The Agency

by Shawn Oetzel

  “You’re the Merlin the Magician?”

  “Yes, though magician is somewhat misleading. I’m not a magician or a wizard as some tales would have you believe. In fact, what little powers I do possess are tied to the elements. What you witnessed back at the chamber is pretty much the extent of my abilities.”

  “Oh sure,” she said, not believing she was having this conversation. “I can see how people would make the mistake.”

  “I know this is not easy for you to understand, Agent Sommers, but is it really that hard to believe considering the circumstances?”

  At first she could not understand how he could even ask her that question. Then realization set in. When the case she had been working on up to now involved finding Excalibur, was it really so far-fetched to think one of the mythical characters associated with the sword was also real?

  She stared long and hard at the man she knew as Agent Ambrosius, but who claimed to be Merlin. She thought back on all the cryptic answers and odd behaviors she had been privy to … the strange haunted and aged look she had witnessed on more than one occasion in his eyes … not to mention the strange knack he had for appearing and disappearing. She could not forget the abilities she herself had witnessed as well. All of these instances added up to lend credibility to his story.

  “But how?” she asked. “Excalibur being real is one thing, but if what you say is true wouldn’t that make you more than a little old?”

  “I am closing in on 900 years old,” Ambrosius said, chuckling at the look on her face.

  “Please, if you tell me you discovered the Fountain of Youth too I don’t think I’m going to be able to handle it,” she said.

  They shared a laugh before the room fell silent around them. The shadows along the living room walls lengthened as it moved from early to late afternoon. She was tempted to get up and make herself another drink, but thought twice about it, as she was going to need a clear head to reason everything through.

  “Okay,” she said. “Tell me the rest.”

  “I was given Excalibur by a spirit creature the literary world has dubbed the Lady of the Lake,” Ambrosius began. “She is from a realm called Avalon. Because of my abilities, I was allowed to choose who would receive Excalibur. I of course chose Arthur. You have to understand the world was a very different place during this time. It was a place full of chaos, suffering, and war. Excalibur was a talisman that, when wielded by the chosen person, had the ability to bring peace, and it did. Once Arthur’s time had passed, it was my duty to return Excalibur from whence it came. This would have happened if not for Sir Bedivere.”

  The mention of that name sparked a memory.

  “So Professor Foshay was correct,” she said. “The knight did keep the sword.”

  “Yes, unintentionally Sir Bedivere is the one who has set everything that has transpired since into motion,” Ambrosius said. “I thought Excalibur had been returned, thus freeing me of my obligation. It was not until Bedivere’s death I learned the truth. By then it was too late and the sword became lost to history. I have been doing everything in my power to track it down ever since. That is why I am an agent. I figured I could use the Agency’s resources to help me in my search. When I heard about this case, I knew my vigilance had paid off. I was able to maneuver myself into a position to get assigned as your partner.”

  “This still doesn’t explain you …” she paused there, not sure how to express what she wanted to say.

  “Being alive?” Ambrosius answered for her. “My existence is tied to Excalibur. When I have fulfilled my vow and the sword is returned my time here will be up.”

  No wonder as they had gotten closer to finding Excalibur Ambrosius’ behavior had become so erratic. The man had been searching for centuries in an effort to keep a promise. The weight of responsibility and obligation was too much for her to even fathom.

  “This is incredible,” she said, not knowing what else to say.

  “It is imperative I find Excalibur. Now more than ever,” Ambrosius said. She thought she picked up on some kind of hint behind his words.

  “You’re not just here to tell me this story are you?” she asked.

  “No, Agent Sommers, I’m not. My experiences over these long years have taught me one thing. I can’t do this alone. I need your help.”

  “What can I do?” she asked. “Heck, I’m not even an active agent at the moment.”

  “I can’t fight the Ghost alone. The IRA terrorists he was hired by are overseas. We may be able to use them to track the Ghost down. Come with me to England. There we can use the Agency in London’s resources. This could be our only chance.”

  She could hear the desperation in his voice, and frankly could not blame the man. She smiled, thinking how weird her life had become. True, she was on extended leave and therefore had no jurisdiction or authority to help on the case, but she remembered Director Smith’s words. It was up to her on how she spent her time off.

  She thought of Reggie. This could be her only chance to get justice. It only took her a second to determine what he would have done had he been faced with the same circumstances.

  “When do we leave?” she said, feeling better with every passing second.

  “As soon as you pack,” Ambrosius said, and she had to smile at the excitement she heard in his voice. “I booked us passage on a flight to London for this evening.”

  “Okay then,” she said, her own excitement mounting. “Let’s go.”

  —Chapter 29

  Mercifully, she was able to sleep for the majority of the flight from Washington to London. Presumptuous though it had been of Ambrosius to have already purchased their tickets, it had saved them precious time. After throwing a bag together she and the British agent left for the airport, stopping briefly only to get something to eat. From there it was straight to Logan Airport.

  Shortly after take-off, the adrenaline rush she had been running on since making the decision to help Ambrosius began to wane. She’d wanted to question Ambrosius further about his past, but was overcome with fatigue before she could make any inquiries. Her last thoughts before slipping into an exhaustion induced slumber were of how strange a path her life had stumbled onto.

  When she was still with the LAPD, if someone had come in claiming to be Merlin the Magician, she would have locked them up for their own protection pending a psychiatric evaluation. Now, however, she took Ambrosius’ claim at face value. In essence it was simply another day at the office.

  She felt at least a little refreshed by the time they landed at Heathrow. She had no idea what was in store for her in London, but with a single-minded determinedness, she resolved not to return home until the Ghost had been brought to justice.

  The London Agency sent a Rolls-Royce Phantom complete with a chauffer decked out in a black suit and matching cap to pick them up

  “Wow. I’m impressed,” she said.

  “That’s right, Dorothy,” Ambrosius said, smiling. “You’re not in Kansas anymore.”

  “Wait a minute, if I’m Dorothy then what does that make you?”

  “Why, I’m the Great and Powerful Oz of course.”

  “Really,” she said, teasing. “I would have guessed more like a Flying Monkey.”

  She laughed as he threw a wry smile her way. It definitely felt good to be laughing again, though the banter did remind her of the conversations she and Reggie had shared. Once again she felt a hollowness deep down inside her, but it only served to harden her resolve however.

  Within minutes they were on their way to the Agency’s British headquarters. Sommers had never been to London before. Under different circumstances, she would have been fascinated with her surroundings, trying her best to soak in the sights. She was not here as a tourist, however, and the myriad of lights from the city were merely one continuous blur outside her window.

  “Where exactly is your home office?” she asked. “Are we getting close?”

  “As a matter of fact we are,” Ambrosius said, pointin
g. “We are very close indeed.”

  At first all she could see in the early morning darkness was the familiar image of a large, well-lit structure. After staring for a few seconds, it dawned on her she was looking at the Palace of Westminster.

  “You work there?” she asked, taken aback.

  “The British Agency is located at the northeastern end.”

  She did not like the smug look on Ambrosius’ face. Then again she could not blame him for feeling superior. The Agency back home was buried beneath an old parking garage. If the axiom concerning real estate held true and it really was all about location, then Ambrosius had every right to sound boastful.

  As they approached, the structure continued to grow in its immenseness. The enormity of the history left her feeling intimidated. She had so many questions concerning the British version of the Agency she did not know where to start. She did not want to sound like the stereotypical ignorant American, so instead remained quiet as she tried to take everything in.

  Their driver pulled up to the security gate and flashed some kind of ID. They continued until the driver came to a stop in front of probably the most recognizable landmark in all of Great Britain, if not the world.

  “This is Big Ben isn’t it?” she asked, trying to keep the sound of awe out of her voice, but failing miserably.

  “That it is, Agent Sommers,” Ambroisus said. “It is also our destination.”

  “You mean your Agency is in there?”

  “Sort of,” the British agent said. “Much like your home office, we need to go underground.”

  With that, they both exited the vehicle. She strained her neck looking up at the large clock tower. It served as a huge reminder of just how far from home she really was. This was clearly Ambrosius’ turf, and she could see by his demeanor the man was more relaxed and confidant.

  “Shall we?” he asked.

  “You lead the way,” she said. “This is your backyard, after all.”

  She followed Ambrosius to the brick work and stone cladding base of the tower. As they neared she could see a single door which looked like some sort of service entrance. When Ambrosius paused in front it, she saw an identical electronic keypad and ID slot to the one she used at the Agency back home.

  Ambrosius performed the same ritual she herself went through countless times to gain access to the Agency. The service door slid open revealing an elevator, with a similar system including a camera waiting for instructions.

  “Agent Ambrosius and Agent Sommers to Facts and Research,” Ambrosius said.

  She grabbed hold of the handrail. The elevator moved in reverse several feet before pausing and then beginning its rapid descent. She was reminded of the Psycho Mouse roller coaster she had once ridden while visiting California Great America back in Santa Clara. It had not been a pleasant experience then, and this ride was not any better. She was all too happy when the elevator slowed to a stop after roughly 30 seconds of what felt like free fall, and the doors slid open.

  Up to this point, the set up of the British Agency was reminiscent of the one back in Washington. That all changed when she stepped off the elevator. What Ambrosius had called Facts and Research was a huge library any university would have envied, like one of the public libraries found in large cities like New York. The place was so big it was overwhelming.

  “Wow,” she whispered.

  “If we are going to find something to lead us to the Ghost, it will be here,” Ambrosius said.

  Despite the late hour, several other people moved in and out of the multitude of shelves and aisles. She assumed they were other agents working cases and following up on leads of their own. Looking around the vastness of the Facts and Research department she had a sinking feeling as the phrase “needle in a haystack” came to mind.

  “Where do we even begin?” she asked.

  “I think our best bet is to try and find any information on the Na Ri` Laoch,” Ambrosius answered. “We may be able to find a link that will lead us from them to the Ghost.”

  “Agreed,” she said. “Lead on.”

  Amy followed along as Ambrosius made his way to an island of computers in the center of the room. Even with the two of them scouring the Agency’s database looking for information on the Irish terrorist group, she knew it was going to be a long rest of the night. Time was their enemy now as much as the Ghost was. With every passing minute, the assassin would be able to hide his tracks that much more.

  A woman who bore a striking resemblance to Kylie Minogue approached them, carrying an overstuffed file folder. “Excuse me,” she said, in a heavily accented voice reminiscent of The Beatles. “Are you Agent Sommers?”

  “Uh… yeah that’s me,” she said, confused.

  “This was faxed over from Washington shortly before you arrived,” the woman said, holding forth the file with both hands as if she was turning over one of the stone tablets containing the Ten Commandments.

  Amy hesitated before reaching out to accept the material. As far as she knew, no one other than Ambrosius knew she was here. Her instincts were not sending out any warnings, but having something here waiting for her when up to a few minutes ago she herself hadn’t known where she was going to be was a little on the strange side.

  Seeing the woman’s arms start to tremble from the weight of the folder spurred Amy to action. She took the folder surprised herself at how heavy it was.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “You’re welcome,” the pop singer look-a-like said before turning around and walking away. Amy watched until the woman disappeared down one of the many rows.

  Amy walked over to an empty table next to the bank of computers, and dropped the folder. It landed with a heavy “thud” which seemed to echo in the quiet. She stared at it like it was a bomb. The seconds slipped by, and she began to feel foolish. After chastising herself for being so wary, she unwound the red string holding the folder closed. She half expected a spring-loaded novelty snake to come bouncing out at her. What she did see however was just as surprising.

  Sitting on top of a thick stack of papers was a fax copy of a handwritten note. She skipped down to the bottom and was surprised to see the signature of Director Smith. She smiled in spite of her fatigue and read the letter in full.

  Agent Sommers,

  I trust you are using your time off wisely. I understand you have chosen to spend some time overseas. I hope you are heeding my words and are being careful. I have faxed this material to the London office in hopes of providing you with some interesting reading. This file was found in Special Agent Blackburn’s desk. It is every piece of information he collected over the years concerning a certain mutual acquaintance. I hope you are able to put it to good use. Take great care.

  Director Smith

  She closed her eyes tightly in an attempt to stem a flow of tears. Even death could not stop Reggie from reaching out and giving her a helping hand.

  “Are you all right?” Ambrosius asked.

  “Yeah,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I just miss Reggie.”

  She waited for the British agent to attempt to offer up some solace in the way of a comforting word or phrase. She appreciated the fact that instead he sat silently, giving her time. After a few more seconds of struggling against her unbearable sense of loss she was able to prevail. Apparently Ambrosius was able to pick up on her victory as well.

  “What’s in the folder?”

  She turned to look at Ambrosius and with a renewed gleam in her eyes. “This is Reggie’s personal case file on the Ghost. Evidently Reggie had been trying to track the assassin down for years. If there is a way to find that bastard, it might be in here.”

  With the entire research department of the London Agency at their disposal along with the information Reggie had collected she felt certain they would find the proverbial needle in the haystack.

  “I am going to continue my search for any information on the Na Ri` Laoch,” Ambrosius said. “You dig through the case file and we�
�ll see what we can come up with.”

  “Agreed.”

  She sat down and began poring over each document. Reggie had been meticulous in gathering data even compiled a list of the Ghost’s potential aliases. She jotted down her own notes, and studied photos of the one time agent, desperately trying to find the missing piece which would solve the puzzle.

  Ambrosius had been just as diligent in his own search, trudging through the Agency’s database for information on the IRA terrorists who had hired the Ghost in the first place. He’d made a similar list to her own, filled with information he had picked out of the computer and thought to be important and relevant.

  “What time is it?” she asked, stretching her arms up over her head.

  “It’s almost dawn.”

  “Well I have been through this whole thing,” she said. “Reggie was pretty thorough, but there’s nothing concrete here. I think I have a few leads we might be able to follow. What about you? You have any luck?”

  “Maybe,” he said.

  “You care to elaborate on that?” she said, snapping at him out of frustration.

  “The Na Ri` Laoch are a splinter cell from the IRA. Their story is pretty typical in that the leaders are made up of sons who saw their fathers imprisoned. What does set them apart, however, is that they are incredibly well funded. I was able to track some of their financial records down. Their spending is quite excessive. Their leader, Colin O’Connor, comes from an extremely wealthy family and he is the primary source behind the group.”

  “How are they and the Ghost connected?” she asked.

  “It seems the Agency began to take notice of the Na Ri` Laoch’s recent interest in acquiring ancient documents. Through some shady sources, they were able to get their hands on the document concerning Excalibur’s location. They sent some operatives to the United States in hopes of discovering Excalibur.”

  “Reggie and Homeland Security intercepted those men,” she said. “They were all killed while trying to be apprehended. That’s how Reggie got the document in the first place.”

  “It would seem, in an effort to regain the document, the Na Ri` Laoch reached out to the Ghost,” Ambrosius said.