by Abigail Roux
with a smirk. Carl’s lips twitched in amusement and he resumed his job of stoking the fire. “Throw a pinecone on that if you’re having trouble. I hear they’re flammable,”
Remy offered as he headed for the kitchen.
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“Only the pitch,” Everett said knowingly as he leant back on the sofa and
stretched his arms behind his head. Thiago returned from the porch and pulled the door shut behind him as Nikolaus perched on the arm of the sofa.
“It’ll snow tonight,” the Argentinean announced. The others nodded in
agreement and Travers poked at the fire absently.
“All right, lads,” Bennett finally said as Remy returned with two cups of
steaming coffee. To Nikolaus’s surprise, Remy handed one cup to him and sipped
from the other carefully. Nikolaus thanked him quietly and sniffed at the coffee. The Cajun made his coffee the consistency of tar. He sipped at it carefully and shifted to get comfortable as Bennett tried to settle them all down.
“We may as well do this now, lest it become an even bigger problem,” the
blond said, looking as if he were gearing up for battle.
“What problem is this?” Everett asked distractedly. Nikolaus was slightly
worried to see that the man stared at the fire with something akin to lust and had trouble concentrating on what they were saying. Nikolaus wasn’t the only one to
notice, apparently, because Thiago and Remy moved almost simultaneously to sit
with Travers on the hearth of the fireplace, effectively blocking Everett’s view.
As soon as the flames disappeared behind their bodies it was as if a spell
broke, and Everett snapped to attention. Nikolaus glanced warily over at his
equipment set up in the corner. He knew in his heart Everett was going to try to blow his shit up. He just knew it.
Nikolaus returned his attention to the group as Bennett gave Everett one last
worried sidelong glance and then began to speak.
“I know you all have a problem with the nature of our relationship,” Bennett
started bluntly, indicating Remy Bergeron with a tilt of his head. “I can understand why you do. If I were on the other side of it, I would have a problem too. So if you have questions, ask them now,” Bennett went on in an even voice.
“Was the story you told us before true?” Travers asked immediately.
“Yes,” Bennett responded readily. Nikolaus decided right then that he was
going to have to take what they said as the truth. He had no hope of deciphering
whether a trained agent was lying.
“That’s all I need then,” Travers shrugged negligently. Nikolaus was fairly
shocked at the Kiwi’s easy acceptance, but then he realized he didn’t really give a damn, either. Yes, he was curious. But not to the extent that he absolutely had to know.
“Same here,” Everett added quietly.
“Yeah,” Nikolaus agreed as he looked back at Bennett. “Unless it’s
something that may come back and bite one of us on the ass,” he added, “then I see no reason to get into it. Unless you just feel like sharing,” he offered cheekily, risking
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Bennett’s ire to lighten the mood. To his relief, Bennett smiled a little and nodded.
All eyes turned to Thiago, and the man looked back at them unflinchingly.
“I’d like to know,” he said steadily. “But like Nikolaus said,” he continued
with a small sigh, “if it’s not life-threatening I don’t suppose it’s necessary. And as much as I hate to admit it, if it doesn’t pertain to this mission then, then it’s none of our business.”
They were all silent for a moment, and Nikolaus watched Remy and Bennett
share an indecipherable look. The connection they shared was unmistakable, and
Nikolaus found himself slightly envious of it.
“It’s been roughly five years since we met,” Bergeron told them suddenly,
startling even Bennett. “Since then we’ve worked together off and on. Whenever two or more agents are needed, and we’re available, they send us in. We’re the closest thing to a permanent team in the Organization, I suppose, and I believe that’s the reason they’ve put us on this.” Nikolaus saw a small smile play over the Cajun’s lips as he paused for what was apparently dramatic effect. Bennett shook his head but
Remy spoke anyway. “And yes, during our very limited down time we tend to have
quite a lot of sex.”
This last statement shocked the hell out of Nikolaus. Thiago too, it seemed,
was left dumbfounded. His mouth hung open as he stared at Remy, much as Nikolaus
reckoned his own was doing. Neither Travers nor Everett seemed to be shocked or to care overly much. Nikolaus briefly wondered if Remy was poking fun at them for
being so nosy. But then he decided that the Cajun probably told the truth. It explained their easy manner with one another anyway.
It wasn’t so much the fact that they were two men that surprised Nikolaus. In
fact, he didn’t know many agents who weren’t at least bisexual. It had something to do with the recruiting standards of coverts; you had to be willing and able to seduce any mark, no matter their gender. It wasn’t the sexual aspect at all. It was the fact that these two agents would completely trust not only their operations, but also their lives to one another repeatedly. It boggled Nikolaus’s mind. Not to mention the fact that they were apparently rather accustomed to working as a team. That was unheard of in the Organization. O.R.G. field agents were solo operators. Period.
“Well,” Bennett finally said with a huff. “That’s not exactly how I would
have put it, but you’ve always been succinct, if nothing else, lad.”
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t exactly a compliment.”
Remy made a face that clearly said ‘who gives a shit’ and stood up
gracefully. “Who else has a problem I can solve?” he asked happily as he stretched his hands over his head. “Anyone?” Everyone shook his head. Remy nodded in
acknowledgement and winked cheekily at Nikolaus.
Nikolaus couldn’t help but smile in return. But then Remy was all
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seriousness again, and he turned around and knelt in front of Thiago, placing his hands on the other man’s knees. Nikolaus wondered briefly if he did it to make
Thiago uncomfortable and gain the upper hand. Surely he wouldn’t be that
calculating, even if he were an operative. Would he?
“What about you, papere?” Bergeron asked. The word was obviously one
Remy was accustomed to using when speaking to someone with respect. Nikolaus
was pretty certain he used it on purpose.
“Don’t call me that,” Thiago said in a flat voice, apparently getting the same
impression. “And I have no problem,” he said almost as an afterthought. “You two
fucking is much more innocent than anything I was imagining.”
“Excellent!” Remy exclaimed, and he stood and strolled into the kitchen
once more, leaving behind a slightly befuddled group of spooks.
Surely it wouldn’t be that painless. Thiago had been too bothered by it to
accept that explanation so readily.
Nikolaus watched in interest as Bennett and Thiago shared a nod of
acknowledgement. Perhaps it was that easy. Perhaps it wasn’t, but Nikolaus wouldn’t have to deal with any future fallout. Either way, Nikolaus hoped their little session would end the tension he’d sensed between the two senior members of the group and they would be able to get on with it.
“Remy!” Bennett called suddenly, almost causing Nikolaus to fall off his
/>
precarious perch on the arm of the sofa. “Get back in here. We have some research to do.”
“Research?” Travers repeated hopefully, leaning forward and practically
bouncing in place. Nikolaus knew the man was spoiling for something to do, and he smiled at him sympathetically. Bennett nodded as Remy returned to the room with a quizzical look on his face and a bag of chocolate covered-pretzels in his hand.
“Carl,” Bennett said as he shifted to look at Travers. “Tell us about
yourself.”
“What?” Travers responded stupidly.
“Tell us about yourself,” Bennett repeated patiently. “You’re a Class Four,
yes? I doubt any of us know much about the other designators except the basics, so tell us about yourself. How long have you been in the business? How old are you?
Where are you from? What are your duties?”
“Uhh….” Travers looked around at the others in confusion. Nikolaus thought
that it was a safe bet to say that Carl Travers had never been asked a personal
question during a mission before, and he could relate to the man’s reticence.
“Okay, I’ll start then,” Bennett continued amiably. “We’ll make this simple.
I was born in 1969 in Sheffield, South Yorkshire. Recruited into the Organization in October ’87.”
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“You’ve been in the Business for almost twenty years?” Nikolaus asked
before he could stop himself. That was one hell of a record. People in this line of work didn’t usually live that long, much less stay in it for that long.
“That’s right.”
“Jesus,” Thiago said softly. “That makes you one of the most senior field
operatives in the Organization, doesn’t it?”
“Other than Mac? I suppose it does.”
“Mac?” Nikolaus questioned.
“Sir John McTiernan,” Bennett supplied.
“The Grey Ghost?” Everett asked keenly. “You know him?”
“He was my recruiter,” Bennett answered softly.
“Wow,” Nikolaus said almost to himself. He had never met Sir John
McTiernan, the man they referred to as Mac or the Grey Ghost or sometimes merely
Sir. But he had heard the stories about him. He’d earned the appellation the Grey Ghost in his early days. Nikolaus had never heard why, and now it was used to put the fear of God into the new recruits. Like folklore used to frighten small children into going to bed. For Shawn Bennett to actually know him was incredible.
“I’m based in North America for the most part,” Bennett continued with a
wry smile. “America and a little of Canada. They tend to think I’m Irish,” he added with a private, disgruntled sneer.
There was a short silence in which each man was surely thinking about the
Grey Ghost and being even more intimidated by Shawn Bennett, but Nikolaus finally took a deep breath and offered his own information.
“Born in Berlin, Germany. 1980,” he said with a nod at Remy Bergeron.
They were the babies, so to speak, and Nikolaus felt a certain kinship with the other young man. Remy smiled and nodded back in acknowledgement. “Recruited in 2003.
Based in Germany. Should I go into my duties?”
“Nah,” Travers answered with a wave of his hand. “You do all the shit the
rest of us don’t understand. That’s all we need to know.” The others murmured in
agreement, and Nikolaus smiled. At least they seemed to respect his abilities. Most operatives didn’t appreciate the intricacies of communications and the gadgets he worked with.
“I was born in Auckland, New Zealand. 1975,” Travers offered as he looked
around. “Recruited in ’97. My home turf is Russia mostly. I get sent into Europe and the Pacific regularly. I’m the man you call when you can’t kill someone easily.”
“You’re the Specialist, yeah?” Remy said in a low voice. “The assassin?”
“That’s right,” Travers responded with a hint of pride. Remy gave him a nod
and Nikolaus looked at Carl Travers carefully. He looked more frightening now than
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he had five minutes ago. Knowing that a man could kill you without batting an eye or breaking a sweat was a bit unnerving.
“I was born in Buenos Aires in 1967,” Thiago offered after a moment of
silence. “Recruited in 1992. I suppose that makes me the old man of the group,” he added with a smile. Nikolaus thought perhaps he could like the man after all, now that he seemed to be growing more comfortable with them. He really did have quite an
endearing manner about him when he relaxed.
“Nothing wrong with being old,” Bennett practically growled. Nikolaus
caught a glare shot toward Remy and saw the younger man snap his mouth shut and
look at Bennett innocently.
“Most of my territory is in South America. Spain, sometimes. Argentina
mostly, though,” Thiago added. Nikolaus allowed himself to admire the almost
complete lack of Thiago’s accent. He supposed a Class One field operative had to
lose their accent at times. Even Remy Bergeron’s less noticeable Cajun accent,
Nikolaus had noticed, would disappear here and there.
“I was born in Sydney, 1970,” Brandt Everett offered after another moment
of silence. “Recruited in ’94. Territory is Asia mostly, out of Australia. You all know what Class Seven does?”
“You blow shit up,” Travers supplied in a long-suffering voice that drew
snickers from the rest of the group.
“All kinds of shit,” Everett growled with relish, the gleam returning to his
eyes in full force.
There was an uncomfortable silence in which it seemed even the fire was
afraid to crackle. Then Remy cleared his throat, and Nikolaus was of the opinion that the as-of-yet unflappable young man was perhaps uncomfortable for the first time.
“Is Brandt your real name?” he asked the Australian, and Everett looked up
at him and nodded with a smile. “It means firebrand, non?” Everett nodded again and Remy smirked. “Was it the chicken or the egg, then?” he asked, producing a bark of a laugh from the big man but no answer.
“Mais, jamais d’la vie,” Remy muttered in amusement. “I was born in Bayou
Lafourche, Louisiana. 1981,” he went on curtly, suddenly all business once more.
Nikolaus was a little surprised to learn his age. Remy was less than a year younger than he was. His accent changed suddenly, and his voice softened until he sounded like the perfectly stoned surfer dude. “Working in North America, mostly the lower 48. Recruited…,” he hesitated, and his voice was once again the drawling, easy Cajun accent when he spoke. “Recruited in the summer of ’97.”
“You were sixteen?” Travers exclaimed after a moment’s calculation.
“Oui.”
“Remy has special talents,” Bennett informed them with a small grin.
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“Meaning?” Thiago asked curiously.
“I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough,” Bennett said with an enigmatic grin.
V.
SHAWN’S words echoed through Brandt Everett’s head like a pebble tumbling down
a never-ending chasm.
Special talents, eh? That could be fun.
With Remy’s spot on the hearth vacated, Brandt’s gaze was drawn back to
the flames, and the rest of the conversation that consisted mostly of Nikolaus asking about Class One duties faded into background noise as the hissing and spitting of the flames called to him like a siren’s sweet song.
Brandt enjoyed demolition. He enjoyed having the power to control th
e fate
of anything within the blast radius. He enjoyed putting his special talents to work and creating chaos and destruction.
He knew what the others thought of him. They thought him mad.
Well, perhaps they were right.
Brandt was mad. Well and truly mad. Gleefully, joyously, certifiably,
insanely mad.
But he wasn’t stupid. Only rarely did he well and truly lose himself to the
madness. Being thought mad had the advantage of making people wary of you, while
at the same time causing them to underestimate you. Brandt’s madness was
controllable, and it had always served him well in the past.
He shook his head and blinked away the image of the flames as he realized
that he was zoning out once more.
He returned his attention to Nikolaus and focused his still slightly glazed
eyes on the other man. Nikolaus’s eyes met Brandt’s, and his words ground to a halt.
“What were you saying?” Brandt asked him, and the man snapped his
gaping jaw closed and cleared his throat.
“I was asking about the other Classes,” he answered as Remy moved
discreetly to sit once more on the hearth in front of the fire. “I don’t really know much about them.”
“Ah. Well, Sevens blow shit up,” Brandt offered with a wink.
“As previously established,” Carl muttered.
“Do you sleep with a stick of dynamite?” Remy asked in amusement.
“Dynamite would tend to confuse me in bed,” Brandt answered seriously.
The others shared puzzled looks, but Remy lifted an eyebrow in interest and inclined
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his chin challengingly.
Yes. The young man was definitely driving on the wrong side of the road.
“Class Ten is a glorified computer tech. Communications, gadgets and what
have you,” Nikolaus provided self-deprecatingly, though Brandt could hear the pride beneath the words.
Could poke fun at himself while still having pride in what he did. Brandt
liked Nikolaus.
“Has anyone ever met a nine?” Nikolaus asked curiously after several