Dufault was waiting at the command desk with two take away coffee containers, entirely too put together for what amounted to the pre-ass crack of dawn. He grinned at Syler, who snatched one of the takeaway cups from him without preamble and took a long drag.
“Not much of a morning person, are you sunshine?” he commented, watching Syler struggle to disentangle himself from the mess he’d made of his half-knotted tie and messenger bag. Syler grunted, bag finally coming free of his shoulder but taking his tie with it, and dumped them both on the desk. Arthur couldn’t help but think it was an improvement. The green brocade monstrosity clashed fiercely with the pale blue button down his handler was wearing. And, honestly, were those suede elbow patches? Who dressed this man?
“I promised myself I was done with this shit when I finished grad school,” he groused, half-heartedly attempting to rescue his tie. Giving it up as a bad job, he huffed, settling into the chair and logging in. “Thank you for bringing me life blood.”
“Anything for my favorite handler.” Arthur paused. “Although, now I’m concerned by the thought that you drove like this.”
“Company cars are a godsend. I can do without, but having a driver to make sure I’m actually awake enough to get out the door helps.” Syler pulled open the latest files, familiarizing himself with them quickly. “Have you received the updated dossier?”
“Only what Boothman told me over the phone. Send me a copy for the flight?”
“Done,” Syler replied. “Target is Jonas Sruoga. He’s been tracked to Vilnius in Lithuania. Major drug trafficking into the US and Europe. Periodically goes to ground and crops up somewhere else, but he’s returned to his hometown for now. Two American students doing research at Vilnius University were reported missing a week ago. Members of his organization were spotted in the area and reports point to an abduction with the goal of ferrying drugs back into the US.” He pulled up photos of Sruoga, as well as both missing women.
“Jesus, they look your age.”
“Ten years my juniors, which is actually worse. Retrieve the students and bring Sruoga into custody. You’re authorized use of lethal force if necessary, which is to say, likely.”
“Noted. Armory?” Syler nodded, already up and moving.
“Your flight leaves Reagan in ninety minutes. Itinerary is included in your dossier.” Syler noted, passing the agent a set of falsified identification documents as they entered the weapons store. “Sig P226 special, two for luck.”
Arthur tucked the guns into his shoulder and waist holsters before accepting the spare magazines that followed. “What do we know about the location of Sruoga and the women?”
“Warehouse district for both. Directions in your dossier. I’ll forward blueprints after you leave.” He passed the other man his earwig, which Arthur immediately slipped on as he followed Syler to the back of the weapons store. “Missile launchers are a bit much for a major city, I’m afraid, but I won’t send you empty handed.” He produced a small box containing a pair of silver cuff links and a tie pin. “Cufflinks are explosive, tie pin is the control. Tap the links to the pin once to arm and the concealed trigger on the inside of the pin twice to detonate.”
“Classic,” Arthur commented, slipping one into each sleeve cuff.
“Flash bangs,” Syler continued, passing over three, “and this one contains a neurotoxin knockout gas.” Arthur pocketed all four. “There’s a car out front waiting for you. I’ll be on comms.”
“Good,” Arthur replied.
---
Syler spent the remainder of the morning reviewing the blueprints for Sruoga’s hideout and the surrounding area, then hacking into the security cameras in the nearby buildings to track the movement of the guards posted outside. He passed monitoring of the situation over to Miranda around noon when she threatened to lock him out of his own system if he didn’t eat something. As Dufault was still somewhere over the Atlantic and would be for quite some time, he allowed it.
Well, that and Benson scared him a bit. She built firewalls that made him weep and regularly wore stilettos that brought her eye level with his own nearly six-foot frame; every single one of the minions was rightfully terrified of her. Between her and Reyes, he was spoiled for choices when he inevitably had to select his own deputy and that was assuming neither of them decided to throw their hat in the ring to run the department themselves.
“Move, boss,” Miranda ordered, shooing him out of the bullpen. “Go enjoy a nap on that cozy looking couch you’ve got in there.”
“What couch?” She raised a well manicured eyebrow at him, amused. “Right, yes, thank you. You’re a gem and I don’t deserve you.”
She grinned. “Just for that, I’ll throw in an order of pad thai for you when I call in lunch.”
“You’re my favorite and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
“Oh, say that in front of Dufault. I want to see the look on his face.”
“Not you too,” Syler whined, collecting his most recent allotment of bureaucratic paperwork hell.
She laughed, low and almost cackling, eyes absolutely wicked. “Oh, but it’s so fun to watch him resist his natural impulse to flirt with everything that moves in hopes of impressing you. I think he has a crush!”
“Et tu, Brute?” He shook his head forlornly, slowly retreating to the relative safety of his office.
“Not my headache anymore!” She called after him.
---
The Couch, Syler soon discovered, and it really did deserve capital letters, was an entirely beautiful thing—well worn mahogany leather long enough to stretch out on and just the right height to fit neatly beneath the window overlooking the bullpen. He’d ask where the hell it had come from, but the pristine
