“Not bad, kid, not bad.” The other man seemed inured to comments on his age. Pity no one had informed him that playing hard to get was Arthur’s favorite challenge.
“Sign, please, and if you lose it, I won’t issue you so much as a paperclip for the remainder of your tenure.” This time, Arthur did pout, though the effect was somewhat mixed coming from a man of his build clothed in a slim charcoal suit. “Now off you go. You’re scheduled to meet the Ambassador at the Embassy in two hours. Reyes will be your handler for the duration; I’ll transfer your comms to her this evening.”
Arthur shifted back on his heels, expression considering. “Please,” he drew out, tone theatrically pleading, at least for a grown man. Syler sighed and the agent began counting down to his victory, watching raptly as the other man moved to another locker, nearest to the armory doors. His inner child crowed. ‘Something new then.’
“They need field testing anyway and you’ve enough security screenings to go through to make for a decent trial on that front.” He retrieved a slim case, flipping it open to reveal a lovely trio of knives, varying in size from pocket-carry on up, accented by two holsters designed to fit the larger pair of the three. “Composite material, durable enough to embed in concrete without blunting the tip or breaking. Won’t come up on a metal detector screen, though I’d like to verify that with a lower stakes assignment.” The agent waited, sensing more.
Syler sighed again. “Yes, alright, the shortest one contains a small explosive in the handle with a thirty second timer. The detonator is in the concealed slot on the inner edge of the clip, flip it out and over to arm it. The other two are on sixty second delay, trigger in the faux bottom of the hilt. For emergencies only, of course.”
Arthur grinned. Now this was more like it. “I’ll give it a good test run for you,” he signed, obligingly. “All in the name of science, of course.”
“I’m sure. Have a pleasant trip.”
“Pleasure to see you again, S!” Arthur sauntered off, chipper, equipment in tow, and Syler was left alone to lock up the armory.
Syler hummed thoughtfully to himself. He’d learned early on that the field agents really were like children, where equipment was concerned anyway, and it never hurt to start positive reinforcement training early on. Besides, letting them think they were more clever than he was kept him entertained.
Five
Special Agent Arthur Dufault, Syler rapidly learned first hand, was a menace. Maria had left the night shift the prior morning muttering roundly under her breath about field agents and their magnetism for trouble, threatening all manner of bodily harm that he would genuinely pay to see. Given what he was being subjected to himself now, he’d gladly offer to hold her coat if it meant freeing up her arms to speed up the other man’s execution.
“If you will recall, Agent, I issued you a Glock 19, six magazines, two ear pieces—one of them very expensive—and, against my better judgment, a set of knives capable of blowing through a steel wall in an emergency.” The equipment return tray presently contained a scuffed firearm, three magazines, no ear pieces, and one frighteningly scorched knife. The man returning them sported an equally alarming bruise on his right temple, but Syler was feeling unsympathetic.
“The knives worked wonderfully, thank you.”
Syler resisted the urge to snarl, barely. “How the hell did a milk run end in explosives?”
“Problems arose, wound up in a bit of a tight spot, had to make a quick exit,” Arthur shrugged. “The charge on that knife really did punch straight through the door, helpfully enough.”
“And the rest?” Another shrug. “No, absolutely not. Explain yourself.”
“Bit above the security clearance of an intern, I’m afraid,” he replied, “though I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know the Ambassador and his wife are well.”
The gall of this man, honestly. To hell with holding Maria’s coat; he was going to help her. “I am the Deputy Director of the Operations branch—”
“Ah, so Thompson finally got around to that paperwork, then.” Indeed, Arthur noted, a shiny new name placard was half concealed under a mountain of files, proclaiming this the desk of one Syler Perrin, Deputy Director of Operations. Arthur wondered if the Colonel had put a bow on it before bestowing it to its ruffled new owner. The man was about as intimidating as a wet kitten and hissed in approximately the same decibel range.
“Yes, apparently for the sole purpose of dumping you in my lap and washing his hands of a lost cause!”
The agent in question cocked his head, considering. “Well, it isn’t a bad lap.”
‘Oh, you can get in line, Maria.’ Syler took a fortifying breath, stopping when the twinkle in Dufault’s eyes gave the game away. He was enjoying this, the absolute bastard. New tactic then. Syler turned to his desk, selecting the appropriate return form as well as a lost equipment expenses sheet, neatly filling them out.
“Sign,” he ordered, thrusting the paperwork towards his wayward agent.
Arthur’s eyebrows shot skyward. “Pardon me?”
“Your bill, as promised. I’ve kindly left off the gun, as it appears salvageable, though the knife may yet be a lost cause. Shall I forward them directly to accounting or would you like to pay by check?”
“They were utilized in the line of duty!”
“Were they? You should have just said,” Syler feigned innocence, collecting a number of expense loss justifications forms from another folder and passing them over. That particular folder was dusty and rarely used what with equipment loss in the field being par for the course. Syler suspected they may exist solely to make this particular sort of point. “Kindly fill those out, one per lost item, and I’ll have the transactions removed before the next round of reports are finalized. I’d accept your oral
