New Beginnings by Marcia Gaines
Chapter Three
David Jones, now in his eighties, sat in a wingback chair across from Myka and Pete who were seated on an overstuffed sofa in Mr. Jones' living room. Pete glanced at the nautical memorabilia artfully displayed throughout the room. Various sextants, spyglasses, and cannon balls adorned the mantle while worn and discolored maps hung in elegant frames on the walls. Numerous related objects were meticulously laid out in artful display cases, and Pete could not help himself as he reached out to spin the globe stationed near him.
"Please don't touch that, Agent Lattimer," said Mr. Jones. "It has been in my family for generations, like the locker you seek. I still do not quite understand the need the Secret Service has for one of my belongings. It's just an old locker, handed down through many generations." He directed his gaze at Myka with a questioning eyebrow. Pete withdrew his hand, but gave the globe a disappointed look.
"Mr. Jones, I know this may sound unusual," she answered. "Without revealing any classified information, all my partner and I can tell you is there is a… a…" Oh here it comes, she thought. I hate this part. Lying to others never came easy for her, and she found herself forced to lie on so many occasions on behalf of the Warehouse over the last three years she wondered why she never seemed to get better at it.
"We, uh, we believe the locker may…" Pete jumped in, as he usually did, to help Myka with an excuse. The creative explanations never seemed to be a problem for him the way it was for her, but he forgave her the shortcoming as he knew it was just an extension of her rigid ethical standard; a quality he admired in Myka even if he did not always embody it himself.
The two partners discussed this dichotomy on a number of occasions, and concluded that while Pete did live by a very high set of standards, for him the world was full of many colors including multiple shades of grey; while, for Myka it was much more black-and-white. Where he could see a reason to bend rules or overlook regulations, Myka saw issues of right and wrong. Because of those differences, they occasionally disagreed on how to pursue something, but Myka learned over time to trust Pete's judgments, and Pete also learned not to push Myka's sensibilities too far. The balance worked well for them, so it came as a complete shock when Myka cut him off in the middle of his explanation.
"That it may prove to be an important piece of material evidence in an open investigation concerning counterfeiting of U.S. currency." She delivered the line dead-pan, and Pete stared at her.
"Y-Yes," he added weakly.
"That's not possible," responded the elderly man in an unsure tone. "That locker hasn't left this house since I came home from the War more than 60 years ago." Just then an elderly woman walked into the room from another area of the home. She was dressed casually, but wore a small amount of makeup and earrings. She set a tray with three glasses of iced-tea and a plate of cookies on the table before speaking to Mr. Jones.
"What's impossible, dear?" she asked. She had a very pleasant demeanor and wore an attractive floral dress. Pete liked her immediately, though with how hungry he was at that moment anyone who decided to put food in front of him was likely to end up on his good side.
"Oh, these young people here are doing an investigation," Mr. Jones said pointing out Myka and Pete. He gestured at the elder woman and introduced her as his wife, Harriet. Pete and Myka stood up and offered their hands as they introduced themselves.
"Good afternoon, Ma'am. I'm Agent Bering. This is Agent Lattimer." She glanced at Pete and continued. "As your husband said, we're here with the Secret Service." Myka spoke professionally and to the point.
"Oh. Dear me," she said as she looked at them. "What does the Secret Service need with us?" She turned to her husband and asked, "David?" Before they could answer Mr. Jones responded.
"They say that old locker of mine is somehow involved in a counterfeiting thing. Can you believe that?" He said with a furrowed brow.
"Counterfeiting? Why on earth would they think that?" Her face clouded as she asked the question. "Please, sit," she said and indicated the sofa with her eyes as she took the other wing-back next to her husband. Myka and Pete sat down, and Pete eagerly reached for a peanut butter cookie.
"Beats me, honey, but I don't see how they think that locker could be involved in anything like that. I was just telling them it hasn't left the house since 1947," he said. She thought for a moment before nodding in agreement.
Pete opened his mouth to say something, but Myka started speaking. "Mrs. Jones, we believe the locker may have been used, without Mr. Jones' knowledge, to help transport counterfeit treasury bonds into the United States when he was returning home from World War 2." Pete's mouth fell open and he stared at Myka. That was the best lie he had ever heard her deliver. He shoved the cookie into his mouth to cover his astonishment. It was unexpectedly tasty and he crunched it in delight.
"Wow. Veezr leegoo," he muffled. "Skay five ore?"
Mrs. Jones looked confused. Myka gave Pete a wide-eyed look before translating for him, "He says the cookies are really good, and he wants to know if it's okay if he has more." Of the entire Warehouse team, Myka still spoke "Pete" better than anyone else. He looked at her gratefully and nodded.
"Yes, yes of course," Mrs. Jones said. "I'm so glad you like them. It's my mother's secret recipe." Her eyes twinkled as she scrunched her nose and gave Pete a conspiratorial smile.
Artie and Mrs. Frederic followed Leena through the Warehouse. She led them through a few turns, until she stopped in front of a shelf unit and pointed to the Philosopher's Stone. Mrs. Frederic took a purple glove and a bag and placed the stone into containment for transport. After retrieving the artifact, they headed to the section of the wall used for the passage to the Ancient Regent Sanctum.
"I need you to tell me if you sense Walter Sykes," Mrs. Frederic said to Leena. "This is very important. I need you to focus and be very sure, either way." The younger woman looked at both of them before turning her attention to the wall. It was smooth and grey, and bore no hint of the nearly magical ability it had to transform into a portal between the Warehouse and the basement of another building over a thousand miles away. Leena stepped closer and concentrated on the wall. A few minutes passed and she leaned forward to place both of her hands on the wall. She studied it carefully and then she closed her eyes and remained silent for another minute.
"No, Mrs. Frederic," she said. "I don't sense him, or anything else, in there. I don't understand. If he was trapped in that wall wouldn't it be impossible for me to pick up anything from him?"
"It's hard to say," replied Mrs. Frederic. "Some of the Regents believed he would be dead, perhaps even fully disintegrated the way his arm fell to dust as Mrs. Lattimer described. Some of us, however, believe he did not." She took a step toward the wall and considered it as she spoke. "I believe the areas of Mr. Sykes' body that were still in transit when the portal closed would be perfectly preserved, alive, as if in stasis." Leena pondered the possibility and shook her head.
"I don't know, Mrs. Frederic, I'm sorry," she said apologetically. "I just can't tell if he's in there."
"No matter," Mrs. Frederic stated. "For now, we have other matters to attend."
"Okay," Leena looked toward the Southern point of the Warehouse. "Well, if you don't need me for anything else, I told Claudia I'd help her with the inventory she is trying to finish." She gave them both a last look and then excused herself to join Claudia. Artie and Mrs. Frederic watched her departure until she disappeared after turning at the end of the long aisle.
"I still don't understand what it is you're going to do with the Stone," said Artie as he turned to Mrs. Frederic.
"This," she held up the bag. "…is what we're going to use to help us revive Agent Jinks," she responded. Artie's head shot up at the mention of the fallen Agent's name. Though Steve had only been with the Warehouse a short time before he was believed to have been fired by Mrs. Frederic over a severe display of insubordination, Artie still felt responsible for his death. He had lost agents in the field before, but Steve's death was particularly difficult due to the nature of the circumstances and how close the team had become.
"You're going to what?" He asked incredulously. "Mrs. Frederic, you know as well as I do the horrible consequences of using a resurrection artifact."
"It's not what you think, Agent Nielsen. We had some idea of what to expect as Mr. Sykes reached his end-game. Agent Jinks also took precautions before we sent him on his mission. When we found Sally Stukowski's body we were able to identify the poison used to kill her. It was a tea-extract that creates a heart-attack." Mrs. Frederic remained expressionless as she explained. "It was our assumption if Agent Jinks were ever to be considered a liability, this would be the preferred method of extermination. We were right. When Mr. Diamond injected him with that poison, it did appear to kill him, but because he carried Cleopatra's Coin…"
"It slowed the poison!" Artie exclaimed. "And now you can reverse the poison by using the Philsopher's Stone?"
"Yes. We just need to transmute the coin's metal and instead of just slowing the poison, it should absorb it in its entirety," she said.
Artie breathed a heavy sigh. The relief he felt was easily read on his face. He asked, "So, if that is how you intend on reviving Steve… then what does Davy Jones' Locker have to do with Steve?"
"Nothing." She said flatly.
"Hrmph," huffed Mr. Jones. "I tried telling my father I should not have taken that locker with me when I shipped off with the Navy. He insisted, though. He said that locker accompanied every sailor in our family to every adventure on the high seas whenever there was a war or extended expedition. It was a silly superstition. Still, I suppose it did always seem like I had a little bit of home with me while I was away. Strange how a simple memento like that can help ease the strain of being separated from your loved ones." He looked over at his wife and smiled, she smiled in return and they reached across to hold each other's hand.
I know exactly what you mean, Myka thought, and she absent-mindedly brushed her hand over locket in her coat pocket. She closed her eyes momentarily and imagined Helena's face smiling at her from outside the barrier in the containment room. Somewhere in the reaches of her mind she heard Helena's voice saying her name. She shuddered and the image was gone. Myka opened her eyes and tried to focus on what the Jones' were saying.
"Okay, so you two are going to take the locker. When do we get it back?" Mr. Jones asked.
"Uh, we're not sure. But, we can give you a card," Pete said and produced a business card which he handed to Mr. Jones. "You can contact us at that number, and we'll be able to let you know the details on how long we'll be needing it for ah…" he glanced at Myka. "…the investigation."
Mr. Jones looked at the card and then examined at Pete's face as if to determine whether or not he thought Pete was trustworthy. "Fair enough, young man. But, you take good care of this locker, you understand? This may just be an old locker to you, but it is an heirloom to me, and my grandson will be shipping off for duty soon and I have every intention of making sure this locker goes with him." His eyes bore into Pete's as he spoke.
"Yes, sir," said Pete. "We'll be sure to hurry through our investigation as quickly as possible." Pete understood what it was like to leave for duty. His time as a Marine gave him an appreciation for Mr. Jones' sentiments only a fellow service member could share.
"Okay, then," said Mr. Jones. "Harriet and I will need to clean it out first. Give us a moment please. We'll be right back." They gingerly rose from their chairs and disappeared into a room off of an adjacent hallway. Pete popped the last of a cookie into his mouth and looked at Myka.
"Wow. Nice story, Mykes. Counterfeit treasury bonds?" He looked impressed.
"We are the Secret Service, Pete. Counterfeiting is in our purview." Myka reached for a glass of ice tea and took a long sip. "I can't believe how easy that was. I was expecting it to take more work for us to convince them to let us have it." She stared off down the hall.
"Mm. Yeah, but I'm not complaining. It's about time we got a milk-run," said Pete before biting into yet another cookie. He furrowed his eyebrows and said, "And now, I want milk."
Artie looked intently at Mrs. Frederic and asked, "Nothing? You sent them on a mission to retrieve an artifact you told them was a matter of life and death, and you intend to do nothing with it?"
Mrs. Frederic considered her words before responding. "That is not what I said. The locker has nothing to do with Agent Jinks. And as far as he is concerned, no one else is to be made aware of the circumstances surrounding Agent Jinks' death," she said. "As far as everyone else is to believe he died three months ago, and was buried next to his sister."
"What? Why can't they know? Do you have any idea how devastated Pete and Myka were?" Artie's voice rose in pitch. "Do you know the not-so-private hell Claudia's been through because of his death? They deserve to know. They have a right to know. They are his team!" His voice reached a crescendo with the word "team" and Mrs. Frederic stared at him. The air around them began to crackle.
"We are not entirely sure whether or not the Walter Sykes' situation has been resolved. We kept the knowledge about Agent Jinks quiet until we knew whether or not the Warehouse would be restored. Now that it is, if Mr. Sykes is still out there somehow," she looked in the direction of the portal. "He will make another attempt. It is likely he will make that attempt as soon as possible. And, if he does, the more ability we have to surprise him – the better." She looked blankly at him as she finished speaking. Artie stood motionless taking in her words. A fire lit in his eyes as he mulled the implications of what it would mean for Steve Jinks to be revived and remain completely cut off from the remainder of the team.
"Wait. What?" He said in a disbelieving tone. "You intend on bringing back Steve Jinks and to keep him undercover – to keep him from being able to communicate with Pete and Myka while that maniac Sykes could still be out on the loose?" Artie's tone changed dramatically. "I do not accept that!" he exploded. Streaks of light formed above them like lightning and snaked through the air until they dissipated before reaching a target.
His fury caught Mrs. Frederic by surprise and she raised an eyebrow. Artie continued his onslaught. "You neglected to include us in the information about Steve being undercover, you neglected to tell us you had a method to revive him when we told you he was murdered, and you neglected to tell us the circumstances surrounding Walter Sykes until it was too late. I hold the Regents, and you," he said accusingly, "totally responsible for the deaths of Agents Jinks and Wells!"
Artie raised a finger and pointed it at Mrs. Frederic as his voice darkened. "You and those Regents put lives at risk by keeping this team in the dark about details that were crucial to the successful outcome of those events. I will not," his voice slowed as he repeated himself. "I will not, allow that mistake to continue. Not this time." The buildup of anger-inspired energy released itself with the clanging of random artifacts flying off the surrounding shelves and slamming into others until eventually coming to rest on the ground near their feet.
Mrs. Frederic paused and spoke slowly as she responded. "I will remind you, Agent Nielsen, that all Warehouse Agents – including you, are the property of the U.S. government. What you know, and when you are allowed to know it," she paused for emphasis. "… is determined not by me, not by the Regents, and most certainly not by you. We are told what we are told and it is always on a need-to-know, as well as a when-to-know-it, basis."
Artie's face contorted with anger. He started to speak and then stopped, twice, before closing his eyes and heaving a heavy sigh. When he finally spoke his tone was considerably softened. "You're right. You're right. I know it wasn't your fault. I'm sorry." He rubbed the back of his neck.
"I do not like the circumstances any more than you do. Nothing about how this situation was handled was sufficient, and the results we have all suffered were predictable." She stepped in closer to Artie as she spoke. "Now is our chance to right those many wrongs."
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