by Dan Wingreen
"Exactly," Farren said with a self-satisfied smile. He even managed to meet Noah's eyes for almost ten full seconds all in a row. "It makes much more sense that this was just an act of terrorist vandalism. Destroying the information before we could act on it was most likely a happy bonus—for him, I mean."
"Except, why the scroll case then?" Noah asked. He thought it was an obvious rhetorical question, but Farren answered anyway.
"Maybe…it was something important to him? Yes. That makes sense," he said, warming to the idea. "It must have been something he couldn't bear to leave behind in whatever off the grid sewer hole he was hiding in."
Noah closed his eyes briefly. Sometimes, it was astounding the lengths people went to convince themselves of pleasant fictions. He added an "urgent" to his previous mental note about questioning Farren's long-term ability to fill his position.
"Except the records room was the only room that was burned, making it an intentional fire. If whatever he was carrying was that precious, he wouldn't take it into a building he was planning to set on fire." Noah shook his head. "No. He came for something. Something specific. And he got it."
Farren made an impatient noise. "Even if you're right, why does it matter? I already told you there was nothing in there that was important. Look at the inventory yourself! I don't see the problem with someone stealing a scroll or two."
"Agent Farren," Noah said, his voice lowering dangerously. He fixed Farren with a piercing glare, and even the nervous AIC had trouble breaking that gaze. "I sincerely hope you don't believe that."
"Wh—"
"This country runs on order and obedience. Anything that threatens that order is a problem, and like my daddy used to say, there is no such thing as a small problem. Even if the only thing he stole were last month's accounting records, stealing it is still a disobedient, terrorist act that needs to be punished. But I don't think he stole last month's accounting, Agent, I think he stole something else. Something a lot more important and sensitive. Something so important it wasn't on the official inventory. Something that wasn't even in a place where someone doing an inventory would ever even see it. Something worth breaking into a DMS building in a major city in the middle of the day. Something worth killing a lot of people to have."
Silence rang throughout the office, thick and weighty. Farren swallowed heavily. "Wh-what makes you so sure?"
"Me," Noah said. "I didn't get orders from the Prime Minister himself to hunt these men down less than twenty-four hours after the first attack because they burned up a bunch of records."
"What…do you think they stole, then?" Farren asked, licking his lips nervously.
"I don't know," Noah said softly. Whatever was in his eyes that held Farren so uncharacteristically still must have lessened, because the man wasted no time looking away. "But I'm going to find out."
Before Farren could say anything else—not that Noah was particularly expecting him to—there was a knock at the door. Without even glancing at Noah, Farren scrambled out of the chair and went to open it. He came back a few moments later with a crystal ball in his hand.
"You're in luck," he said as he sat back down. "This is the only crystal that recorded the terrorists that wasn't damaged." He started to hold it out, then hesitated. Probably unsure if he should bother since Noah hadn't seemed very interested in taking things from his hand. Noah held back an impatient sigh, then snapped his fingers. He caught the crystal ball as it gracefully landed in his palm.
"M-Mr Alexander," Farren said suddenly. Noah paused, then raised an eyebrow. Farren's eyes met his for half a second, then skittered away. "I…are you going to fire me?"
Noah blinked, rather surprised the man had found the courage to ask. "Agent Farren, I don't have the authority to fire you." Farren relaxed slightly, but before he could get too comfortable Noah continued. "However, you are singularly unqualified for this position and I will be making a recommendation in my report that you be replaced at the earliest possible opportunity."
The blood drained from Farren's face as he let out a small, distressed noise. "I…see," he said quietly.
This time, Noah did sigh. As incompetent as the man was, he felt somewhat sorry for him. "Agent, you aren't a bad man. I don't even think you're a particularly unintelligent man. But every man has his place. In a perfect situation, the government knows where you will be the most useful and productive and problems like these never happen. However, occasionally, the situation isn't perfect, and men get promoted above their abilities by accident. That's all this is." He smiled, briefly, as kindly as he could manage. "You won't be fired from the DMS or punished. You'll just be…put back in your place. The system always corrects itself, Agent Farren. That’s how you know it’s working."
"Oh." Farren seemed to deflate in front of him. He wouldn't even turn his head towards Noah. "I…I thought…" He didn't finish.
Noah knew what he meant though. He thought this was his chance, his golden opportunity to prove he could handle authority and responsibilities greater than he was meant for. That someone, somewhere, in the vast byzantine labyrinth of bureaucracy thought he was ready for better things. He thought if he could prove that, then maybe he would get to rise a little higher than he was supposed to.
Unfortunately for him, that just wasn't the way the world worked.
"Agent Farren," Noah said, not unkindly. "Maybe you should step outside while I finish up?"
Farren's head snapped up and for a moment he stared Noah right in the eyes, his mouth slightly open, looking like he'd been slapped. Then all the vitality seemed to drain out of him, and he slowly looked away. "Of course."
He got up, sparing one last look around "his" office, then left, closing the door softly behind him.
Noah was only mildly surprised the man didn't try to kill him to keep him from filing the report.
Pushing the agent out of his mind, he held up the crystal ball and turned his attention back to the real reasons he was here. He tapped the ball once, and watched the scene play out. When it was done, he frowned slightly, then played it again.
It was odd. According to the, admittedly preliminary, investigations into the attacks, the first assault was carried out with precision and obvious planning. The man in black knew where every security crystal was in the building and destroyed them before they could get even a glimpse of him. It spoke of intimate knowledge of the layout of the building, the kind a civilian couldn't get without being noticed wandering around restricted areas. Could he be a former DMS employee?
Noah dismissed the thought immediately. Facial recognition spells were quick and accurate and there was no other record of this man's image anywhere. But even beyond that, he didn't look like someone who had ever been a part of the system. His appearance was too wild, too free. His demeanor while he was interacting with the wizard was too jovial and…something else. No, if Noah had to guess, he would say the man probably wasn't even born in this country. He didn't act like an American. Even the terrorists Noah had met were all serious and intense, they never looked like they were having fun.
So, how did he know the building so well? And, if he did know it well, why didn't he destroy the most visible and easily noticed crystal right out in front?
Noah paused the recording in the middle of a third playback and turned that thought over in his head. How did he get into the building in the first place without being seen by that crystal?
He paged through the reports, seeming to half remember something about… Ah! There it was. The floor in the basement was destroyed. A perfect rectangle had been cut out and had fallen into the sewer below. That must have been how he got in. Impressive use of magic, but why didn't he go back the same way? Obviously, something kept him from getting back there. Could he have been trapped by the agents he didn't kill? It was possible, Noah thought as he leafed through the records. There were more than enough agents to keep him trapped in the records room. So, he must not have been planning on escaping the way he did. That had to be why he
didn't destroy the crystal. He didn't think he needed to. But that also meant…
He hadn’t planned on meeting the wizard.
That made Noah pause. He'd been operating under the assumption Collins was working with the man. That he'd been waiting out front to be his getaway driver. But if he was right about the attack not going to plan, then his assumption was completely wrong.
But of course his assumption was wrong. In fact, it had been stupid to even make it in the first place. He'd been too focused on the first attack and finding out what had been stolen. He didn't even bother thinking too much about the second because he already knew what was taken—Aidan Collins. Noah had just assumed the man went back for him because he was afraid he would talk, or maybe out of a sense of some kind of terrorist code of honor. It was something he never should have assumed.
His daddy, after all, had some very specific things to say about assumptions.
But that left the question; why did the man go back for Collins?
Noah played the recording back again, this time paying close attention to the way the two men interacted. There was something there. When the wizard first noticed the man, there was a hint of…happiness? Noah wasn't sure, but there was definitely recognition. The way he yelled at him…he'd thought it was because of something going wrong with the attack, but when he watched closely, it didn't seem like the kind of disagreement two hardened terrorists would have. It wasn't the way two people who had just met would act either. They'd obviously met at least once before, and…there! Noah paused the recording, staring at the image on the ball and wondering how he could have possibly missed it. The way the man was looking at the wizard when he wasn't looking back. It was…fond.
No, more than fond.
He had real affection for Collins.
Coming back for a partner in crime was one thing, but coming back for a friend or a…lover, possibly? Well. That most definitely changed things. Every powerful man had at least one weakness. Noah knew this better than most. Maybe he'd just found the hole in the man in black's shield.
Maybe, it was time to take a closer look at Aidan Collins.
An hour later, Noah slowly smiled as he looked down at a piece of paper he'd almost ignored entirely. This was exactly what he was looking for. It was an incident report, filed just over a week before. Two patrol officers had been found stunned with powerful magic outside of a wizard's quarters a few miles away from the DMS building. The only reason it was included in the folder was because the description they gave of the man who attacked them was remarkably similar to the man in black, a connection also made by Mr Collins' interrogator, who just happened to be the late Agent Anwir. There was no mention of the wizard, but Noah could read between the lines as well as anyone. It wasn't unheard of for night patrols to shake down wizards occasionally, and since this happened just down the street from the building where Aidan Collins lived, it wasn't much of a leap to guess at what happened. A damsel in distress, a gallant knight swooping in for what was no doubt a timely, last minute rescue; it was something straight out of an Arthur story. Granted, there wasn't much evidence and he was jumping to a few conclusions, but his instincts told him he was on the right track. And listening to his instincts was one of the few intelligent things he hadn't needed to learn from his daddy.
Noah closed the file and stood up. Taking only the single report with him, he strode over to the door leading to the outer office and pulled it open, surprising Brent, who was the only person there. The man shot him a slightly terrified look, a far cry from the barely concealed disdain he'd held before.
"Yes, sir?" he asked nervously.
It seemed Brent was a fast learner after all. "Brent, I need—"
Suddenly, the main office door slammed open and a very disheveled Agent Farren stalked in. His little body shook with fear and determination as he raised his hands. "You can't file that report if you're dead!"
Barely even sparing him a glance, Noah raised his hand and shot a purple deathbolt into Farren’s chest. A short scream of agony tore free from his throat as he flew backwards through the doorway. Noah waved his hand, and the door slammed shut behind him.
"Now, Brent, I need you to do something for me." Brent stared wide-eyed at the spot where his former boss had just stood. Noah snapped his fingers impatiently in front of his face several times. "Brent! Pay attention please."
Brent's head snapped around and it was most likely only the fact that Noah was between him and the door that kept him from running, screaming, from the room. Noah was surprised he didn't try it anyway. "Wh-wh-what do you want?" he asked finally.
Noah put the report on his desk and slid it over to him. "I need you to find these two officers for me."
Brent stared at the paper like he'd never seen one before.
"Brent," Noah said, his voice soft but with a hard edge underlying his words. "Do you think this is something you can handle? Or do I need to have you replaced?"
Brent paled as he swallowed, then nodded rapidly. "Y-yes, sir! I mean, no, sir, I can handle it."
"Good." Noah turned and walked towards the door, figuring as scared as Brent was, even he wouldn't screw it up. He pulled the door open, then stopped and turned back. "Oh, and Brent?"
Brent froze. "Y-yes?"
"When you're done with that, call someone to come and clean up this mess in the hall. And get those papers organized and off that desk in there." He turned and walked through the doorway without even waiting for a response. The familiar thrill of the hunt warmed his blood as he strode down the hall, an extra spring in his step, the kind that only showed itself at the beginning of a new chase.
"I have a feeling I'm going to be using it for just a little bit longer."
Chapter 2
The carriage shook and shuddered as they drove over yet another pothole. Aidan's grip tightened on the wheel and he held his breath, waiting to see if the tire popped. It didn't. He exhaled.
He wasn't sure who to hate more, the idiot who decided roads outside major cities didn't need to be repaired every year or the idiot who decided to put thin, easily ripped tires on carriage wheels.
It's so much easier to complain about things when I'm not worried about sounding like a traitor.
Aidan stifled a laugh, then brought his focus back to the conversation.
"What about something like 'Take a load off'?" he asked, glancing at Eallair.
The sorcerer was sitting next to him as Aidan drove, with the seat pushed back as far as it would go and his feet on the dashboard. Aidan would have been annoyed if Eallair hadn't taken his shoes off about an hour ago. He was wearing socks with little, cartoon Major Merlins from the Agent Arthur comics stitched into them, and since Aidan had spent a solid twenty minutes making fun of them, he figured he'd be a bit of an ass if he didn't let Eallair put his feet up after that. Especially since Aidan was almost sure the only reason Eallair took the shoes off in the first place was because he knew Aidan would have a problem with him getting dirt on any part of his carriage but the floor. "You know, because he landed in the chairs?"
"Hmm." Eallair looked thoughtful. Then he shook his head. "Nah. Don't work. Maybe if he fell into one of the chairs and his body was all propped up like. But it don't make much sense if he just kinda…plowed through."
Aidan let out an exasperated breath. "Well, what then? We already ruled out food puns—"
"Because food puns are awful!" Eallair cut in. Aidan held back on telling him that all puns were awful, but just barely. "And, besides, there weren't no food around anyway. Now, if he flew into a freezer or some such I coulda said somethin’ like 'Ice to see ya again', but it don't work without the freezer."
Aidan stared at Eallair for so long he was surprised Eallair didn't yell at him to get his eyes back on the road. He shook his head and laughed. "Seriously? 'Ice to see you again'? Please don't tell me you've ever actually said that out loud."
Eallair crossed his arms defensively even as he fought back a smirk. "And what if I have? I
've been doin’ this a lot longer than you, ya know. When you think up somethin’ good in the moment you gotta say it. Otherwise you'll just kick yourself up for it later."
Aidan laughed again. "Really? That's how that works?"
"Yep." Eallair nodded and smiled smugly. "Exactly like that."
Aidan rolled his eyes.
"Don't roll your eyes at me," Eallair said, reaching over with his foot and lightly pushing Aidan on the shoulder. "I'm tryin’ to educate you here so you don't make a fool of yourself out in the world."
"Because that's what people are gonna judge me on now. My ability to think up one-liners." He brushed at his shoulder and shot Eallair a glare. "And don't touch my new sweater with your weird socks."
Eallair smiled serenely in response. Aidan huffed in annoyance, but when he turned his head away, ostensibly to check the driver's side mirror, he let out a smile of his own.
Eallair had woken up before Aidan that morning, despite how exhausted he’d been the day before, and went out to get Aidan a brand-new pair of shoes along some new clothes. Aidan had been almost embarrassingly touched Eallair had thought to do that, especially since he'd gotten exactly the kind of clothes Aidan loved to wear. Three new button-up shirts, a few undershirts, two pairs of comfortable jeans, four new sweaters—dark red, deep green, gray, and a fun, light purple—and even a wool hat since it was autumn and "winter in the north's a bit nippier than California." But by far, Aidan's favorite thing that Eallair had bought was a brand-new sweater coat. It came down to about mid-thigh and was a dark midnight blue with ten black, oval, wooden buttons going up the front. It was warm and about a size too big for him and he absolutely loved it. He wore it over the thin gray sweater and a pair of comfortable jeans that stretched in all the right places; it was heaven. He must have thanked Eallair for it about five times since then, and the sorcerer seemed more than a little pleased with himself about it.