypsies, they're people, and they deserve our protection, same as everyone else! He fumed the whole way, only vaguely aware of his surroundings. Who does he think he is? Hitler? Next thing he'll probably want to go out to kill them himself—

That thought stopped him cold. He hadn't told his superiors everything. He hadn't told them that one of the victims had survived, for which he was suddenly grateful. If they knew he'd saved her, would they actually...?

I left her with Marie! He broke into a run. Of all the people to watch her, I left her with Marie!

—

"Solés, sir?" The voice on the phone was anxious. "We have...a bit of a problem."

"What is it now?" Solés asked.

"The, uh, thugs you hired. Well, we don't know where they are. We're looking, but...."

"What, did you forget the job already?" She made a disgusted noise. "That idiot Cheechoo was supposed to deal with them."

"Well, see, sir, that's the problem. One of the thugs is dead, but Cheechoo.... Him and the woman are missing."

"What?!" Solés sat bolt upright. "Missing? How do you mean, missing? You were supposed to be in place to deal with him once he finished—"

"He moved...sooner than we anticipated. He seems to have ignored the thugs and gone straight for the woman. He's gone AWOL, as far as his superiors are concerned. We...we managed to track him and the woman down, some. We've got his partner in questioning right now. But it appears that he took the woman and ran." There was a long pause. "Sir? We can still follow him, sir—"

"No," she snarled. "No, obviously you can't. At least not without letting anyone know that he's being followed." Solés thought for a moment. "Concentrate on the house and the thugs. It was a robbery gone wrong; there mustn't be anyone to leak word otherwise."

"And what of him and the woman?"

"I'll handle it," Solés replied. "I know where he's going. I'll take care of him, just as soon as I'm done with this job."

"Of course, sir." The phone clicked off.

Solés put the phone away and retrieved the spear. She and her team stepped out of the helicopter and hiked into the icy mountains.

When she determined they were close enough to the camp, Solés raised the spear....

Hey, Solés, don't you just hate it when your intended target proves he's not a machine, and is perfectly capable of acting against past history? Don't you just loathe not being able to predict other people?
Tough.

In regards to Jacob's thoughts at the beginning of this chapter:
No, he is not a violent person, in spite of his specialty (as mentioned previous chapter) being in combat. He's a nice guy, who just doesn't try to associate with other people. (Sounds familiar....)
But Marie really is that irritating. And she was being friendly.

I probably should've had Jacob's superiors refer to him by rank and last name; that would have been more realistic, I think. But I hadn't worked out what his rank (or theirs) should be, and I thought it would be inconsistent to refer to him by last name and Marie by first...I never picked a last name for her.

To one of the reviews I'd received on "Waking Nightmare"....
I never actually intended to turn the Grey Men into any kind of mafia—not that I'm going out of my way to avoid it—but after looking over some of the things that they're responsible for in my (thus far) "generic" history (the story you're reading now), I realized that there's really no other label for them.
Eh, whatever. Works for me!

And speaking of reviews:
Please review! Constructive criticism is welcome. I'm only human; there's always room for improvement, and I'd appreciate anything that helps me improve my work!
Pretty please?