Engravings of Wraith

by Kiera Dellacroix

  “I see,” she said finally. “There’s breakfast in the oven for you, but I’m afraid it’s probably cold by now. You can heat it up if you like.”

  “You made breakfast?” he asked in surprise.

  “You sound surprised,” she said tonelessly.

  “I guess I am kinda,” he admitted.

  “Why?”

  “I dunno really.”

  “You read my file, Mr. Satterfield. Did it not mention that I’m capable of cooking breakfast? Or did it only portray me as capable of butchering people?” she asked icily.

  Martin took several seconds to formulate his response. “I’m afraid that it was rather limited in regards to the subject matter,” he said carefully.

  Bailey didn’t answer and after a moment, she returned her gaze to the window. Martin eventually walked over to the oven and checked the temperature of the eggs, bacon, and hash browns she had left for him, they were cold to the touch so he closed the door and turned on the oven. She still hadn’t spoken so he ambled over to the table and sat down to order his thoughts.

  “Have they contacted you?”

  “Why would they contact me, Mr. Satterfield?” she asked distantly.

  “Because I’m sure they know I’m here.”

  She turned around on the bench and faced him. “When did you start running?”

  “I took the file Monday night, they tried to kill me Tuesday morning.”

  “I see, did you go into work on Tuesday?”

  “No.”

  “Then you should be aware of a couple of things. Firstly, I’m considered a rogue operative as of Tuesday morning and secondly, they know exactly where you are.”

  “A rogue? What does that mean exactly?”

  “That means I’ve cut all ties to the Organization and am targeted for elimination.”

  “They’re going to kill you?”

  “It means that they’re going to try.”

  “Why haven’t they tried already?”

  “Because they don’t want to lose any Organization assets. And if they initially failed, I would present an even greater security risk. I’d imagine with you and the file, the danger of that has at least tripled in their eyes so they’ll be far more cautious in moving against me. In fact, they would have to be very confident in their success to even make an attempt.”

  “By security risk are you talking about going public?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you going to do that?”

  “No.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to win, Mr. Satterfield.”

  Martin spent several minutes considering that statement. “You can’t kill them all,” he said finally.

  “Sure I can, but I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” She stood up. “I’ll be back in a moment,” she said as she disappeared down a hallway.

  Bailey walked to her office and sat down at her computer. She entered the number that she had procrastinated all morning over dialing and watched the monitor until it was answered.

  “Watts.”

  “Good day, Major.”

  “Ah, was beginning to wonder about you,” he said jovially and her mood perked up.

  “Tell me,” she said directly.

  “They exist and the PM has instructed our Ambassador to grant them immunity and asylum at our embassy in the United States.”

  Bailey closed her eyes for several minutes, feeling like she could cry for the first time in over ten years.

  “Are you there?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry, Major.”

  “Quite alright.”

  “I’ve one more favor to ask,” she said quietly.

  “No need. I’ve already arranged to have them moved and will personally see to their safety. I’ve been waiting for your call and will be on their doorstep in four hours with a security detachment. I will personally see them to the States and will remain with them for as long as you need me to.”

  “That’s above and beyond, Major. Thank you,” she said impressed.

  “It is the very least I can do,” he said sincerely. “The PM was quite incensed to find two subjects of the Crown under the thumb of your ex-employers. I’ve done some research and it seems their names have been changed at least three times and they’ve been relocated nine times over the last fifteen years.”

  “Tell them, that soon they can live anywhere they want for as long as they want.”

  “Will you be coming to see them then?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I see, when shall I expect to hear from you again.”

  “Within the next thirty days.”

  “Very good.”

  “My thanks, Major.”

  “Very welcome.”

  “Oh, by the way, any hits on my paper?”

  “None.”

  “Very well, I’ll be in touch, Major.”

  “Take care, my friend,” he said and hung up.

  ———

  Martin was polishing off the last of his reheated breakfast when Bailey emerged from the hall. He experienced a flash of fear as she made a beeline right for him, but she stopped at the table and sat down in a chair across from him. She began an intent examination of him that lasted several minutes while he studied his plate and grew extremely nervous.

  “Thank you, Mr. Satterfield,” she said sincerely.

  “I… I don’t understand,” he said confused and a little scared.

  “Because of you my family will be safely inside the United States by this time tomorrow.”

  “You found them?” he asked relieved.

  “Yes, they were in Southampton like you said.”

  “Are they coming here to Atlanta?”

  “No, they’ll be safely nestled away in the British Embassy until I can come for them.”

  “The British? I would’ve thought…” he trailed off.

  “You would’ve thought that I hated the British,” she finished for him.

  “Yes,” he admitted.

  “I gave into hate once, Mr. Satterfield. It led me down a road that I wouldn’t wish upon anyone.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I hope you never do, Mr. Satterfield.”

  Any chance of a response on his part was nullified by the ringing of her cell phone.

  “Cameron.”

  “Hi,” she said with a bright smile that cut off abruptly as her eyes tracked to Martin, who appeared to be studiously trying not to listen.

  “Can you hold on a second?” she said as she got up and disappeared down the hallway again.

  Martin had a lot to think about and was vaguely aware that he should be very worried over the information that she had given him earlier, but it didn’t seem to phase her so he pretty much decided to leave the situation in her capable hands. If The Wraith was considered a rogue, Terry would have to be going apeshit by now. The thought brought both a smile to his face and a question to his mind that he very much wanted an answer to. Fortunately, she came back into the room while it was still fresh on his mind.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Alright.”

  “Is Terry a target?”

  “Why would you want to know that, Mr. Satterfield?” she asked tonelessly.

  “Because it’s the question that led me to read and inevitably steal your file,” he said honestly.

  “I’ll answer if you tell me why you wanted to read my file and how you came to see it in the first place, considering very few people would have access to it. And you tell me why you stole it,” she said agreeably.

  “I read it because I suspected Terry might attempt to remove me and I needed an ally.” He paused. “I also suspected that you didn’t voluntarily remove yourself from inactive status and I believed Terry’s motives were personal. However, I couldn’t figure out how he got you to participate if you didn’t want to. I put two and two together when I read the file and realized that he was using your family against you.” He stopped to g
auge her reaction, which was unreadable. “As to how I came to see it, I found out that Terry kept the file in his office instead of secure storage. I had a keycard to his office and I knew where he hid the keys to his desk. I ended up stealing the file because the keycard wouldn’t let me back into his office. I had to run.”

  “I see. How did you know my family’s whereabouts?”

  “I saw a field report for Terry’s eyes only from Southampton referring to a Bennigan. Apparently, your brother had an accident at work and had to be transported to a hospital. He turned out to be fine, but the incident was reported to Terry.”

  “What kind of accident?”

  “The report didn’t specify, it did however mention that he was back at work two days later so I’m sure it wasn’t serious. We had no active Ops in the UK at the time and when I read your file it clicked into place.”

  “Pretty clever,” she said. “Well, except for the keycard. Were you aware that after a certain hour a pin number has to be entered as well?”

  “Uhm… I am now,” he admitted shamefaced and she surprised him by laughing.

  He risked a glance at her and it amazed him at what an attractive woman she actually was.

  “I’d almost figured you for a lucky fool, Mr. Satterfield. I see now that would’ve been a wrong assessment,” she said amused.

  “Dare I ask why?” he asked not sure if he really wanted to know.

  “I figured anyone trying to avoid attention in a bright orange Gremlin, was either a complete idiot or was possessed with a touch of genius,” she said with an amused smile.

  “It really is my mother’s car,” he said in his defense and then added. “My mother left it to me when she retired to Florida and it was still in her name. It had been in storage for several years. No one knew I had it so it seemed the perfect getaway car.”

  “Well it got you here.”

  “Do you know how they found me?” he asked suddenly curious.

  “They ran a incoming source trace on my contact line. The line didn’t register tampering until I disconnected.”

  “Really? So you knew they were coming after me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Alright, is Terry a target?”

  “Mr. McKraken will not survive this ordeal.”

  “You realize that he’s probably locked down the building. It would be next to impossible to get to him.”

  “I’m sure the building is locked down. I’m also sure that all pending Ops have been canceled and every available man is currently on the way to Atlanta, that is if they aren’t here already. Terry also has several people planted as employees in my corporation and I’m already followed when I leave the building.”

  “This doesn’t seem to bother you. Why is that?”

  “Why should it?”

  “Because they’re going to kill you.”

  “Like I said, they’re going to try, Mr. Satterfield. Besides, they won’t move against me unless they’re sure they can cover all the bases.”

  “You say there are people working for the Organization in this building?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s kinda of scary.”

  “No one can access this floor but myself, you’re perfectly safe here.” She paused and considered. “Let me ask you a question or more accurately I would…uhm… like some advice on a …uh… personal matter,” she said hesitantly.

  “Uhm… sure,” Martin said surprised.

  “If you were to be asked over to…uhm… dinner for a … well, a date… is there anything that you would bring?”

  Martin gaped at her. He couldn’t believe that she was concerned with such a trivial matter when there were potential assassins coming out of the woodwork.

  “Well?” she asked a little peevishly when he didn’t answer immediately.

  “I’m sorry,” he said bringing his full attention to the matter at hand. “Is the dinner at this person’s home?”

  “Yes,” she said and he noticed she leaned forward a little in her chair.

  “Is this a relatively new relationship?” he asked tentatively and more than a little curiously.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’d probably bring a bottle of wine or flowers if I really liked the person. But I’m not sure what a guy would think if he got flowers,” he speculated.

  “It’s not a guy and what kind of wine would you bring?”

  “Uhm…I… uh…” he started trying to get past his initial surprise. “I would bring a zinfandel, that would pretty much go with anything that …uhm… she might feed you.”

  “I see,” she answered and sat back in her chair to consider the advice. “What kind of flowers?” she asked after a moment.

  “Well…uhm…I would get roses for a … well a date,” he said feeling uncomfortable and not sure why.

  “Why roses?” she asked curiously.

  “Because they supposedly represent love.”

  “Love?”

  “Yes. Roses convey a romantic interest beyond friendship or a passionate love,” he answered and she grew quiet for several minutes before she reached into her pocket for the cell phone. She stopped before she dialed.

  “How many roses would be appropriate?”

  “How many dates have you had?”

  “This’ll be the second.”

  “Half a dozen would be fine I think.”

  She dialed a number into the phone. “Tom? Yes, this is Bailey. I was wondering if you or one your guys would do me a favor?”

  “Yes, could you send someone out to purchase me a half dozen roses, please?” she asked and then frowned. “Yes, roses,” she repeated.

  “Uhm… hold on.” She muted the phone and looked at Martin.

  “Red roses?” she asked and he nodded.

  “In a vase or in paper?”

  “Paper,” Martin answered.

  “Tom?” she said into the phone. “That would be red and in paper.”

  “Just use a company draft, no wait.” She considered. “Take it out of petty cash and I’ll reimburse it later.”

  “Alright, I’ll pick them up at the security desk around 6:30. Thanks, Tom,” she said and hung up.

  She sat quietly for several minutes after hanging up, eventually returning her attention to Martin. “Thanks for the advice, Mr. Satterfield.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said sincerely.

  “I’ve some things to look into and will be out again tonight. Is there anything you need?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so,” he said and then added. “But I do have one more question if you don’t mind?”

  “Alright.”

  “What happens to me?”

  “You get to lay around here for a few weeks and then you get your life back, Mr. Satterfield,” she said as if it were obvious.

  “Would you mind telling me how that’s going to take place?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Have you considered that things might not work out as planned?”

  “Sure, there’s a lot of things that could go wrong,” she said agreeably. “But I’ll win anyways.”

  “What makes you so certain of that?” he asked hoping she could convince him and he waited several seconds for a response. He looked up at her and noted with a mixture of awe and dread that her entire bearing had changed rather suddenly. Gone was the pretty young woman and in her place was a predator with inhumanly cold and merciless eyes.

  “Because unfortunately, Mr. Satterfield, I am The Wraith,” she said ominously and left the room without another word.

  II

  And I don’t want the world to see me,

  Cause I don’t think that they’d understand.

  —J. Rzeznik

  “Andrew, I want two men at the door at all times,” Jeremy Watts said to his man as he surveyed the small two-story flat in which the Cameron’s resided.

  “Right, sir,” Andrew responded quickly.

  “I’ll speak with them alone,” he said with a careful lo
ok at Andrew, who was a slight and pale man with dark features.

  “While I’m in there, please inform the movers and the rest of the men that the Cameron’s and their belongings are to be treated with the utmost respect.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Stay alert,” he said as he got out of the car and walked up a short flight of steps that led to the door. He rang the bell and waited patiently until a well-built, handsome young man answered the door. He stood over six feet tall and had dark brown eyes with almost black hair.

  “Can I help you?” he asked with an Irish accent eyeing Jeremy warily.

  “Yes, I’m Jeremy Watts with MI6, and I would like to speak privately with you and your mother, please,” he said politely.

  “Your identification,” the man demanded in a suddenly hostile tone.

  “Of course,” Jeremy said and produced his credentials. “May I come in?”

  The man opened the door all the way and stepped aside for him. “I’ll get my mother, but I’m afraid you’re going to be in for a fight,” he said peevishly as he left Jeremy standing at the entrance to the living room.

  Jeremy waited patiently, his eyes taking in his surroundings and his attention landing on several family photographs that sat upon a dresser. He crossed the room and studied them intently while he waited. With a twinge of sadness, he noted that several pictures included a smiling raven-haired girl with happy black eyes that were a far cry from the eyes of the woman he knew. He had done some investigating on his own and learned that Bailey Cameron was officially listed as dead from the same gunfire that killed her father and brother. He wondered if he would ever get the whole story.

  “Mr. Watts, is it?” a female voice startled him.

  “Yes, it is,” he said as he turned to find a woman with graying black hair and sparkling green eyes staring at him from across the room.

  “I won’t move again, Mr. Watts,” she said.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “My son said you were from MI6. I’ll not move again.”

  “Do you mind if I sit down, Mrs. Cameron?” he asked and saw the surprise in her face with the use of her real name.

  She gestured to the chair in front of him and he took a seat. He looked at her carefully and could see many similarities between the mother and her daughter.