The collective sounds of swearing from his entire operations staff was reassuring right up until the moment he realized his computer was actively being breached.
“Boss—”
“Yeah, me too,” he replied, setting to work disconnecting from the network before the program could bypass his safeties. “I’m going to try to keep it occupied. You work on getting me a lock.”Static greeted him. He tore off the headset, swearing.
Arthur held a position at the door, gun at the ready. “Enough. We’re leaving.”
“To where?” Staccato quick taps punctuated the tension as he worked to repel the attack while pulling up a location lock for the hacker. “It just took out the entire CIA computer network with my lock down protocol and it’s about to take out mine if I don’t find him first.”
“Syler—”
Thirty-Two
What happened next was a bit of a blur, Syler reflected from his position in the back of a van, sandwiched between two armed goons no less. Honestly, a van. This day really couldn’t get worse. His dignity might never recover. Arthur was never going to let him out of sight again so long as they both still lived and he couldn’t even blame the man.
He tamped down on the urge to giggle hysterically, nerves teetering on the knife edge between complete collapse and riotous snark. The vehicle turned sharply to the left. Syler remained upright only by bracing against the asshole beside him. His borrowed glasses sat slightly askew on the bridge of his nose, arms locked uncomfortably behind him by a series of zip ties. God, they’d even put a fucking bag over his head.
Whether they’d been followed back to the hotel by the hired help or traced by the AI system was anyone’s guess. He hadn’t really had the time to verify which it was between the door slamming open and Arthur getting rushed by a half dozen men. Under normal circumstances, he’d have been fine to dispatch them at his leisure. Normal, of course, being predicated upon him not having engineer babysitting duty. As it was, the bastards had wrestled him into the back of the vehicle and merrily sped off by the time his agent had brushed off his own opponents.
Squaring his shoulders back as best as he was able, he turned his head in the direction of Goon A on his right. “So,” he began blithely, and oh, it looks like riotous snark won out. “Do I get to know where we’re going?”
“You’ll find out,” Goon B grunted from his left.
“Wasn’t talking to you,” he announced merrily.
“Shut the fuck up,” Goon C called from the driver’s seat. Probably the one in charge then.
Syler tamped down on the urge to say ‘make me,’ but only just barely. His agent would be incredibly miffed if he got himself shot for mouthing off at the hired help and the assholes had already confiscated both of his guns so he wouldn’t even get the pleasure of firing back. He gave into the impulse to roll his eyes, grateful for the bag if only because he didn’t have to worry about controlling his facial expressions. He wasn’t sure he had the remaining energy reserves.
As they took another turn just a bit too sharply, Syler careened into Goon B, who shoved him back unceremoniously, hard enough to leave a bruise. He slammed back into Goon A, who shoved him from the other side. Behind the bag, his lips curled up in a snarl.
The car slowed to a stop and Syler faintly made out the sound of a garage bay door opening before they drove in. The door was rolled closed with a rumbling finality. Goon C cut the engine off with a sputter while Goon A threw the van’s door wide open, at which point the young man found himself ignominiously hauled out by his shoulders at the hands of Goon B.
Christ, he really hoped Arthur was hot on their heels. Syler was already so done with this entire year.
---
By the time Arthur had dispatched his unwanted company and thrown himself through the exit door into the hotel’s back alley, Syler was long gone. He swore a blue streak, already turning to head back to the room to see if he’d left one of the bastards alive enough to kindly share with him where the fuck his handler had been taken.
“Where the hell is Syler, Arm Candy?”
His eyes fell on the petite blonde woman standing in the open fire door just behind him, hilariously unthreatening in her singed cardigan and frazzled blonde dutch braids. He snorted. “Not now, techie.”
“You have no fucking idea, do you?” She followed hot on his heels as he marched back to the room. “Well?”
“So sorry, but I don’t really have time to sit down and explain,” he snapped. “Run along.” Emily snorted behind him, short legs surprisingly quick to keep up as he stormed back to their second floor room. “Wrong direction, blondie.”
“Yeah, shut up. They took my friend in a hail of gunfire I think half the block heard. I’m not leaving.” She stepped through the broken door frame and into the hotel room, barely sparing a glance at the splintered oak wood door. The half dozen bodies on the floor did give her pause, but she seemed to shake herself out of it quickly enough. It just figured that Syler was friends with an equally unflappable scientist who shared similarly abominable taste in fashion.
“Well you’re not coming with me,” he countered, methodically checking for anyone still in possession of a pulse. “Damnit.”
“Killed them too good, did you?” she inquired, moving towards Syler’s laptop. She cursed to find the computer in lock out mode, well and good taken down by the AI for now. Arthur ignored her, busy checking the bodies for any hint of a location. Nothing. “Alright,” she called, “new plan.”
“You’re not part of this.”
“I have a standing job offer and you need help. Come on,” she
