by Shawn Oetzel
Once her crying subsided to an occasional sob, Nicholas asked her what had happened. She told him everything, though it took a while due to her having to frequently pause every so often to stop herself from breaking down again. Foshay helped fill in when she could not speak, and together they were able to relate everything which had transpired at Fenway.
Nicholas listened to their recounting of the events without saying a word. When she finished, the older gentleman nodded his head and thanked her. He asked about Excalibur. She explained that, from what she remembered, the Ghost had taken the sword. Again he simply nodded. She could see the deep sadness in the man’s eyes. She recognized the emotion immediately because she was feeling the same despair herself.
Nicholas informed her that he had arranged for her to return to Washington the next day, with a driver to pick her up here at the hospital and Nicholas’ own private plane to fly her home. She had thanked him and tried to apologize for her failure, but he waved her words away.
“I am sure this isn’t over quite yet, Agent Sommers,” Nicholas had said, before exiting her room leaving her wondering if he had really been there at all.
She recalled how haggard the professor looked. The energetic sparkle in the man’s eyes she’d so marveled at was gone. In its place was a pallid haunted look that almost made her cry anew. She sincerely hoped the special gleam would return, because if she thought for one second she was responsible for that loss as well as losing Reggie, she would collapse within herself and never find her way back out.
She vaguely remembered speaking on the phone to the same Agency assigned aide who had flown with them to Boston, telling him that she was returning to Washington tomorrow and needed to report to Director Smith immediately upon her arrival. He’d assured her everything would be arranged and a car would be waiting.
When she hung up her phone she broke down again. This time Foshay did comfort her by sitting next to her on the bed and wrapping his arms around her. She did not argue and instead buried her face into his chest and wept until a nurse entered. The nurse gave her pain medication for her head and a sedative to help her rest, which did not take long to go into effect. The last thing she remembered was Foshay tucking her in before sleep overtook her.
The next morning she had awakened to find her clothes had been pressed and dry cleaned. This had been another gesture from Thomas Nicholas. The pain in her head had subsided to a constant dull ache, and she had to fight down nausea as she dressed. Professor Foshay showed up shortly after and when she signed herself out of the hospital, he waited with her until the promised driver arrived.
She had deeply appreciated the fact the professor had walked her to the car and volunteered to ride along with her to the airport, which she’d readily accepted.
They spoke little as the driver made his way to a private airfield where Nicholas’ plane was waiting. Sommers was not sure if they had grown closer or drifted farther apart after all that had happened. She liked Foshay, and under different circumstances may have even pursued him socially, but with the loss of Excalibur, the disappearance of Ambrosius, and of course Reggie’s death she had nothing in the way of emotions to offer anyone. The professor deserved better than that.
They’d walked hand in hand to the awaiting plane. She was thankful for the small comfort.
Before boarding she gave the professor a business card with her home number hand written on the back. He looked at it briefly before slipping it into a pocket.
“If you ever need me, call me,” she said.
“Will I ever see you again?”
“I don’t know, Professor, but I certainly hope so.”
“So do I, Amy Sommers. So do I.”
She could tell he’d wanted to lean in and kiss her, but she had not given him the opportunity. She was still too emotionally numb to let herself give in to that kind of desire. Instead she flashed a forced smile before entering the plane. She had not even watched out the small window as the plane had taken off.
Now, on her way back to Washington, she thought on their last conversation, however brief it had been, and almost smiled. Almost.
The plane touched down a short time later. She was thankful she had been able to get at least a little rest. The trauma of the last few days was catching up to her, and she was past the point of regular exhaustion. After the meeting with Director Smith, she was planning on holing herself up in her apartment and sleeping for a week.
She made her way to the now familiar Agency black sedan. As she settled into the backseat she did not bother with any attempt at small talk or friendly banter with the driver. Instead, she closed her eyes hoping to catch a few more Z’s before having to face the director.
Her thoughts turned to Ambrosius, whose disappearance was still unexplained. She had never figured him to be a coward, and was certain he had not run away. There had to be some other explanation. She vaguely recalled him chanting, being able to utilize some sort of power, but the specifics were lost to her. Maybe his mysterious exit from the fighting was somehow linked to those inexplicable abilities.
It felt as if she had just closed her eyes when motion of the sedan coming to a stop woke her up. She recognized the parking deck which marked the entrance to the Agency’s underground headquarters.
They were here, and she didn’t know if she should be feeling relieved or worried. For all she knew after the debacle her first case had turned into she would soon find herself among the unemployed. What really bothered her was she was no longer sure if she even cared.
After going through the procedure to board the elevator, she looked into the camera lens, took a deep breath, and took the first step to what could possibly be the end of her career.
“Agent Amy Sommers to see Director Smith.”
She nearly threw up all over the elevator as it whisked her away to her destination. The speed of the ride increased the pounding in her head, but thankfully it did not last long. When the doors opened up, she staggered out into the lobby she knew led to Director Smith’s office.
The secretary smiled at Amy and motioned for her to go ahead. Behind the secretary’s smile she could sense pity, and for some reason she had the sudden desire to punch the poor woman square in her face. The last thing she wanted right now was to be pitied. That would tarnish Reggie’s memory if everyone sat around feeling sorry for her. She could not, would not accept that.
She was starting to get angry as she approached the door to Director Smith’s office. This quickly deflated however as the door swung open and Director Smith stepped out to meet her.
“Agent Sommers, I’m glad to see you appear to be recovering from your injuries.”
The man’s presence still commanded respect, so part of her wanted to snap to attention and salute. Another emotionally damaged part of her wanted to throw her arms around him and apologize for her failure as she wept. Instead she settled on a simple response.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Please, Agent Sommers, come in and have a seat. I’m sure you are exhausted after everything that has happened.”
She did as instructed and winced slightly as the Director closed the door behind her. The sound was eerily similar to what she guessed someone driving the nail into the coffin of her career might sound like. She was about to speak on that very subject when it dawned on her the director had known about her injuries. She had not mentioned anything when she had phoned the Agency back in Boston.
“Sir, how did you know…,” she began, trailing off as the director held up his hand.
“It seems you have made some very well informed friends, Agent Sommers. I was contacted by a Thomas Nicholas who told me everything after he had gotten the story from you. I have some agents doing a follow up investigation to help piece the whole story together as we speak. I know about the Ghost. I know about Excalibur, and …” At this point he paused. “I know about Agent Blackburn as well.”
Amy felt tears welling up in her eyes. The wound caused by Reggie’s death wa
s still too fresh, and the mere mention of his name was enough to bring the pain to the surface. She did not want to appear weak in front of the director, so she lowered her head, hoping to shield his view of the tears spilling from her eyes down her cheeks.
She heard Director Smith move around behind his desk and sit down. From the way he paused she guessed he was waiting for her to regain some self-control before he continued.
“I’m sorry, Amy,” Director Smith said, surprising her by using her first name. “I’m sorry for your loss. Agent Blackburn, Reggie, was my friend too. I am also sorry you were put in such a dangerous situation for your first case. If anyone is to blame for Reggie’s death, it’s me.”
Hearing him speak so genuinely only made her have less restraint. She covered her face with both hands as she became overwhelmed with grief. This was the last thing she wanted Director Smith to see, but she could not stop the emotional tidal wave from crashing around her.
“What happens next?” she asked, her voice shaking.
“To be honest I’m not entirely sure,” the director said. “I am going to put you on extended leave, however. You need some time.”
Anger was the catalyst she needed to get her emotions back under her command. She had fully expected to come in to the director’s office and at the very least get suspended, or worse, fired. Yes, she was in pain over the death of her best friend, but she was not some first year cadet who needed to be coddled. The director’s words had the stink of her being placated.
“What about Excalibur?’ she asked, almost demanding an answer. “What about bringing Reggie’s murderer to justice?”
“I understand your ire, Agent Sommers, but it is misguided. It is standard procedure to put agents on extended leave after working a particular traumatic case. I am treating you no different. I know you feel a sense of duty towards Reggie and I commend you for that, but for the time being I am ordering you to go home.”
She was about to protest further when the director cut her off by holding his hand up.
“This is nonnegotiable, Agent Sommers,” the director said, and then she noticed a mischievous look in the man’s eye. “Now, how you spend your time on leave is up to you.”
She had her mouth open ready to argue when the director’s last statement sunk in. She quickly closed it and stared at her boss. Had he inadvertently given her permission to work the case on her own?
“If you are ready, Agent Sommers, I will have someone meet you outside and take you home.”
She nodded, not knowing how else to respond. This meeting had gone nothing like she had prepared herself for, leaving her completely confounded. She felt like she was on autopilot as she got up and started out of the office.
“Oh, and Agent Sommers,” the director called from behind her. “Please be careful.”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
The car was waiting for her as she stepped off the elevator. She breathed in the cool afternoon air. She really did not feel like going home and being alone, but had nowhere else to go.
She watched the shops and various other buildings as the sedan passed each one, mulling over what Director Smith had said. Or, more what he had implied. As the sedan came to a stop in front of her building she decided right then and there she was going after the Ghost. Excalibur could be damned as far as she was concerned, but the Ghost would pay. She owed that much to Reggie.
She made her way upstairs, remembering how happy she’d been just a few short days ago, Reggie had saved her from the mind-numbing training by assigning her first case. Now everything had come crashing down like a house of cards.
Thoughts filled her head as she tried to remember any detail she could use to track down the Ghost. She was in front of the door to her apartment before she noticed it was slightly ajar.
“What the hell?” she said, sensing a strangely familiar sensation. “Couldn’t be…”
She pushed the door all the way open and stepped into her apartment, and saw a familiar figure sitting comfortably on her couch.
“Good afternoon, Agent Sommers,” Ambrosius said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I let myself in.”
—Chapter 28
She did her best to try and save face.
“What is it with you Ambrosius? Do you have your own key or something?”
“In a manner of speaking,” he said, standing politely as she stepped further into the living room.
“Oh no, please go right ahead and make yourself at home,” she said sarcastically. “I mean, with a little thing like home invasion between us, I don’t think we need to stand on ceremony.”
With the ice now broken and her initial shock diminishing, she turned and shut her door. She ignored the British agent, who remained standing as she hung her coat up and moved into the kitchen. Wisely, Ambrosius did not follow.
Once she was alone, she leaned against the counter to collect her thoughts. Her anger was mounting and if she was unable to get a handle on it she knew she would lash out. She’d had it with surprises. Over the last few days she’d had her fill of the unexpected to last a lifetime.
The window above the sink offered a decent view of the small park across the street from her building, where a group of five or six kids ran around playing what appeared to be a game of tag. She envied their carefree playfulness. What she wouldn’t give to be able to turn back the clocks to a time of innocence.
She did not know what to do about Ambrosius. She had half a mind to charge back into the living room and throw the pompous jerk out on his butt. He had abandoned her, after all. But the more rational side of her brain wanted an explanation, not just for his disappearance but for Ambrosius’ seemingly magical abilities. She deserved at least that much from the man. And, to be honest, after what they had been through she owed him a chance to give her that explanation.
It had only been a few been a few days since she had last been home, but it felt like years. She looked around her kitchen, a little distressed at how alien the place felt to her. Reggie had helped her find this place when she had relocated to Washington from Los Angeles. Now that he was dead it was like a part of the essence which had made the apartment feel like home had been severed. Then again, everything felt like that right now.
She moved over to the refrigerator. Remembering her guest in the next room, she called out, “You want something to drink?”
“Yes, I think that would be a good idea, Agent Sommers. Especially in light of what I have to tell you.”
He spoke from the doorway between the kitchen and living room. They stared at each other for several long moments. The only sounds were the hum of the refrigerator’s motor while she stood unmoving with its door hanging open, and the faint sounds of the children still at play in the park outside.
“I know how partial you Brits are to tea in the afternoon, but I get the feeling this is going to be more of an adult beverage kind of conversation,” she said, shutting the refrigerator and reaching up to the cabinet above the appliance where she kept her private stock.
She removed two whiskey snifters and a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label. She filled both glasses half full before handing one over to Ambrosius and keeping the other for herself. She sipped the Scotch, reveling in the burning sensation. When she felt the potent liquor take effect and begin spreading its warmth throughout her body, she motioned for Ambrosius to head back into the living room.
“Why don’t we go have a seat where I can get comfortable? I have a pretty good idea this is going to be a whopper of a story.”
“As you wish,” Ambrosius said, sipping at his own glass before following her instructions.
Once they were both settled, him sitting rather nervously in her loveseat and her directly across from him Indian style on the couch, she stared daggers at him as she waited.
“I’m not sure where to begin,” Ambrosius said, taking another drink in an effort to stall.
“How about you start by telling me why in the hell you bailed out on us? Why you left
us there to die?”
“That’s a fair question, and my initial answer is that I had no choice.” He held up his hand to cut off the protest she was getting ready to voice. “Please, let me finish.”
“Look, I’m going to have to bury my best friend because of this case, so you will have to excuse me if my patience is running on empty,” she said. “Now please, Ambrosius tell me everything. I think I deserve it.”
She watched as he finished off the whiskey in a loud gulp before massaging his brow with his hand.
“I left because if I had stayed I would now be dead. In all the confusion, Mr. Grant fired his weapon at me and his aim was true. The bullet hit my chest, puncturing a lung.” At this point he leaned forward and seemed to be having trouble finding the words to help her understand. “I have ways of healing myself, but it requires some concentration. Had I stayed I would have never been able to access my power. You see, Agent Sommers I’m not exactly who you think I am.”
“What do you mean?” she asked. “You’re not really an agent?”
“No actually I am an agent.”
“Then what? You’re name’s not really Ambrosius?”
“My name really is Ambrosius. I never lied about that.”
“Then what is it?” she asked, frustrated.
“You know me by another name.”
“Really,” she said. She was getting to the point of annoyance where she had the urge to throw her glass, whiskey and all, at the man if he did not come clean. “Well, I’m all ears.”
“As I told you the first time we met my name is Emrys Myrddin Ambrosius, but most people refer to me as Merlin. Merlin the Magician.”
The pounding in her head from the concussion, which up to now had been lessening, returned in full force.
“Huh…uhm…what?” was all she could manage to utter.
“It’s true, Agent Sommers,” he said.