The Agency

by Shawn Oetzel

  “As I was saying, the Ghost, Granderson, worked successfully with the Agency for the better part of a decade. There were no outward signs of his intentions during that time. One day, he was assigned a case, and he never returned.” The Director paused as if deciding how much more he should say.

  “What kind of case was it?” Ambrosius surprised her by asking.

  In her opinion, if it was pertinent, then she and Ambrosius needed to know everything, but she also knew this was not how the Agency operated. It was built on secrets, and those who were the keepers of those secrets, like Director Smith, would not have an easy time giving anything away. He must have decided in their favor, because he went on.

  “The actual case was not as major as many of the cases we handle. Granderson was assigned to go to Mexico and inspect an archaeological site which had recently been unearthed. There were some rumors circling about a few of the artifacts. His job was to inspect the objects, and if any turned out to be anything other than what they were supposed to be, he was to bring them back to the Agency for research and safe storage. Like I mentioned earlier, he never returned.”

  “What about the artifacts?” Sommers asked. “What happened with them?”

  She felt her face get warm and knew her cheeks were turning red when the Director smiled and nodded his approval. Being accepted by Director Smith was important to her. The man simply radiated an aura, and she could not help but be swept up in its wake.

  “The artifacts turned out to be quite normal. Except for one, which, coincidently, also disappeared. It is this item, a gold bracelet, which we believe allows Granderson to do the things he has done.”

  “You said this Granderson is probably the most dangerous man in the world. Why is that?” Ambrosius asked. “Does it have something to do with this bracelet?”

  “Yeah, and what is this about him being an assassin?” Sommers asked.

  “According to an Aztec text also found at the site, the bracelet was a gift from Mixcoatl, a god of the hunt. It supposedly gives the wearer the ability to blend into any environment, making them virtually invisible. Within six months of Granderson’s disappearance, there were a couple of high profile assassinations pulled off. One was a Russian mafia leader in Moscow and the other was a Saudi oil tycoon. Both of these men were murdered right under the noses of some of the best security money could buy. There was no evidence of the killer. It was as if he was able to walk through walls; hence the nickname the Ghost.”

  “So let me get this straight,” she said, trying to put all the pieces together. “This Granderson steals a magic Aztec bracelet, disappears from the Agency, and then opens up his own little murder for hire business?”

  “That about sums it up pretty succinctly, Agent Sommers,” the Director said.

  “So what did the Agency do about all this?” she asked, but before Director Smith could answer, the door to the conference room opened

  “They sent me to find and bring Granderson in,” said Reggie Blackburn.

  “Reggie!” She was about to barrage him with questions, but he held up his hand to stop her before she could get started.

  “I was able to handle everything with the local authorities,” Blackburn said, but she knew it was more for the Director than for her or Ambrosius. “We won’t have an official cause of death for another twenty-four hours, but from the look of it, Jackson had some kind of heart failure. The old guy took a pretty good beating before he died, though. If I had to guess, I would say he was tortured. There was no sign of the document either. Whoever killed Jackson took it with them.”

  “I think we both know who killed Mr. Jackson,” the Director said, a grave tone in his voice. All of a sudden, it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. The tension level rose by the second, and if it continued to increase, they would need the proverbial knife to cut their way free.

  “So what happened when you went after the Ghost, Reggie?” she asked, trying to bring the stress down to a more manageable level. Unfortunately, her question had the opposite effect, especially on Reggie.

  “I chased after him across the globe for the better part of a year,” he said. “The killings continued every couple of months. I almost had him in Singapore, but that was as close as I ever got. After that, he dropped off the map. The killings stopped, and he seemingly vanished. I figured with the money he made, he probably retired somewhere secluded. Granderson always did have a thing for money.”

  “It would seem he has decided to become active again,” the Director said.

  “So, what does this all mean?” Sommers asked no one in particular, but it was Director Smith who answered.

  “It means you and Agent Ambrosius will be on the next flight to Boston. It means we have to find that sword.”

  She shared a look with Ambrosius, and saw fierce determination etched across his face. This got her own blood pumping. She felt re-energized, like a bloodhound with a fresh scent. She glanced at Reggie, but the look of concern he was leveling her way only fueled her desire to get moving even more.

  She slammed her palms down onto the shiny table top, and pushed herself to a standing position. After looking into the eyes of each of the others, she knew what she had to do.

  This was her case, but by solving it, she just might be able to lay to rest a personal demon from Reggie’s past. It was the least she could do after everything he had done for her. She was not about to let him down.

  “All right,” she said. “Let’s get to work.”

  —Chapter 12

  Once the meeting with Director Smith concluded, things began moving very quickly.

  Sommers and Ambrosius were assigned drivers to take them to their respective places to pack a few items, then deliver them to an airport, where a private Agency plane would fly them to Boston.

  It all happened at such a whirlwind’s pace, Amy did not have time to speak to Reggie. She wanted to grill him about this Ghost character. Instead, she had to watch helplessly as Director Smith whisked him away.

  “What just happened?” she asked no one in particular, left in the lobby with Ambrosius, still trying to get her head around the craziness this case had become.

  “Apparently we are going to Boston,” Ambrosius said.

  “Gee, thanks for enlightening me,” she said sarcastically. “I’m sure glad you’re here to fill in those all important blanks.”

  She could not help but smile when he leaned his head back and laughed. With all that had happened, it seemed the perfect response to sum up how she felt. She joined in, and soon both were giggling like junior high school girls talking on the phone.

  The receptionist’s voice pulled them out of their moment of mirth. “Your cars are ready.”

  Not only did the elevator begin moving without her telling it where to go, the ride back up did not take as long as their earlier descent. It only strengthened her theory that the whole contraption was a well orchestrated ruse to keep agents from becoming too familiar with the inner workings of the Agency.

  Two black sedans were waiting for them in the parking garage. As she and Ambrosius exited the elevator, the driver of each car got out of their respective vehicle, and opened the rear driver’s side door for their passengers. Their movements were so synchronized, they might have spent countless hours practicing the routine.

  “Agent Sommers,” Ambrosius said. “I will see you in a couple of hours.”

  “Sure thing,” she said. As he started walking to his ride, she called out, “Agent Ambrosius, don’t forget to bring your gun this time.”

  She smiled as he turned and fired off a salute in her general direction. The guy did seem to be loosening up. It would have been nice if Reggie could accompany her, but if he was going to be wrapped up handling the details from this end, then at least she would have someone. Ambrosius may have not been her first choice, but he appeared to be as dedicated to solving this case as she was, and that was all she could ask for.

  Thomas Granderson, the Ghost, sat comf
ortably in his window seat, waiting for take off. The document he had taken from Steven Jackson was secured in a leather attaché case resting on his lap. It was still a good fifteen minutes until departure, which would put him in New York some time in the early evening.

  He took a sip of the Jack Daniels whiskey the pretty flight attendant had brought. She had been receptive to his flattery, and he knew if he continued to lay on the charm, he would have a pleasant diversion before they landed.

  Even though everything was going according to his plan, there was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind, a tugging sensation trying to tell him something was not as it should be. Like a good hunter, he always listened to his instincts; they had never steered him wrong.

  Things had gone too smoothly. The death of the translator was the only blemish on this otherwise spotless mission. He had intended for the man to die, just not factored in the possibility of a heart attack doing his work for him. Perhaps that was the cause of this annoying sensation

  Had Jackson given up the city’s name entirely too easily?

  He finished off his whiskey in one final gulp. The potent drink helped clear his head. He leaned back and closed his eyes to mentally replay everything. Checking off every detail as he remembered them, he kept coming back to Jackson offering up New York City as the hidden location of the sword.

  Torture could be an effective tool when conducting an interrogation, but was often a long, drawn-out process. He had barely begun when Jackson blurted out the information. The man had started showing signs of a coronary within minutes of having his pinky finger removed. Was he so weak, or was he far craftier than the Ghost had given him credit for?

  The nagging in his head intensified, and then it hit him.

  Jackson had known he was dying. He knew what was happening to him, so why help his tormentor in his last few minutes of life? In a last act of defiance, the translator had tried to throw him off the correct path.

  Jackson spoon fed him false information, and in his own haste to beat Blackburn to the punch, he had eaten it up like a rich dessert. How could he have been such a fool?

  When the pretty flight attendant returned to ask if he wanted another drink, he was gathering his things.

  “Sorry, honey, maybe some other time,” he said, before exiting the plane.

  Amy wasted no time in packing her bags for the trip.

  She had no idea how long her stay in Boston would be. If fortune was favoring her, she could wrap things up and be back by tomorrow. She knew better than to be too optimistic, however, and so she packed accordingly.

  The time slipped by quicker than she anticipated. She was zipping up her carry on when the Halloween theme began chiming. “Your chariot awaits,” Blackburn said when she answered.

  “Did you get demoted?” she asked. “Or was Director Smith so impressed with my powers of observation that he recognized true investigative talent and decided only a senior agent was an acceptable choice to be my driver?”

  “Cut me some slack, Sommers. Are you ready to go or what?”

  “Yeah, I’m ready. I’m on my way down right now,” she said, feeling better now that she would have the opportunity to talk to Reggie.

  She grabbed her bags and hurried out. When she saw Reggie standing at the rear of the car, she had an overwhelming urge to hug him. She was so happy to see him; she did not even notice the chill in the air which had been following her all day.

  “You ready?” Blackburn asked.

  “Let’s do it,” she said, tossing her bags in the trunk and slamming it shut.

  “What can you tell me about this Granderson?” she asked, once they were on the way to the airport.

  Blackburn tensed up at the mere mention of the name. “He’s dangerous. And when I say dangerous, I mean the worst possible kind.”

  The seriousness in his tone left no doubt. She got the distinct impression he was actually scared for her, and this simple fact frightened her even more.

  “What’s the whole story here, Reggie?”

  “First of all, there has been no confirmation this is even Granderson we are dealing with. All we have are the scrawling of a dying man to go by. For all we know, Jackson could have been referring to something completely unrelated. I mean, jeez, the guy was in the throes of a major heart attack.”

  “You don’t really believe that though.” It was a statement of fact not a question. She noticed how he was gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were powder white. After a long pause, Blackburn confirmed her suspicion.

  “No, I don’t. This has Granderson’s stink all over it.”

  She could see the private airport up ahead, and knew their time for discussion was running out.

  “Look Reggie, whatever info you can offer here would be helpful,” she said.

  “Everything Director Smith and I have told you is true,” Blackburn said. “Granderson is a killer. Why he would be interested in something like this, I can’t say. But since he is obviously tied in with this case, it raises the bar. You watch your back in Boston, Sommers. Granderson won’t hesitate to kill you or anyone else to get what he wants. What happened to Jackson is only a small taste of what he is capable of.”

  She stared out the window blankly. She’d wanted to glean some valuable insight into who Granderson really was, but all she had gotten was a few dire warnings. Their conversation had left her feeling more frustrated than anything else.

  A large hangar came into view. It looked like a long white warehouse with a small office attached and a tower standing off behind. Sitting out in front was a strange looking little plane. She assumed this was to be her and Ambrosius’ ride.

  The plane was white with red striping, had a long yet stubby body with a pointed nose, and two sets of wings: a small set jutting off either side of the nose, and the more traditional pair sticking out from the sides. It was this larger set of wings which carried the twin engines. The whole thing had a very foreign look to it.

  “It’s a Piaggio P180 Avanti II twin-engine turboprop,” Blackburn said, like she was some sort of private plane aficionado and understood everything he had just said.

  “I guess this is the part where I am supposed to be impressed,” she said, smiling at the look that Blackburn leveled at her. “As long as it gets me to Boston in one piece, I really don’t care about the particulars.”

  Reggie did not respond. Usually he liked to play along, matching her sarcastic comment for sarcastic comment. When he did finally speak, the sound of the apologetic inflection in his voice caught her attention.

  “I have to be honest with you, Sommers. I tried to get you taken off this case. I did everything in my power to persuade Director Smith to hand it over to me.”

  She could not believe what she was hearing. She was so shocked she found she could not speak, which, for her, was a first. She never in a million years thought Reggie would betray her like this.

  “I can see by the look on your face you’re mad as hell at me,” Blackburn said. “You probably have a right to be. It’s not that I don’t think you can’t handle this. It’s just that Granderson is a mess the Agency should have cleaned up a long time ago. A mess I should have cleaned up. I don’t feel right having you get caught in the middle.”

  Hearing his words took some of the sting out of his confession, but only a little.

  “You’re just going to have to trust me, Reggie,” she said, feeling a bit like a child who just found out there was no such thing as the Easter Bunny.

  He removed a folded sheet of paper from his coat pocket and handed it to her.

  “This is the name and number of a college professor. I did some research, and this guy is supposed to be one of the foremost authorities on the Arthurian Legend. Maybe he can point you in the right direction once you get there.”

  She took the offered note, and put it in her own pocket without looking at it. She was still angry, and did not want him to see how appreciative she was of his gesture. He was still her best frien
d, and in all honesty, her only true friend at this stage of her life, but his betrayal had hurt her and she was not going to be quick in forgiving him. Another black sedan pulled into the parking lot next to theirs. Ambrosius got out, retrieved his bags from the trunk of his vehicle, and shot a questioning glance in her direction as if to ask if she was ready. He then began making his way to the awaiting plane.

  She was on the verge of following Ambrosius’ example when Reggie surprised her even further by reaching out and softly grabbing her hand. It looked so small compared to his massive paw.

  “I know you’re pissed, Sommers, but don’t let your anger cloud your judgment. If things take a bad turn in Boston, or just plain get crazy, don’t hesitate to call. If you need me, I’ll be there. Agency protocol can be damned.”

  Still upset, she was genuinely touched by his sentiment. She had never seen Reggie act like this.

  “Thanks, Reggie,” she said. Then, without another word, she exited the vehicle.

  She stood out in the crisp air and tried to get a handle on her emotions. She knew Blackburn was only trying to look out for her, but still, he had no right to go behind her back, to try and get her taken off the case especially knowing how hard she had worked.

  She grabbed her bags slinging them over her shoulder and slamming the trunk with more force than was necessary. It was her way of letting Reggie know things were still not right between them. A childish display, she knew, but she could not help herself. Without waiting to see if Reggie had even noticed, she headed towards the plane. “Are you all right?” Ambroisus asked as she drew closer.

  “I’m fine,” she answered. “Let’s just get this show on the road.”

  They boarded the plane together without any further ado.

  The image of Reggie sitting in the sedan holding her hand like a doting father was still burned into her head, and she feared it would haunt her for the remainder of the case. She had been so excited and grateful when he had told her she had been given the investigation, but all that excitement was gone. In its place, a strong sense of resentment was growing. She could only hope that seedling of harsh emotion would not take root and grow into something worse.