“Now who’s the one of little faith?” He popped open the lock, retrieving the contents for examination. “So, why does a Brazilian banker dabbling in minor funds theft need a hidden drawer for documents detailing a Bulgarian exports company? And a Germany automaker? Oh, these just go on and on.”
“Agent Dufault.” Arthur glanced up, alert, the sharp tone of his handler punctuated by his rapid staccato typing. “Oliveria’s vehicle just pulled up the driveway.” Arthur swore, checking the transfer. Two minutes left.
“So much for getting out of here undetected.” He began replacing the files, meticulously erasing evidence of his presence. “I suppose you’re going to see why it always ends in explosions.”
“I’ve disabled the power to the garage doors. Should buy you some time.” The clicking of keys continued, heartbeat quick. Arthur shut up the hidden panel, reengaged the lock, and closed the drawer. He glanced up. Just under a minute to go.
“Exit plan?”
“Oliveria is heading for the front door and he’s got company. I don’t suppose the windows unlock?” Arthur glanced over towards them, grimacing at the fixed panes.
“Of course not.” The flash drive went dark, transfer complete. He shut down the computer, double checked that everything was undisturbed, and pocketed the drive.
“Back exit then. Head to the east end staircase.” Arthur slipped out of the office, shutting the door softly, and moved quickly. He heard the front door unlock and open as he cleared the main staircase, heading towards the service stairs. Voices rose from the first floor landing. “Two men with him, both armed.”
“Have I mentioned,” he muttered, unholstering his gun and stepping onto the side staircase, “how much I hate corrupt bankers?” He made his way rapidly down to the ground floor, stopping just before he’d come into view of the first floor hall.
“Hold.” Arthur breathed softly, listening to the sounds of the men drifting closer as Syler paused his brisk typing. “They’re coming towards you. Time for a distraction.”
Arthur tensed, internally scrapping hopes for a clean exit even as the sound of keys filed his ear again. “Quickly please.”
“Hold.” The agent breathed low and even, mentally mapping out the cleanest firing path based on the probable position of the approaching voices. He shifted his weight forward. The group of men weren’t twenty feet away…
“Hold,” his handler repeated, just as the lights flickered, once, before the house plunged into darkness, startling Arthur slightly from his ready position. One of Oliveria’s companions swore. “I’ve cut the power.” Another man, presumably Oliveria, guided the other two men out of the hallway and into a front room, announcing that he was going to check the electrical box. “Circuit breaker’s on the far end of the house. The hall is now clear. Proceed forward fifty feet and turn left into the kitchen. There’s a side door into the back lawn.”
Arthur made his way quietly out of the estate, undetected, and emerged on the sidewalk a few minutes later. As he headed towards the rendezvous point, he huffed a laugh and commented, “I think you owe me a lock pick, boy wonder.”
Syler just sighed, running a hand through his already disheveled dark curls. Menace.
Seven
“So,” Maria began, startling Syler from his place at the command desk. “He behaves for you.” Her tone was considering.
Syler glanced up at the clock over the main monitor bank. 10:34 p.m. Christ, he’d been at work long enough for night shift to clock on. “Behave is a strong word.”
Maria quirked a brow, chestnut curls bouncing as she shook her head. “S, last time I had him, he burned down part of a hotel after an assassination attempt on the Ambassador. Even mentioning Dubai around the Director is grounds for dismemberment.”
Privately, Syler wondered how the Director had lasted this long without killing the man. The mortality rate for field agents was high enough as it was. What was one more, honestly? “I really shouldn’t have given him those knives,” he muttered.
“My point,” she continued, “is that this actually went completely according to plan despite going halfway to hell twice along the way. That’s almost unheard of with Dufault.”
“Genuine question—why do we keep him then?”
“Same reason we keep any of the field agents. He’s very, very good at what he does.”
“Blowing things up and taking our equipment budget with him?” Syler queried, sarcastically.
“Boss, he’s a former Delta operator.” His brows furrowed, not following her logic. Maria sighed. “It’s just, well, it’s just how they’re trained to do things.”
“Maria, dear friend, I’m sensing that you’re attempting to enlighten me on something important, but I’ve been here for almost fourteen hours.” He sat down heavily in his desk chair, which creaked in protest. “Can you please try to explain it like I’m five?” He reached for his coffee mug as one would a lifeline, underscoring his point. It was nearly empty and long gone cold.
Maria passed him a new mug, because she was an actual mind reading goddess who took pity on his miserable self. “My brother is Delta. To hear him tell it, he spends most of his days running solo ops with absolutely no support for weeks on end. He’s given an assignment, a tool kit, and a rendezvous point. Everything else is on him.” She paused to take a sip. “Dufault isn’t different. Having an active handler is practically anathema to his training. He’s used to having to work it out for himself, because waiting might get him killed.” She gestured a hand expansively. “You can take the man out of the special forces, but…”
“So,” Syler blinked, turning that little nugget of information over, “what you’re saying is that it’s strange that he, what, listens to me? Because he definitely went black out on comms for a few hours there. I’m not sure that actually counts as listening.”
Maria hummed and nodded. “Yes, but he came back online for the retrieval and trusted you enough to not go rogue when the target
