Deep Allegiance

by David Archer

  He came out of his reverie when he saw Donald’s wife and daughter approaching. Elaine, Donald’s daughter, had once been romantically involved with Moose Conway, a former team member who had given his life to protect Noah and Neil. Noah and Sarah still considered her a friend, so he prepared to express his condolences.

  “Mrs. Donaldson,” he said, “Elaine. I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

  Mrs. Donaldson gave him a sad smile and thanked him, but Elaine looked him in the eye.

  “It’s you, isn’t it? Allison is sending you after whoever did this, am I right?” Elaine had sufficient security clearance to know the answer, but Noah wasn’t certain about her mother. In the split second that he thought about that, he made a decision.

  “That’s correct,” he said softly.

  “In that case,” Elaine said, her eyes hard, “I want to ask a favor. I want to ask you to make sure that person suffers. Can you do that for me?”

  Noah nodded once. “I can, and I will.”

  Elaine looked at him for another couple of seconds, then turned and walked away without another word.

  * * *

  Returning to the house on the lake, especially after spending so much time at the estate in England, almost seemed nostalgic. The place on the lake was probably the only place in his entire life that he had actually thought of as home, and it was undoubtedly the place where he wanted to raise his child. Even if he did manage to get out of the assassination business, he knew that he would end up working with E & E in some way. It was certainly going to be a lot safer living near Neverland than anywhere else. Even the estate in England wasn’t nearly as secure as the little town of Kirtland, Colorado.

  He took his time wandering the premises with Sarah, re-familiarizing himself with it before turning to the task of calling in his team. The familiar, welcome surroundings gave him a sense of confidence as he sat down on the couch in the living room where they had spent so much time together. It was time to bring them together once more, and begin laying out the mission he was planning to avenge the assassination of Donald Jefferson.

  For the moment, all he could do was wait for one of the intelligence agencies to find them a lead. Then it would be time to act, and he intended to act swiftly, but for now, he sent the rest of the team back to their homes. They could rest and relax until it came time to put the plan into action.

  * * *

  Neil Blessing hung up his phone and swallowed the last of the coffee he’d made after the funeral. Naturally, Allison wanted Team Camelot to handle the situation, to deal with the man who had killed Mr. Jefferson; that was understandable. It wasn’t just because they were the best, but because she thought of Noah as more than just one of her agents, and the rest of the team was somehow included in that classification. They were family, not just employees, and that made Donald Jefferson something like their patriarch. If anyone was going to avenge his death, it should be the people closest to him.

  Jenny had decided to get a nap after the funeral, but even as he got up from the table to go and wake her, she stepped out of the bedroom. The look on her face told him that she was hoping the call he had taken would mean it was time to do something. Unlike himself, she was ready to get back out into the field; sitting around caused her anxiety to build up, and she needed the thrill of a kill to abate it.

  * * *

  Marco Turin kicked idly at the wrench next to his toe, shaking his head at the old Norton motorcycle he’d been working on the past few days. He had purchased it not long before their last trip to England, but hadn’t had time to work on it until now. The damage he’d hoped was minimal was looking more and more like it was terminal. The thought didn’t sit well with him. He had a hard time giving up on his toys.

  Hell, he had a hard time giving up on anything.

  Already his mind was spinning, considering what parts he had on hand and estimating the prices of the ones he’d need to find. He could strip the bike and rebuild it from the ground up, maybe even make some improvements over the original design. It would be a long project, but he could do it. He’d done it with the old Chevelle sitting behind his garage and the Mustang he’d bought with his first E & E paycheck. This was just another machine, even if it did have only two wheels. Marco loved working on old vehicles, and always had. It was one of several things he and Noah had in common.

  Besides, tinkering always helped in the weeks before they went out on another mission, and he really needed something to fill that time. At the moment, Marco needed something that would keep him busy, so he wouldn’t be thinking about what had happened to Noah his last time out.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the break times in between missions, but that last one had been the most terrible of all. They’d almost lost Noah forever, and that wasn’t something Marco could handle thinking about.

  E & E missions were different from the ones handled by other agencies or special forces groups. They were situations in which he could act, he could actively do something about a problem, which made it a lot different from the feeling of impotence he had while Noah was missing. On missions, Marco knew he could make a difference. Maybe not for himself, but for someone, he could make things better.

  But now they had lost Mr. Jefferson. The man had been one of the most important fixtures of E & E that anyone could remember, ever since the agency had been created. He had been Allison’s right-hand man, and his loss was going to be felt for a long time to come.

  “Nothing I can do about that, either,” he mumbled to himself. There was a bitterness in his voice that even he could hear.

  He stared at the broken motorcycle again, and started making a list of the parts he was going to need.

  The ringing of his phone was almost a relief, and he grabbed it quickly. He was even more pleased when he heard Noah’s voice on the other end of the line, telling him it was time to go back to work.

  He went into the house to clean up before telling Renée that they were going back out on a mission sooner than had been anticipated.

  * * *

  “Donald Jefferson.” Donald had held his hand out openly that day they first met, but Gary Mitchell had seen the wariness in his eyes. Wariness indicated secrecy, and an unwillingness or inability to trust others. In someone who was supposedly bringing funding to the project, the ability to keep a secret could be beneficial, but a lack of trust could cause problems.

  On the other hand, it was the weariness in Donald’s eyes that bothered Gary most. Wariness could give you an edge. Weariness, however, the kind of weariness Donald Jefferson was showing, was the kind that could cause you to make mistakes, slip up. It might have been a side effect of the wariness, but it was enough to make Gary a little nervous.

  Gary decided then and there that if he ever saw that look in the mirror, it would be time for him to give up the acting school. It had been his dream for a long time, but too much of anything wasn’t necessarily good, and could eventually lead to burnout.

  “Gary Mitchell,” he responded. He shook Jefferson’s hand firmly, but let hesitation and curiosity surface in his voice. “Do you get involved in backing student theater groups very often?” he asked skeptically. His passion was found in the plays his acting class liked to put on, and he hated the thought that somebody might not take it seriously. Gary was a teacher, and teaching was something he could never give up completely.

  “Not often,” Donald answered. “But yours are no ordinary students. I’ve never seen a play performed better.”

  There it was, thought Gary, the flattery. He smiled, ready to play along. “I can take you on a tour backstage, if you’d like.”

  “I’d like that,” said Donald. “As long as it’s convenient. I don’t want anything official.”

  If Jefferson wasn’t here on official business, then Gary had to wonder what this was really all about. “We don’t usually get very official around here, only when we take on anything by Shakespeare, I guess, so I think you’re safe. Come on, I’ll show you the set
s my kids have built.” Gary turned, walking up the steps to the stage.

  Gary had never heard of Donald Jefferson before; the call, offering funding that could take the class well into the next level, had come out of nowhere that morning. It seemed like something that was too good to be true, but Gary was not a man to look a gift horse in the mouth. If Jefferson really wanted to put up money, Gary had every intention of accepting it. If not…

  By the time he led Donald into the stage’s wings, pointing out the backstage props so Donald wouldn’t trip over them in the dark, the theater was mostly empty. Gary took a seat in one of the prop department’s cushioned chairs, and started pulling off the mustache and beard he’d applied for his small part in this particular play.

  Donald sat opposite, choosing the hard bench rather than the soft chair, and Gary waited. They were on Donald’s time, so it was up to him to open the conversation.

  “Gary.” Donald hesitated, dragging a thumb across his chin. “I’ve come to ask your help with something, and I think I can trust you.”

  The curiosity was obvious in Gary’s eyes. “I was under the impression, sir, that you were here to offer help rather than ask for it.”

  Jefferson smiled. “Perhaps I should say that I’ve come to ask if we can help one another. The funding I offered is yours, but I’m afraid there is a bit of a catch. It would involve you helping your government. Is that something you’d be willing to consider?”

  Gary looked at him for a moment, then let a smile slowly spread across his own face. “I would certainly be willing to listen to what you have in mind,” he said.

  “Gary?”

  Gary popped his head up toward his office door, trying to pretend he wasn’t lost in a reverie from three years earlier. “Mr. Lawson. I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you knock.”

  “Are you all right?” Wally Lawson asked. “You look like you’ve been here all night.”

  Gary closed the file he had been given about Donald Jefferson’s assassination and leaned back, rubbing his hands over his eyes. “I’m fine. I just got caught up in something. Not anything big, though. What can I do for you?”

  Wally opened the door wider and came in to lean on the desk. “Maybe that’s a question I should be asking. Is there anything I can help you with?”

  Gary shook his head, trying to clear the memory of Donald’s voice from his mind. Gary, I’ve come to ask your help with something, and I think I can trust you. “I’m afraid not, sir, just a personal matter.”

  “You’ve got to take care of yourself, Gary. You’re not always going to be a young man, you know. Someday you’ll be old like me.”

  “You’re not old, sir,” Gary said with a grin. “Was there something you needed?” He hoped Mr. Lawson didn’t dwell too much on the abrupt change of subject. Ever since he’d started working with E & E, the friendly R&D director had taken him under his wing, almost making him feel like part of his family. They even played on the R&D softball team together.

  “Actually, yes,” said Mr. Lawson, dropping a written phone message in front of him. “You got a call at the front desk. They tried to transfer it back, but you weren’t picking up your phone. It seemed urgent.”

  Gary opened the folded paper, and then he swallowed. The message was about the mission. He had been asked to assist Noah Wolf with Donald Jefferson’s assassination, going after the man who had killed him. The message told him to contact Noah ASAP; naturally, it was Team Camelot who would be going after Donald’s killer, and it looked like the time had come at last.

  He’d always wanted the chance to work with Noah. He hadn’t really expected it to actually happen, though; the man was the agency’s top field agent, and Gary wasn’t really any sort of agent at all. And he’d definitely not expected it to come on a mission like this.

  “Gary,” Wally said, “I know what this is about. Don’t worry, you’ll do fine.”

  “It’s not that I’m worried, not really,” he explained. “I just want to do the absolute best job I can, to help them get this done. Whatever they need, I’ll do it.”

  “Ah, yes,” Wally said. He dropped a hand on Gary’s shoulder. “As it happens, I know Noah pretty well. I have a feeling this might be a lot more than just helping them prepare.”

  Gary nodded, swallowing carefully again, noting the truth in the inventor’s words. He stood up, rubbing his hands over his face. “Thank you, sir, and I know that. I’d better get going. I don’t want to keep them waiting.”

  “Yes, that’s probably not a good idea,” Wally commented wryly. “Especially with a guy who could kill you without even a moment’s hesitation.”

  Gary shrugged that comment off, focusing now on other things. If he was going to be of use on this mission, it would be best if he didn’t look like walking death. He wondered if he would have time to run back to his place and grab a quick shower.

  Hell with it, he thought. What’s he going to do, kill me for being late?

  THREE

  Jenny and Neil showed up first, because they were living in the trailer that was just across the yard from Noah’s house. Neil had spotted it when he was first assigned to Noah’s team and had begged for the chance to rent it from him. Since he had no other use for it, Noah had agreed. Ever since Jenny had moved in with Neil, the two of them basically acted like the trailer was just another part of Noah’s house, rarely even bothering to knock before walking through the front door.

  Coming from their own homes inside Kirtland, Marco, Renée and Gary didn’t arrive for another half-hour, but the seven of them settled easily into a comfortable camaraderie. It would be Gary’s first time out in the field, but he was already confident that he could trust these people with his life.

  “First off,” Noah said, “Allison wants us to get moving as soon as we can, and we probably should handle most of our preparations while we are on the plane. I just want to go over a few things with you now, before we head out.”

  “I’m definitely ready,” Neil said. “Mr. Jefferson, he was, well, he was quite a guy.”

  “He was one of the best,” Gary said. There was a nostalgic look on his face as he spoke.

  “That he was,” Noah said. “And someone has taken him away from us. Donald Jefferson wasn’t a part of our team, but he was a part of our family, in a sense. In Team Camelot, we never leave anyone behind. We may not be able to bring him back, but we can certainly get him some kind of justice.”

  “So, what’s the stuff you wanted to talk about before we go?” Marco asked.

  “There is an assassin out there, Caleb Dawson. He’s working for an international criminal known only as Spear. No one knows who Spear is, so it’s our job to track him down and eliminate him. The plan is for us to begin by finding Mr. Dawson and getting close to him.”

  As a team, they spent the next few hours thinking up and detailing ideas and contingency plans. Noah watched them all closely as they worked, as always taking in the details of their personalities, their gestures and movements, even the way they spoke to each other. Every bit of interaction between them was filed away in his memory, giving him substantially more background data for the times when he needed to adjust his own public persona. Having no emotions, he found it necessary to emulate others in order to keep people from realizing that he was different. Studying those around him gave him many different personality traits he could draw from to create whatever persona he needed for the moment.

  The information he got from the process was invaluable. He had watched most of these people long enough to know which gestures or facial expressions might be the most important on their mission. He could even recognize which gestures indicated undue stress or exhaustion, which ones demonstrated a level of seriousness, or a cry for help. All of these things helped to make him the team leader that he was, even though they were simply things he had learned to do without even thinking about it.

  He had long ago become accustomed to the way they appeared to balance each other, how a comment started by one woul
d be picked up by another. He saw the way they checked their strengths and weaknesses against each other, holding nothing back, ensuring they would know where they might need to fill in the possible cracks between their skills, attempting to ensure no mistakes might cause the mission to fail. They had worked together, all but Gary, for a little over two and a half years, now. Renée was the newest member of the team, but she seemed to fit in as if she had always been there.

  Noah made other, less technical observations as well, filing away some of the information in a less conscious manner. Neil had a wide, honest grin and very serious eyes. Jenny moved like a dancer and had a quiet laugh, even though she was one of the most deadly killers Noah had ever known. Marco’s mildly noticeable Cajun accent was coming out, while Gary’s softer, yet no less distinctive Mid-Atlantic accent did not stand out the way it might.

  He stood in the doorway, watching his team interact. He thought that Jefferson would have been quite proud that it was they who would be setting out to avenge his death.

  Noah closed his eyes as his thoughts wandered back to Donald. Already Donald’s funeral was beginning to feel like it had happened a year ago, but the determination it provoked in him was even stronger than usual. He was going to get Dawson, and he was going to get Spear, as well. Failure was simply not an option.

  “What about equipment?” Neil asked. “I’ll need a few things to help pull this off.”

  “I had Wally put together everything he could think of,” Noah replied. “If you have things to add, call him now. He’ll make sure it’s all waiting for us at the airport. Meanwhile, I want you to all get some rest. We fly out tomorrow morning at four a.m.”

  The others all agreed quickly and got ready to go home. A few minutes later, Noah and Sarah were alone together.

  “I’m going to go crazy the whole time you’re gone,” Sarah said. “I know you’re not supposed to call home when you’re on a mission, but try when you get a chance, please?”