The Agency

by Shawn Oetzel

  “Hey, Steven. I see you still haven’t got around to updating the décor.”

  “Well, you know how it is, you have to stick with what works,” the translator said. “Who is this you have with you?”

  “This is Agent Amy Sommers. You will be working with her from here on out. I am just along for the ride this time.”

  “Nice to meet you, Agent Sommers. Why don’t you and Agent Blackburn join me in my office?”

  Knowing she could not pass up the opportunity, she turned to Blackburn, steepled her fingers, and with her best Mr. Burns imitation said, “Excellent.”

  Reggie bellowed out a loud guffaw. If the old guy heard or even noticed the laughter, he never let on or acknowledged it. He simply continued on his merry way down the short hallway, which was also covered in the same dingy brown carpet as the lobby. They were accompanied by the same musty aroma as well.

  The translator’s office was larger than the lobby and definitely more modern. Every wall was covered floor to ceiling with bookshelves, filled to capacity. Jackson’s desk was a glossy black lacquer, featuring a liquid crystal computer monitor on the left, and a plasma screen television on the right. From the looks of it, Steven Jackson had his own personal media center from which he could complete his translation projects.

  Amy and Reggie each took a seat without waiting to be invited, ready to get down to business.

  “Well, let’s have a look at it,” the translator said once everyone was seated.

  Amy gently laid the Halliburton on the desk. After releasing the catches, she lifted the lid, and spun the metal case around and nudged it across the desk.

  Jackson gently removed the plastic-sealed document. With the care the old guy was using, it looked to her as if he was handling a delicate piece of priceless china. Jackson briefly gazed at the map as if trying to get a feel for it, before putting on a pair of bifocal glasses. A look of determined interest was clearly marked on the old guy’s face.

  “What do you think?” she asked. “Do you recognize the language?”

  “Yes and no,” Jackson said. “I am pretty sure this is some form of Gaelic, which I am sure the Agency had already surmised, but it is no form that I have ever seen. It’s almost as if this was written in some kind of Gaelic code.”

  “Can you decipher it?” Reggie asked.

  Jackson thought it over, his curiosity obviously piqued. “It’s going to take some time,” he finally said.

  “This is kind of a rush job, Steven,” Reggie said.

  “Yeah,” Amy said, wanting her opinion to be heard as well. “This investigation has already been stalled long enough. I can’t really proceed until I know what the map says, and I can’t afford to sit back and wait for very long.”

  “I’m not so sure it is a map, even though there are some kinds of areas marked,” Jackson said.

  “If it’s not a map, then what is it?” she asked.

  “I don’t know yet,” Jackson said, emphasizing the word yet. “Give me twenty-four hours, and I should be able to get some results and tell you more.”

  Amy looked at Reggie, who nodded. She was not happy about having to wait, but as things stood, she did not have much choice. Besides, she had already waited somewhere in the neighborhood of three months to finally get working on a case again; what was one more day?

  Even if the next twenty-four hours will feel like an eternity, she thought.

  “Okay then, Steven,” Reggie said, interrupting her private one-woman pity party. “One of us will be in touch with you tomorrow morning.”

  They exited the Capital Translation Services, and stepped back into the cool crisp Washington D.C. air. She could see her breath roll out of her mouth in small puffs of wispy mist, which quickly vanished.

  “You wanna go grab a bite?” Reggie asked, fishing through his pockets looking for the car keys.

  “Throw in a beer and you got yourself a deal.”

  “Finally, a woman after my own heart.”

  “Slow down there, big fella. I may be cheap, but I’m not easy.”

  “Yeah, Sommers, I know, but I’m too hungry to care,” Reggie said. He unlocked the car and they both got in.

  Amy’s stomach rumbled loudly as they pulled into traffic. “Better hurry, Reggie, the beast is growling,” she said.

  Across the street from the Capital Translation Services at a family diner, sipping coffee, sat the Ghost. He watched through the large front window as the two agents drove away.

  The internationally-feared assassin took special note of the fact that the silver case the cute female agent had carried upon her arrival was not with her upon exiting.

  So, the translator has the map. It was exactly what he had hoped for. Once again, all going perfectly according to plan.

  The Agency was incredibly predictable in their methods for those who paid attention, especially to one who knew them so well. It was really a no-brainer for him to come to Capital Translation Services almost as soon as he’d arrived in the country. Steven Jackson was among the best; the Ghost had once used the vaunted translator’s services himself, in what now seemed a lifetime ago.

  His vigilance in staking the place out paid off almost immediately. Much better, in fact, than attempting to scope out the Agency headquarters. And who had shown up, with his pretty little sidekick? None other than Agent Reggie Blackburn in the flesh.

  Seeing Blackburn in person after all the time which had passed was a shock to his system. Part of him wanted to walk out of the restaurant, draw the silver-plated .45 resting comfortably in his shoulder holster, and blow away his fat nemesis in cold blood right there on the street for the whole world to see.

  He could do it too, then easily blend in with the surroundings, casually slipping away unnoticed. But he needed Blackburn alive for a little while longer, to lead him to the sword as a fall back plan if all else failed. Once the heralded blade was in his hands though, Blackburn’s life would be forfeit. That was going to be a special moment indeed; one he looked forward to with eager anticipation akin to a child waiting for Christmas morning.

  He was a patient man, however. In his business, one had to have patience in abundance, and be able to wait for the ideal moment to strike. If frustration somehow found its way into his psyche and took hold, it could prove extremely costly. As the Ghost, he knew this, and so Blackburn would be allowed to live… for now, at least.

  His objective now was the retrieval of the map. If the Agency was bringing the translator into their investigation, it must be more troublesome and cryptic than first imagined.

  He took another sip of the greasy spoon’s wretched excuse for coffee, thinking he should do a service to the community and dispose of the cook who brewed such garbage out of principle. And the fools had the audacity to advertise they served the best cup of coffee in Washington D.C.? The brownish liquid was little more than dirty lukewarm water with a few grounds floating around in it. Even the most warped sense of propriety said he would be justified in executing whoever had come up with the fabricated boast.

  His gold Rolex watch informed him it was getting late. Motion from across the street caught his attention. An old man carrying a sliver Halliburton metal case exited the building of Capital Translation Services, and began walking up the street. The sight of him brought a feral grin to the Ghost’s face.

  He removed a couple of bills from his money clip and nonchalantly tossed then onto the table. He slipped his long black coat on over his shoulders, and walked out into the winter. afternoon.

  The eerie feral grin stayed etched on his face. As the Ghost, he had a knack for putting people in a position where they could not tell him no, and felt compelled to offer up any information he required.

  It was time to pay a visit to an old acquaintance, and enlist Jackson’s services whether the old man wished to provide them or not.

  —Chapter 7

  The lunch with Blackburn ended up being more like an early dinner, as it took them longer than expected to come to a
n agreement on a place to eat. Once they settled on grabbing a steak at Jimmy’s, a local bar and grill, they then spent the majority of the meal discussing some of the stranger nuances of the investigation.

  Amy also forced Blackburn to sit through more than a fair share of complaints. She figured he deserved it, and having to listen to her was his penance for her suffering the Agency’s idea of training for as long as she did.

  By the time they finished eating, and drinking more beer than she initially intended, the sun was going down, dropping the outside temperature from barely tolerable to downright cold. Winter was not yet in full swing, but with the snow already on the ground, and the near freezing chill, one would have never known.

  The evening traffic was not as bad compared to the gridlock at lunchtime. With Reggie driving, they made pretty good time, and before long, they were pulling up in front of her apartment building. The sun had completely set, and despite the street lights, her block was encased in darkness and the street deserted, as if her neighbors and any late stragglers had settled down comfortably in their warm homes.

  A pang of loneliness settled in the pit of her stomach. Excited though she was about finally having an investigation of her own, it was disheartening knowing she did not have anyone waiting at home to share her good news with. It was a situation she would have to get used to, however. Being in the employ of the Agency did not leave much time for a personal life.

  She glanced over at Reggie, momentarily considering asking him up for another beer so she would at least have someone to talk to. She quickly dismissed the notion as selfish. It had been a long and busy day for Reggie as well, and she was sure he wanted nothing more than to go home and relax himself.

  “So, what’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” she asked.

  “I will get hold of Jackson early tomorrow to see if he has made any headway. I’ll call you after that, and we’ll just have to go from there,” Reggie said.

  “Sounds like a plan. Talk to you in the morning then.”

  “Have a good night, Sommers.”

  “You too,” she said as she opened the car door.

  The cold wind hit her directly in the face. She was not prepared for the blast of frigid air, and it stole her breath. After finally sucking in a lung full of cold air, she readjusted the collar of her coat. Then, with a final wave at Blackburn, she turned and marched up the steps.

  She looked over her shoulder at the sedan’s red tail lights disappear onto the cross street. Once again, she felt the sting of being alone.

  She fished her keys out of her coat pocket, a harder task than she thought due to her fingers having gone numb. With her head still buzzing from the multiple beers she and Reggie drank, she was looking forward to kicking back in her apartment, and let herself into the building.

  The building’s interior was tastefully decorated in an elegant Victorian style, and even more importantly in her estimation, it was warm. The Agency had helped set her up in this place. She often wondered how many other agents might be sharing this complex with her. So far she had not recognized any of the neighbors, but then, met very few employees at the actual Agency as well. No doubt, discouraging employees in general from having much contact with each other helped the Agency maintain its vaunted secrecy.

  She walked past the two Victorian sitting chairs in the lobby without a second glance. The only chair she was interested in at this point was the soft, well worn, broken-in recliner waiting for her upstairs. It might be a little on the ancient side, but she loved it. Heck, it was almost as comfortable as her bed. She’d spent many a night curled up in the chair’s welcoming arms rather than sleeping in her room.

  Exhaustion finally took hold of her as she exited the elevator on the third floor. It had been an emotional roller coaster ride of a day, from the low of having to suffer through another session of absurd training, to the high of finding out she was being given an investigation, then back to a more minor low of having the investigation stall until the translator could work on the map, she had experienced a week’s worth of emotion since morning. She was definitely ready to unwind.

  She was so tired; the keys looked like one big blurry metal blob. After a couple of tries, she managed to find the correct one. Without any more delays, she slipped the key into the door knob, and let herself in to 310.

  A small stream of yellowish light slipping through the blinds in her living room from a streetlight down below, and bathed the interior in an eerie, almost ghoulish, glow. She moved to turn on an end table lamp when her police instincts kicked in and she paused. Something was not quite right. She could not put her finger on what it was, but something definitely felt out of place. In her tired state, she had nearly missed it, but now her senses were on full alert.

  An unusual thickness in the air made her breathing labored and sluggish. As she continued moving more slowly towards the lamp, she inched her hand to unzip her coat, thinking to free her sidearm from the shoulder holster located under her blazer.

  The hair on the back of her neck stood. The deathly silence only added to the oppressive weight in her chest. It was like the air was turning into water, and she was drowning in it. If she did not get her labored breathing under control, she was in danger of hyperventilating.

  It was not that she was afraid; as a cop she had been in similar situations before. But what was going on in her apartment was causing a negative reaction within her body.

  She knew she was not alone.

  She managed to get her coat unzipped, hoping it appeared casual. She took a quick glance around but everything seemed in order.

  Still, the premonition or sixth sense or whatever sent up warning flares one after another. Someone was here, watching her. She could feel it all the way down into her bones as sure as she could feel her gun against her ribs.

  She hesitated before turning on the lamp, wanting to make sure she had a solid grip on her gun first. Brightness flooded the living room. Her vision dropped to nil as yellow spots danced in front of her eyes, but she drew the weapon, dropped to one knee and aimed in the vicinity of the still-darkened kitchen.

  “Bravo, Agent Sommers,” an English accented voice said from the darkness. “But I do not think you will be needing your weapon.”

  The blurry image of a tall form gradually came into focus. She kept her gun leveled on the intruder despite his comment to the contrary.

  “I don’t know who the hell you are or how you got in here, but if you take one more step, I’m going to pull this trigger, spray some serious lead, and definitely lose my security deposit,” she said.

  “I promise you, I will be good. I do not believe you will be needing to spray anything.”

  Her eyes adjusted enough to give her a better look at the stranger.

  He did not look like much of a burglar, or any other type of criminal for that matter. He was tall, lean though not skinny, in good shape. The way he carried himself spoke of an underlying strength and definite confidence. She did not sense any immediate threat coming from him. In fact, he seemed as comfortable as if he were a regularly invited guest, making himself at home. This annoyed her, tempting her to shoot him even more, if for no other reason than to knock the smug look off his face. That he used her name like an associate was another reason for her instant dislike.

  He had short hair, combed forward in much the same style George Clooney had made so popular a few years back. It was sprinkled with gray, as were his mustache and goatee giving them a salt and pepper look. If pressed, she would have put him in his late forties or early fifties.

  He was dressed in a well tailored and obviously expensive suit. It was navy blue in color, and truth be told, he wore it well. His crisp white shirt and blood red tie stood out. His eyes, black like a shark’s eyes, were the most striking thing about him. His gaze was piercing and unnerving, as if he could look through her all the way down to the pit of her soul. They were old eyes as well, like he had seen far more years than his age let on. A shiver actually ran up an
d down her spine.

  He was smiling at her, revealing perfect white teeth. His demeanor seemed friendly enough, like the amicable British gentleman sort, but there was an aura of dangerous power emanating from him. What she did not know at the moment was whether or not he was a danger to her.

  If he’d been there to rob her, he could have picked the place clean and been gone before she ever arrived. He did not look like he was hurting for money, and she had little worth stealing anyway. She also did not get the vibe he was there to attack her in any sort of physical manner.

  She lowered her sidearm, letting it rest against her leg, but kept her finger on the trigger however in case the guy decided to do something stupid. This whole thing was starting to take on a surreal feel. .

  “Well, I guess that is a start,” the stranger said.

  “All right, I’ll play along, but don’t think for a minute I won’t put a few holes in that nice suit of yours if I decide it’s necessary,” she said, trying to sound confidant. “Now tell me who you are, and what you’re doing in my apartment before I get an itchy trigger finger.”

  He grinned at her in amusement. It was nice to know she was providing him with some entertainment. Under different circumstances, she would have punched him square in the jaw. His obvious comfort with the whole situation was grating on her nerves as it was.

  “Yes, of course. Where are my manners? I am Emrys Myrddin Ambrosious, and I am at your service.”

  “Wow, that’s quite a mouthful.” she said. “And I don’t remember ever having asked for your service.”

  “It’s mostly Welsh.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” she said sarcastically. “So Mr. Ambrosious, just what the hell are you doing in my home?”

  “Didn’t they tell you I was coming?”

  She stared at him, not sure how to respond. She felt like she was in the middle of one of those stupid reality shows where people play tricks on one another. She half expected to see Ashton Kutcher come running out at any minute.

  “I am sorry if my being here startled you,” he continued, “but I am to be your partner in the investigation of the sword Excalibur.”