Chapter 2

"Gawain, my office," said the afro-european man.

Gawain nodded slightly and walked after him. She ascended a flight of spiralling stairs and through a heavy wooden door. She emerged into a semi-circular room at the peak of one of the towers, where Sagramore had set up his office, with an ancient wooden desk, a bear hide carpet, and electric braziers on the walls. Dusty bookshelves were lined up behind the seat, untouched for years.

Sagramore, the head of the Dutch Kingsmen branch, sat down with a sigh on the worn leather armchair.

Gawain pulled the other armchair out, and dropped herself onto it. "Is this about Caradoc?"

"Partly." Sagramore picked a thick cigar from the stand on his desk, and produced a golden lighter. He held the end of the cigar to the orange flame, and then inhaled from the other end, closing his eyes momentarily. When he opened them again, they were stone cold. "I'm getting sick of covering these missions."

"Three months. Then we have the Germans fully functioning again."

"I know that. It's just...this is all a bit rushed, isn't it?"

Gawain nodded, but said nothing. Ever since V-day, their agents no longer knew who they could trust, especially after Arthur had switched sides. The same thing went for the German branch.

"I'm thinking of transferring some of them."

"Pardon?"

"The new recruits. One for you."

She furrowed her brow. "With all due respect, sir, we might want to devote our resources into finding the people who hired Dr. Fischer to cr-"

"Noted, Gawain. Don't let your emotions get in the way."

"They are not in the way."

"Take it easy, Gawain. What happened, happened. You're not responsible for any of that."

"At least let me make it right."

Sagramore paused to inhale more cigar smoke, then blew it into the air. "You're suspended for three months."

Her mouth dropped open. "What?"

"Clearly, you can't make proper decisions right now. I'm taking you off the case for three months."

She said nothing.

"You can train your recruit in the meanwhile. She's arriving tomorrow."

"But-"

"But nothing, Gawain," he interrupted. "Who knows what you'll do if I let you go after them? I can't lose any more agents."

Fists shaking, Gawain stood up and strode out of the office.

She took the steps one-by-one. Halfway down, her spectacles received a call. "Yes?"

"Val, you have some time?" It was the voice of Oberon, the in-house techie, not dissimilar to Merlin himself. Although Oberon stuck mostly to online support and information analysis, he was known to have dabbled in many fields of sciences.

She swallowed before answering. "Yeah, I do."

"I've got some prototypes I want you to test out."

"That's great, when do we start?"

"Now, if you want. My lab."

Gawain hung up and took a deep breath. She exhaled ever so slowly, puffed her chest, and walked down the stairs.

Oberon's laboratory was on the third floor of the castle, squeezed between the armoury and his own office. It was a plain white - white tables, white walls, white lab coats, even white gas tanks. Oberon himself was standing at one of the tables, and assortment of items laid out in front of him.

She put one hand on the metal handle of the lab door, paused, and then pushed it open. "What have you got?"

Oberon gestured to one of the stools on the opposite side of the table from him. "So I decided to tinker with some gear you don't usually wear."

"Like what?" She sat on one of the stools and clasped her hands together on the tabletop.

"Cufflinks." Oberon held two square-shaped ones up. "The left side contains a small amount of strychnine. You can slip it into a drink when they're not looking."

"What about the right side?"

"A cell phone jammer."

"What, that small?"

"Bear with me." Oberon turned the right cufflink, which was slightly thicker, over, revealing a little switch in the back, as well as a mini-USB port. "I had to take a lot of stuff out, mainly the battery, so it's only got power for two hours."

"Two hours is enough time to catch and kill someone. Well done, Oberon." She stood up.

He raised an eyebrow. "You don't look too good today. No offense, I mean, but you seem a bit pale."

"I'm fine," Gawain said.

"What on your mind?"

She shook her head.

"Sit down, Val."

She placed herself on the lab stool again, looking down at her neatly manicured nails. "Sagramore took me off the Phoenix thing."

"Why would he do that?"

"You know why."

"I'd like to hear it from you."

Gawain took another deep breath, and exhaled it like before. She blinked a few times before locking eyes with Oberon. "He said that my emotions were clouding my decision-making. That I wasn't fit for duty."

"Have you considered that he might be right?" Oberon sat on the table, a look she had seen before in his eyes. Concern, with a side serving of curiosity.

"...yes, I have."

"For how long?"

"Three months. And he's going to have me train someone from UK HQ."

"That's a bit harsh."

"That's what he gave me."

Oberon pursed his lips, and got off the table. "I do have some good news for you." He turned his clipboard tablet computer to her, a video recording of Fischer's cell. The doctor was curled up in one corner, while Oberon himself stood in the middle of the room. "I got him to...spill the beans. Is that how you say it?"

"Yes, it is. What did he give you on the bomb?"

"He didn't. He didn't even know it was a bomb. I know, he built it, but he was only following instructions."

"So why hire him at all?"

Oberon swiped the screen, bringing up a detailed report with Fischer's face in the top right corner. "He apparently has worked at CERN before, that might be why."

After a long pause, Gawain frowned. "What do you mean?"

Oberon sighed. "CERN experiments with antimatter. We believe that's what was in the bomb. Fischer was simply hired because he knew how to handle it properly."

"You could have just said that."

"Moving on…" He changed to a blurry image of the night sky. "Look closely."

Gawain leaned towards the image. She could just make out a plane-like shape against the sky.

"That's a surveillance drone. We couldn't shoot it down in time."

"Someone was watching us?"

"Looks like it. I'm afraid I can't show you anymore." He frowned at the screen. "Sagramore just locked me out as well."

She stood up again. "I'm going to see Dirk."

"The operation isn't over yet."

"I'm going to see him," she repeated, pushing the lab door open. She quickly made her way down the stairs, to the main hall on the first floor. She strode across the gold-trimmed red carpet towards the large metal double-doors, which ground open automatically.

Gawain walked quickly across the damp grass, towards the main road. A matte-black Mercedes Benz was parked on the side of the road, along two others.

She pressed a button on her car keys, unlocking the second vehicle. Gawain got into the driver's seat, inserted the key and turned it. The Mercedes' engine game to life, growling softly.

Gawain stared down the road, at the city in the distance.

Then, she stepped on the accelerator.

The clinic smelled like...well, a clinic, or a hospital, and it was a smell that Gawain hated. It was the smell that accompanied her to the hospital, where her mother had died, and the smell where her brother had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. To her, it smelled of death.

She ignored the greeter, instead heading straight for the Asian man in the doctor's coat standing in the corner of the reception area, talking to two nurses.

"Doctor Wallace." She held out a hand.

He took it in his own meaty palm and shook it limply. "How can I help you?"

"I've come to see a friend who's being operated on right now. He was...burned severely in an accident."

"Mr. Beumers? He's still i-"

"I know. How long until it's done?"

"An hour, at this point. Doctor Owens is very good, so the recovery will only take two hours. So, three in total."

"Can I wait here?"

"Of course! May I ask, are you his…?"

"Oh, goodness no. I'm just a colleague, really. We work together on the job. So, three hours?"

"I'll have the nurse bring you refreshments if you want."

"There's no need, doctor."

"Oh, I insist!" He disappeared through a "Staff Only" door.

Gawain sat down in one of the waiting room chairs, leaned back and closed her eyes. He's going to be okay, she told herself.

Within minutes, she was asleep.

The suited man looked through his binoculars at the Mercedes plodding gently along the road, and coming to stop in front of a small plastic surgery clinic. He help the radio to his lips. "Target just stopped moving. Some sort of clinic."

"Good," said Hekkers from the other end. "Have you identified her?"

"Not, I couldn't get a clear photo. Taking another one when she comes out."

"Just find out who she is, Jonas."

"Is she from this 'Kingsman' thing?" Jonas asked.

"Yes. It's imperative that we get rid of them."

"I don't trust your friend."

"That man is not my friend. Now keep watching the entrance, and have someone watching the back too, in case she gets paranoid."

"Already done. I've been doing this for years, Klaas."

"Just don't fail this time."

"Yeah, yeah." Jonas switched his earpiece off, and lowered his binoculars. He grabbed the .50 cal sniper rifle that was leaning against the edge of the roof, and pointed it at the clinic door.

He unfolded the bipod, setting it on the room's edge, and flicked the scope cover open. Jonas stared at the walking pedestrians through the scope, watching them go through their peaceful, idyllic lives.

That was about to change.

He moved the crosshair from the pregnant woman, to the athlete out for a morning jog, to the businessman late for his meeting. How they were so ignorant, living in an endless cycle of sleeping, waking and work, with no control over their own destinies, he didn't know. There was a time when he'd been like them, but then again, that was before he met Klaas Hekkers.

He aimed the rifle back at the door of the clinic. Once the woman emerged, he would pull the trigger, and she would die. And then they'd finally know who she was, for all the trouble she had caused. That they had caused.

Jonas waited.