The Agency

by Shawn Oetzel

  “That is quite a tale,” she said, when it was clear the Professor had nothing more to add.

  “Tell me about it. I spent the better part of the night piecing it together.”

  From the dark circles under his eyes, she believed him. She looked over at Ambrosius, but he was deep in thought. No doubt mulling over all that they had just heard. It was quite a story, but it did answer the question of how Excalibur might have come to be in the U.S.

  “Well that does seem to all add up,” she said.

  “Yes, but it still does not help us in regards as to where Excalibur is now,” Ambrosius said.

  “I do have some theories as to that,” the professor said.

  “It would have to be someplace that can be dated back to the Revolutionary War era. We know it’s not sitting in a museum somewhere.”

  “Huh, Revolutionary War era,” she said, her voice loaded with sarcasm. “How many of those are there in Boston? Hundreds?”

  “Not as many as you might think,” he said, ignoring her sarcastic tone. “I think we should start our search with churches, especially some of the Catholic ones. Many of them date back to the 1700’s.”

  “How do we know this marine officer didn’t keep Excalibur after the war, and it’s now sitting in a trunk in the attic of his great-grandson however many times removed as some lost family heirloom?” Ambrosius asked.

  “I don’t believe that would have happened. For one, at the very least, Benjamin Franklin knew what the sword was, and I am guessing so did the rest of the Founding Fathers. They would not have allowed such a weapon to be lost. They would have kept it in case it would be needed again. Why they decided on Boston as the place to keep the sword, I don’t know, but it would be someplace where it could be safe and private.”

  It made sense to Sommers, but did little to help them actually find the sword. Something else he’d said finally sank in.

  “What is all this ‘we’ talk?” she asked, already knowing what the answer was going to be.

  “Come on, Agent Sommers, if there is even a remote possibility Excalibur is real, I have to see it. I have spent my entire professional life studying Arthur and his legends. You have to let me be a part of this.”

  “Absolutely not. That is out of the question, Professor,” she said. She could sympathize with Foshay, but there was no way the Agency would agree to letting a civilian tag along.

  “Agent Sommers, let’s be reasonable here. You need me,” the professor said. She could hear the pleading in his voice. In a few minutes she would not be surprised if he dropped to his knees and begged.

  “Why is that Professor?” she asked.

  “I know Boston. I grew up here. At the very least, I could be your guide.”

  In reality, he made a good point. It would be helpful to have someone lead them around the city. It would definitely save them time, and that could prove to be invaluable. But there was also the matter of the Ghost to consider.

  “Professor Foshay, I understand your desire to want to be a part of this investigation, but this is a FBI matter. I cannot accept responsibility for your safety,” she said, hoping that by hinting at a possible danger, he would be discouraged. Her warning fell on deaf ears.

  “I accept any and all risk involved, Agent Sommers. This is a chance of a lifetime for me. I have to take it.” He put the full focus of his eyes on her. She felt the pulling at her heart strings increase, and the walls of rejecting his wish crumbled.

  She looked over at Ambrosius for support, but he was no help. He merely returned her look and shrugged. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, but it could also save us time.”

  “There you go, Agent Sommers. It’s two to one,” Foshay said, and she could tell he was clinging to Ambrosius’ statement like a lifeline.

  “That may be, but as lead Agent my vote is the only one that counts,” she said. “I can’t believe I am agreeing to this, but get your coat, Professor. We’ve got a sword to find.”

  —Chapter 19

  Reggie Blackburn had driven straight through the night, making stops only to fill up on gas and caffeine. He was exhausted beyond his endurance due to the lack of sleep and because of how the high level of energy his fear for Sommers’ safety was taxing his body.

  He had tried reaching her on her cell phone, but so far had only managed to get in touch with her answering service. His imagination was playing horrible tricks on him as to why she might not be able to pick up, but he knew with the Ghost around, nothing was too far-fetched.

  He could only hope he had beaten the crazed murderer to Boston, and could find and get to Sommers first. At the very least, he would be there to offer whatever protection he could against such a dangerous adversary. He had almost captured the Ghost once upon a time; maybe this time he could stop the assassin once and for all.

  Frustration mingled with fear was fraying what was left of his already shot nerves. If he had only acted sooner, he would not be in this hellish prison of his own making. If anything happened to Sommers, he would never be able to forgive himself. It would be his fault, and he would not be able to live with that kind of guilt.

  Sommers was tough. She would put up a nasty fight. She would lose, but she would not go down quietly. He held on to that thought. If he was not able to find her before the Ghost, he would have to count on her tenacity to hold out until he could arrive. Despite the pure terror he was feeling at the prospect of Sommers facing down the Ghost alone, he managed a smile thinking of the fight she had in her.

  If the Agency stuck to routine, Sommers and the British agent would have rooms at the Hilton on Broad Street. He had stayed there himself a couple of times while working cases in the Boston area.

  He gave his old blue sedan a little more gas, and it responded by speeding down the Interstate. He had to find her before the Ghost did. He just had to. It was no longer a question of losing his job; it was now a matter of losing his very soul if he failed to save her.

  The plane touched down on the runway of Logan Airport with the screeching of tires and a quick jolt, causing the Ghost to lurch forward in his seat. He barely noticed. His thoughts were too focused inward on the success of his current mission to be bothered by something as mundane as the landing of an airplane.

  He had slept soundly for almost the entire flight, and felt completely refreshed. He was ready to hit the pavement running, so to speak. The only major decision he needed to make was whether he wanted to locate the sword first, or make a social call to Blackburn’s attractive protégé. Both options appealed to him and he decided to think on it over a good breakfast.

  He glanced down at the black leather bag sitting on his lap. Inside was the now translated document detailing Excalibur’s whereabouts. This was his trump card, and what allowed him to be so nonchalant. He knew Blackburn was on his heels and might even already be in Boston. He seriously doubted it, but the fat fool had proven himself to be resourceful in the past.

  With no idea where to even begin to search for the sword, Blackburn would no doubt try and find the female Agent first, being the big Boy Scout he was. This would give the Ghost ample time to eat and plot out his next move. He could picture the look of pure heartbreak on Blackburn’s face when the fool of an agent realized he was too late to make any kind of a difference.

  This could prove to be an extremely profitable and lucrative excursion indeed. In one swoop, he would have eliminated the one true thorn in his side, gained possession of perhaps the most lauded magical sword in the entire history of such weapons, and earned an obscene amount of money from some two-bit terrorist group. He could not help but smile like the cat that had just eaten the canary.

  The pilot’s voice came through the loudspeaker, saying that he hoped everyone had enjoyed their flight. This was the signal for everyone to get up, gather their belongings along with their overhead luggage, and begin their exit from the plane, and the Ghost elbowed his way to the head of the line. Naturally, this caused a few dirty looks from his fellow first
class passengers, but he could care less. Had they known who they were glaring at, and known he was capable of reaching into his inside jacket pocket, removing the gold ink pen he always carried, and the gouging out the eyes of each disgruntled passenger, they would have all minded their own business. As it was, he let their disrespect slide. He had other matters to attend to, and far more important prey to hunt.

  With the recent snowfall, he decided on renting something with four wheel drive instead of a luxury car which he usually chose. After giving the rental car clerk at the desk one of his many credit cards featuring yet another one of his identities, he drove out of the airport and into the city of Boston in a comfortable blood red Trailblazer. It was not exactly his first choice of vehicles, but the color had sold him and so it would do.

  The rumbling in his stomach reminded him of how hungry he was. He decided on a well earned breakfast before his visit with Blackburn’s female friend. He would need all the energy he could get to carry out his macabre plans he had in store for her.

  His eyes shone with a light only pure malice could cause as he stepped on the gas pedal, speeding him on his way to a morning filled with a breakfast fit for royalty and murder.

  Only the loud vibrating sound and sensation of the sedan’s tires slipping onto the grated shoulder of the road snapped Reggie Blackburn back to alertness. He lost count how many times this happened, and resorted to slapping himself in the face as hard as he could to stay awake.

  Thankfully, the storm had petered out and the roads were clear. Not that it would have mattered if they were drifted over; he would have found a dog sled and team to get him to Sommers if that was what the situation called for. His friendship with her deserved no less.

  He let out a sigh of relief as his destination came into view. He was physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted, and seeing the hotel was like spotting the finishing line of a race after running a marathon. Of course, if Sommers had already left, then his journey would continue. Still, seeing the hotel felt good.

  He pulled into the parking spot closest to the main entrance, then sat and took a couple of deep breaths to clear away some of the fogginess which settled over his tired brain and collect himself before continuing. He knew he looked as disheveled as he felt, but his only thoughts were to the safety and well-being of Sommers.

  It was at that moment he noticed movement out his driver’s side window. His reaction time was sluggish due to his tired state of mind, but when he was finally able to get his eyes focused enough so his vision was no longer akin to looking through bathroom glass, he was stunned by what he saw. There, walking out of the hotel and moving towards a black Agency car, were Sommers and the Brit she was working the case with.

  A sense of utter relief flooded through his body, so intense he almost began to weep in release. The entire drive, after seeing the message left by the Ghost, he had feared the worst. It was that fear which had kept him going through the night. Finding himself here and seeing that Sommers was safe was emotionally overwhelming.

  Before he could get out of his car, she’d gotten into hers and pulled away. Reggie swore, fumbling the gear shift of his own car into reverse. Sommers turned right out of the parking lot and began accelerating down the street. He quickly backed out and hit the gas in an effort to catch up. He had not driven all night to get to Sommers only to lose her now.

  He followed her to Boston University, where she must have been following up on the lead concerning the literary professor he had given her. He smiled in spite of the tension he was experiencing. Sommers was nothing if not thorough when it came to an investigation.

  It took him a couple of trips around the small lot before he found a parking spot of his own. He was lucky enough on his second pass; a young woman exited the building and drove away, freeing up a space for him to pull into. He paused while the old blue sedan idled, unsure if he should go ahead and follow Sommers into the building or wait for her to exit. If he went in, it could potentially damage whatever interview she was conducting with the professor. Knowing Sommers like he did, he decided it would be better to wait. She was already not happy with him, and if he barged in on her now and ruined her chance of finding a new lead, he would more than likely find himself on the wrong end of her service revolver. This caused him to snort out a chuckle, even though he did not like sitting and twirling his thumbs out in the car while Sommers was potentially in danger. It was highly unlikely the Ghost would make an appearance and attempt something here at the University. It was not the assassin’s style. Still, he did not want to take any unnecessary chances. Until the Ghost was stopped, they all were at risk no matter where they were.

  After fifteen minutes of waiting, he was having a hard time staying awake. It was well over twenty-four hours since he had last slept, and it was finally catching up with him.

  “Maybe I should go in after her before I drift off into a coma.”

  He was seriously considering doing just that when the sound of another vehicle pulling into the parking lot caught his attention. He peered out the window at a black stretch limousine, which seemed out of place here at the University. It did not even bother trying to find an empty space, but slowed to a halt directly in front of the College of Arts and Sciences building’s entrance. No one got out. It gave Reggie a bad feeling. He did not think it was a coincidence that whoever was in the limo decided to show up at the same time Sommers was here.

  Reggie reached under his suit jacket into his shoulder holster, removed his weapon, and rested the firearm in his lap casually as he watched the limo. He could feel the coldness of the metal through his pants material.

  He’d barely noticed a silver Suburban cruising through the lot, even when it stopped in his row, effectively blocking him in. He’d barely noticed the two men exit the vehicle.

  But, when one of them knocked on the passenger’s side front window of his car, he noticed. The rapping startled him so that he raised the 9mm and almost fired at the man in mirrored sunglasses.

  The second man had apparently hung back, but now moved to the driver’s side. Reggie, seeing that he was basically surrounded, lowered the gun, but made no move to either exit his car or roll down any of the windows. Whoever these guys were, he did not plan on making things easy for them.

  By their dress and demeanor, he was reminded of the Secret Service Agents he sometimes had dealings with. Both of the men wore expensive navy blue suits with matching overcoats. They both also sported military style haircuts as well as mirrored glasses which effectively hid their eyes. If they’d had earpieces and talked into their cuffs, he would have thought the President was nearby. As it was, he guessed they were some sort of private security force hired by whoever was in the limo.

  Neither one was brandishing any kind of a weapon, but that did not mean they were not armed. If it came down to it, Reggie was pretty sure he could take both men out before they would be able to get to him, but from the way they just stood there waiting for him, he did not think it would come to that.

  After a few more seconds of no one wanting to take the initiative to make the next step, he decided enough was enough. Still keeping a tight grip on his firearm, he pushed the button on the control panel built into the armrest of the driver’s side door and waited as the window slowly descended. A blast of cold air rushed in and nearly stole his breath.

  “Can I help you guys?” he asked.

  The one by the driver’s side door bent over. Reggie stared at his own image reflected in the man’s sunglasses.

  “Agent Reggie Blackburn.” It was more a statement of fact rather than a query. “Would you please come with us?”

  “I don’t know what this is all about, but I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

  “Sir, it is very important we speak with you. We know Agent Amy Sommers is inside, and once she exits the building, we will be asking her to join us as well.”

  “What is this all about, and who are you?” he asked when they failed to identify themselves. />
  “I know this is somewhat unconventional, Agent Blackburn, but it is very important you trust and come with us. We have information which could prove extremely beneficial to you and Agent Sommers. Please trust us on this.”

  He did not know why, but something about the man, the way he spoke and his whole very proper attitude, made Reggie inclined to believe him. Even though he had been given next to nothing in the way of an explanation in who his visitors were and how they seemed to know so much about him and Sommers, for some reason he did trust them.

  “What the hell,” he said, re-holstering his sidearm. “But this better be good.”

  “Trust me, Agent Blackburn, you will not be disappointed.”

  He turned off the sedan’s engine and opened the door. “Lead the way,” he said.

  He was not surprised when they began leading him not to the Suburban, but to the black limo. Reggie followed closely without saying a word, though a number of questions were racing through his head.

  Once they got to the limo, the young man he had spoken with opened the rear passenger side door, and made a motion with his hand, signaling that Blackburn should get in. He shrugged his shoulders, and decided to go with the flow.