Fic: The man who had none of the luck 3/6
Part 3 - this is a long'un
Eames - London: 12th September 8.12am
Eames was on the phone to Cobb almost before he left café, barely even paying attention to the time difference. Not that he usually paid attention to such things, though Arthur had been steadily drilling the principle into him.
The call went straight through to answer phone.
He tried the house phone, and got essentially the same result. He suppressed a thread of dread that Cobol had somehow managed to get to Cobb too, but then dismissed the idea. Cobol had little sway in the States, certainly not enough to challenge the level of protection offered by their association with Saito.
Leaving messages on both machines to call him back, along with the number of the current mobile he was using. He'd get rid of the phone before he left London.
He called Ariadne on the way back to the hotel. He tried to keep the conversation light, but something of his emotional turmoil must have showed in his voice, because she asked in a firm, but concerned voice, “Did you and Arthur have a fight?” He choked out a bitter laugh at that, and assured her that whatever the issue was, that certainly wasn't it. But despite her questioning he was unwilling to break the news to her over the phone like this, especially not on an unsecured line.
Despite the lack of information, he managed to convince to fly out to Singapore on the next possible flight. He especially made her promise to be Careful. She knew what that meant, it was one of the things Arthur had drilled into her when she had first come back after the Inception job unable to stay away from dreaming, unable to stay even in safe, legal, dreaming. Not when she knew the world of extraction was out that with all its excitement and thrills.
Yusuf was easier, he called him once he got back to the hotel, half way through packing. The chemist had been in the business long enough to know better than to ask questions when getting a phone call in the middle of the night. Especially one asking him to travel half way round to the world. There were others he could call, other teams, other extractors, but none he'd worked with so closely, none who'd worked with Arthur so closely. Inception had cemented something between them like no other job had, and there was no one else he would trust to call.
He even almost called Saito several times, but every time thought better of it. The man owed them, had employed them since and financed their jobs on more than one occasion. But he was an important, powerful man, and he could imagine there would be no better way to draw attention to them, to the fact they knew that to get in contact. No, Saito would have to wait until they had something more solid.
He took off his jacket to pack it and that was when he noticed the extra weight. It was the package his sister had snuck in his pocket as she hugged him good-bye. He drew it out, a plain brown envelope, how very cliché. In it was a mobile phone, a mid-end Pay as You Go, with a garish pink post-it on it. The familiar messy handwriting indicated that it was 'For Emergencies Only', the only underlined several times to emphasise the point. The phone itself contained a single number, no name attached, and a video file.
He peered at it briefly, trying to figure out what he was seeing. It appeared to be CCTV footage, dated two weeks ago, showing an airport arrival lounge. It was busy, figures walking across shot, some pushing carts laden with baggage, others carrying nothing more than a small duffle bag or suitcase. He was puzzled briefly until he saw him. Eames made it his job to study people, their mannerism and quirks and he'd recognise that profile anywhere. The set of his shoulders, the confidence of his gait, the tight, effortless control and economy of movement that just made him Arthur. Even the casual travel clothes, which might seem out of place to those who were more used to seeing the man in three-piece suits, were oh so very Arthur. He didn't need to do any mental calculations on the time stamp to work out this must have been when the point man had landed in Singapore.
He spotted the two men following him almost as soon as they came into shot, the Arthur on the video clearly had too. There was no overt tell, not to anyone who didn't know him, but Eames had made studying Arthur into an art-form, and noticed immediately the slight change in gait, the tensing of the muscles ready for action and the barely noticeable change in direction and then he was off-shot, heading off somewhere to try and loose his tail no doubt.
'Well, we all know how they went,' Eames thought bitterly to himself. In the few seconds before the video ended the men following him seemed to scan round the lobby, checking no doubt that they weren't being watched themselves, and for a split second looked directly at the camera. 'Gottcha, you bastards'.
He was still studying the image, trying to make out their features on the tiny screen when his phone rang. It was Cobb, he can hear children in the background and wonders what they're doing up at whatever time in the morning it is over there.
“Eames, do you know what time it is over here?” He sounds tired, but the greeting holds little frustration, just a well-worn habit born from too many late night phone calls.
“Yeah, sorry about that mate, I didn't wake you did I?” He's avoiding the issue he know, but convincing Cobb to leave his family and fly half way round the world on short notice with little to no explanation is not a conversation he's looking forward too. Of course, he's even less looking forward to explaining to Cobb how he let the man he considers to be his little brother get kidnapped, no matter that said man is more than capable of looking after himself. At least most of the time.
“No, no, we were at the hospital, Phillipa fell and hurt her leg.” No wonder he sounded tired. Cobb continued cutting off Eames even as he voiced the question, “she's fine, just a sprain, but they kept us waiting for hours.” He sighed and then, when it was clear the other man wasn't going to start, he tackled the conversation head on, “What's wrong?”
The 'What did you do now?' was unspoken but clearly there, and under other circumstances Eames might have taken issue with it, but there were more important things to deal with now. “How quickly can you get to Singapore?” he asked instead.
“Etienne's here, so I can be on the next plane out in the morning. Why? What's happened?”
“I'll tell you everything when you get here.” Cobb started to argue, but he barrelled on, hoping to cut off his arguments, because really, he didn't want to get into this. “Really, trust me, this is important, but I can't tell you like this. I just need you to get here as soon as you can” he took a deep breath, “and bring the briefcase Arthur gave you”
That cut off any arguments. The 'briefcase' in question contained not just a fake passport, but a whole fake identity, well-researched, backed-up by documentation, resistant to almost any and all scrutiny. Arthur had started putting it together before Inception, as a way for Cobb to make it back to America despite the warrant. He'd never used it, his family was too closely watched for him to have gotten to see them and somehow being in the same country as them would have only made it worse. But he'd kept it in case of emergencies.
Eames asking him to use it conveyed in so few words exactly how bad the situation was. He said the only thing he could say after that, “I'll be there by tomorrow evening.”
+++++
Singapore, 13th September 11.58pm
Eames made it out to Singapore on the first flight he could get. Of course, the first flight he could get was considerably sooner than the first flight available by any legal means. But Eames was a con artist and a thief as much as he was a forger and arranging a flight out at short notice was hardly a stretch of his abilities. Using less than legal challenges also had the advantage of avoiding annoying technicalities like visas and paper trails.
The others took somewhat longer to make it there, although the difference in distance could have had more to do with it. Even so, by midnight the next day, he was leading them all into their new workspace with a flourish that felt fake even as he did went through the motions. He'd pulled some strings, from trusted sources, to get them an abandoned office to work in, with a small apartment upstairs removing the added need, and risk, sourcing a hotel would entail. This was normally Arthur's job, which probably explained their penchant for working in stark, utilitarian facilities, 'The unimaginative sod he was', he thought fondly.
He'd barely closed the door before the barrage of questions started, asking him 'why they were here?' and 'what was this all about?'. However, it was Ariadne, who'd been silent thus far, looking around the small office with a level of curiosity, who asked the pertinent question, “Where's Arthur?”
That shut them up. Cobb looked around the workspace, as if seeing it for the first time. Instead of the neat order that the point man always set up, it still had furniture strewn all over the floor, covered in a layer of dust and grime which would not have been acceptable to any workspace which Arthur inhabited. He turned back to Eames and the forger could see him putting the pieces together. There were many terms that could be used to describe the extractor, but stupid was not one of them, and his next words, oh so quiet, but forceful nonetheless, confirmed it, “What happened?”
Eames could feel the fragile façade of normality he'd been trying to maintain crack at that. He sighed and grabbed one of the chairs littered around the room before sitting down. He took an extra moment to brush off the dust before he did, partly because of habit after so many years of being around Arthur but mostly because it meant he could avoid looking Cobb is the eye that extra precious few seconds. Finally he faced them, and their curious, concerned faces. He bit the bullet, “Cobol Engineering happened”
There was silence for a few seconds as the others processed this, and then it was like a dam had broken. The questions flew thick and fast, mostly from Ariadne, but some from Yusuf, Eames answered them as best he could, barely having time to pause between one answer and the next. Throughout the process Cobb remained silent. It was only after Eames had told them all he knew and showed them the surveillance footage, now downloaded to the laptop, the better resolution allowing for a full crisp view of the men following Arthur, that Cobb spoke up, asking a single question, “Where were you during all of this?”
The accusation, so clear in the question, stung “We'd gone our separate ways after completing an extraction, highly successful I might add. A security measure I believe you instituted. So I imagine at the time this video footage was taken, I was on a plane back to London” He didn't even attempt to keep the sarcasm out of his tone. Cobb opened his mouth to respond but Ariadne cut in heading off the inevitable argument. Eames was certain if he wanted to kiss her or hit her because of it.
“So, if you were in London, how do you know all of this?” She asked, clearly trying to reduce the problem to a puzzle to be solved, her way of dealing with things.
“Let's just say I still have my sources and leave it at that”
“These sources, do you trust them?” Cobb again, accusatory as if Eames had kidnapped the point man himself.
“About as far as I could throw her, although that may actually be a bit too far.” Eames responded drily, he was under no illusions that his sister had given him the information entirely out of concern for his welfare. “But I'm pretty certain she's not actively trying to get me killed”
Cobb looked at him as if thinking things through, before nodding once and getting up to face to whiteboard still somehow attached the wall of the office and started writing even as he listed the sum of what they knew. Cobb was taking charge, as he always did. “We know Arthur arrived safely at the airport two weeks ago, where apparently he picked up a tail.”
Though Eames had never been a leader, nor, he admitted to himself, much of a follower either, he couldn't help but feel a flash of anger at the way the other man so effortlessly waltz in and took control. Because dammit, this wasn't just some job, this was about Arthur. He pushed the feeling down, because this was the whole reason he'd called in the extractor, because this was what he did, and despite his semi-retirement, he was still the best.
“And lost them again soon after.” Eames interjected, “Did some asking around whilst I was waiting for you lot to turn up. Folks are being surprisingly mum despite my considerable charms, but seems like he managed to book into a hotel for the night and pay a visit to our client to get things sorted. He wouldn't have risked either if he still had a tail.” Eames knew he probably came across as smug as he said it, demonstrating his superior knowledge of the point man but he couldn't resist it. After all, he was self-aware enough to admit that he'd never been particularly rational when it came to the hold that Cobb seemed to have over Arthur.
Either oblivious or ignoring the tone Eames used, he nodded and noted the information down on the board, “Right, so they must have picked up his trail again after the meet. Which gives us several leads to go on: the hotel, the client and the men from the CCTV footage.”
“Hey, it's a start isn't it” Ariadne interjected with an optimistic smile which clearly didn't make it to her eyes.
+++++
Singapore, 20th September, 8.43pm
They'd hit nothing but dead ends. A week, a whole week of searching, a whole during which they could be doing who knows what to Arthur, and they'd found sweet fuck all.
They hadn't really expected to get any information out of the hotel, but Yusuf and Ariadne had gone along nonetheless. A smile to the right receptionist, a sob story about a missing brother and she was hearing about how 'of course they'd noticed the handsome businessman'. He'd booked in for only one night, paying in advance, cash, and who'd stayed for approximately two hours to get changed from his travelling clothes into a very nice three-piece suit, and then left the hotel never to return. They'd even managed to get the rest of Arthur's things off them, after all they were only taking up space in storage.
Finding their client was easier than expected. Unfortunately this was because Mr Lo Tang had been involved in an 'tragic' fire at his place of residence. They'd spotted the funeral announcement barely a day after they had arrived. Everything had gone up in flames, all his records, paperwork, anything that could have possibly helped them get a lead. The timing was too perfect and Eames fervently wished that the man was still alive so he could kill him himself for selling Arthur out.
The men from the video footage had been more difficult to track down, and it took all of Cobb and Eames considerable skill, not to mention favours called in, to find them. One, a Mr John Smith according to his records, and really the name was so painfully obviously fake, was in hospital suffering from cracked ribs, a shattered ankle and a concussion. The Brit felt a certain measure of pride that whatever else had happened, Arthur clearly hadn't gone quietly. The other, Tom Jones, and Eames had to suppress a wince at that one, because really who was coming up with these names, had been through the hospital, a broken arm this time, and had conveniently left them a home address.
Not that any of that actually helped them, given that whoever these guys really were, they were clearly just hired muscle, on retained for Cobol and contacted anonymously whenever there was a job to do. Even after a painfully easy extraction, they were left none the wiser, just that they'd grabbed Arthur and after taking the time to 'subdue' him, had dumped him in the back of a van and that was that. They'd even found the van, stolen of course, burnt out in a parking lot. It was beginning to look like someone had an unfortunate obsession with fire.
Tensions had been running high for days as one by one their leads went up in smoke, literally in more than one case. Thinking back on it, the argument was inevitable.
Eames couldn't even say what had set it off, something small no doubt, a wrong comment here, a frustrated word there and then he and Cobb were in each others faces, accusations of blame flying everywhere.
“This is your fault.” Cobb was shouting, so close he was almost shoving him, and Eames took an involuntary step back from the force of anger, “If we'd have known about this sooner instead of two weeks after we might have had something to go on.”
“Oh really, my fault, and how pray tell is that my fault? I'm not psychic, if it wasn't for me we might not have known till we were all gathered round in Paris, wondering why our ever punctual point man hadn't turned up, hmm?” He smirked in a way he knew was guaranteed to get Cobbs blood boiling.
“He should never have been in Singapore without back-up. Hell what were you two doing taking the job on your own in the first place, anything could have gone wrong?” Despite Eames best efforts, Cobb was not backing off
“Well excuse me for treating Arthur like an adult who is more than capable of taking care of himself. Despite what you may think, we don't hang around by the phone, waiting for you to deign to call us. We can actually do jobs without the Great Dominic Cobb to guide our every move.” It was like waving a red flag and this time Cobb actually did push him up against the wall.
“And what's that suppose to mean?” the words were gritted out between clenched teeth and Eames got the feeling that the extractor might actually hit him. He couldn't bring himself to care.
“You. We hardly hear from you for eleven months of the year, and then you call out the blue and expect us to drop everything and come at your beck and call like an obedient dog. Oh wait, I tell a lie, not us, you expect Arthur to come, ever loyal, faithful Arthur. I bet it must kill you that he has a life outside of you, that he doesn't need you!” The words obviously struck a nerve because this time Cobb did go to hit him, and Eames, in no mood to be anyone's punching bag, raised his arm to block the hit but before it could strike home Ariadne's voice rang out around the workspace.
“Stop it! Just stop it, both of you, you're NOT helping! If you can't both act like adults maybe you should just leave instead.” She was glaring at them from across the room, though Eames could see tears of hurt trying to force their way out and it was obvious this was getting to her as much as it was to all of them.
They drew apart guiltily, frustration still visible in every line of their bodies. Cobb moved first, stalking over to the worktable and pulling out files, with a muttered “I have work to do” under his breath.
Eames felt the sudden need to get out of the office, the small workspace suddenly becoming far too claustrophobic for the four of them. “I need a fag,” he announced to the room at large, before grabbing his cigarettes off the table, he paused then leaned down to grab the phone Ems had given him from off the table, and made his way up to the small flat and then out onto the fire escape.
He was on his fifth cigarette and third watch through of the CCTV footage when he heard a sound from the small living room which adjoined the fire escape. It was Ariadne, quelle surprise. She gave him a small smile as she climbed out next to him and he moved over to give her more room.
They sat in companionable silence for a while, before she ventured, half hopefully, “Why don't we just grab one of the guys from Cobol and have a look around their minds. I mean Cobol's a pretty big company right? Shouldn't be too difficult to find one of their high-ups?” She was twirling her hair round her finger as she spoke, a habit that annoyed him no end, which probably explained the sharpness of his reply.
“Which one love? Like you say, Cobol's a big company, chances are we'd just end up grabbing some poor sod who works in HR and doesn't have a scooby about any of his employer's more exotic pursuits but who knows just enough about extraction to be able to warn them that we're on to them. And then we'll be even worse off than we are now.”
“It was just a suggestion,” she replied, somewhat hurt by his sarcasm, but really Eames couldn't bring himself to care. No matter how he looked at the problem, he kept on coming up blank. He had called in every favour, every mark he had and was turning up nothing. He couldn't help but feel he was missing something, some clue, but he just couldn't see what it was.
She doesn't speak again until he's reaching for another fag, lighting it with a tasteful silver lighter with an intertwined A and E carved on the underside, a gift from Arthur, one of the small things that showed he cared, even if he never was good at saying it.
“How long have you and Arthur been...” she trailed off as if hesitating verbalising it.
“What, working jobs together” He asked with a teasing smile.
“No! You know... together?”
Now there was a question, not one he could really answer, so he played for time, “Who says we're together then love?” And of course it had the added advantage of making her squirm.
“You mean you're not? But I assumed... ” she spluttered.
He decided to put her out of her misery, “Relax pet, we are. Been four years or so, off and on.” 'Off and on', now there was an understatement. He smiled at her confused look and he could guess what she was thinking, her next words confirming it.
“So you guys were together during the Fischer job, when he kis...” she trailed off as if realising what she was saying, clearly worried she'd let some big secret out. He had to laugh at that, she really did have no clue.
“When he kissed you in the hotel lobby you mean. I was there love, wearing a lovely little blond number if you recall.”
“So what, he was trying to make you jealous?” She was genuinely confused, obviously reading far more into the kiss that he suspected the point man had meant.
He snorted, “Maybe a bit, but mostly I think he was just trying to distract the projections love.” He grinned at her as he continued, “sometimes a cigar really is just a cigar”. She wasn't convinced, but Eames was a master at reading people's body language and even if he didn't know full well that Arthur's interest in women was minimal to say the least, the body language of the kiss was chaste and lacking in passion, even if there was some measure of affection behind it.
He turned his attention back to the CCTV footage which had started its play again. Somehow this time he saw it and he could have slapped himself for being so dense. He'd been concentrating on the details, trying to analyse it as he knew their missing point man would. But really he should have been looking at the body language instead.
Now he had noticed it, noticed him, he stood out like a sore thumb. It wasn't in the clothes, he was dressed like any of the umpteen businessmen travelling through, it was in anything he was doing, he barely looked up from the paper he was studying. But something about his body language was off, and as he watched he spotted what it was. Every time he did glance up, although only for a few seconds, he didn't around aimlessly or check the departure time, like all those other travellers were doing. Instead his eyes were unerringly drawn towards the figure of the point man making his way through the airport.
This was the break they'd been waiting for.
+++++
They were walking together along the river Seine, sunlight glinting off the windows of the magnificent buildings of this historic part of the city. Despite the sunlight, the air was crisp with a spring chill, none of which had managed to deter many of the cities inhabitants from heading out to enjoy the sunshine and they ended up having to share the path with other couples and young families. All out enjoying the first good weather that the city had seen in weeks.
Eames didn't like Paris as a rule. Sure it was pretty enough, but the people were eminently arrogant and rude and it always had far too many tourists coming to sample the 'magic' of the allegedly most romantic city in the world. He was more than aware of the hypocrisy of the complaints, coming as they were from a native Londoner, but then he never really like London all that much either. But at moments like this he could almost learn to love the place. More to the point, he could almost let himself love the man walking next to him.
Arthur was looking resplendent, as always, in a sharp Dunhill suit. More to the point he looked relaxed and calm, clearly enjoying the morning sun, the fresh air, the simple pleasure of being. Moments like these were few and far between, just the two of them, walking in companionable silence, and Eames treasured every second of it. He glanced over at the point man, admiring the sharp planes of his features and the lines of his body. There was something niggling at him in the back of his mind. Something important he meant to remember but then the edges of Arthur's mouth twitched in a semblance of a smile and Eames forgot there was anything at all outside the two of them.
“Didn't anyone tell you it was rude to stare?” Arthur asked him, mock annoyance tingeing his every word.
“I can't help it if you're irresistible now can I love? It's all I can do to stop myself pulling you into that alleyway over there and having my wicked way with you” Eames replied with a grin, moving closer, into Arthur's personal space and the point man let him, a testament to how relaxed he was.
“Resist. I have no wish to be arrested for public indecency.” But he was smiling as he said that, an amused tolerance for the other man's antics.
He made no move to get away and Eames risked bringing his arms up around him and bending forward to capture the other man's lips in a kiss. Arthur responded almost instinctively, and for a few moments it was as if they were the only people on the otherwise crowded path, caught in their own bubble of time. Then the point man pulled away and firmly, but with an edge of reluctance, moving out of Eames' grasp.
“Stop that.” The words were firm but Arthur beneath the frown it was clear that he was surpressing a smile of contenment and Eames took that as a very good sign.
“I told you darling, you're irresistible.” He moved forward again with a grin, but this time the younger man did step out the way.
“Find a way to contain yourself. I'm sure even with your libido you can manage until we make it back to the apartment.”
“You wound me love, really you do.” Eames gave him a mock pout, but nonetheless stepped back to a distance more suited to polite company. They started walking again, a slow amble and after a couple of minutes Eames felt a hand reach out to his. He glanced at the other man but he was looking steadfastly ahead, the contented smile he'd been suppressing earlier now showing clearly on his face. The forger didn't even try to stop his grin at the action, because for Arthur, with all his clear boundaries about around his private life and what was and wasn't acceptable public displays of affection, holding hands was effectively an equivalent to getting down on his knees and giving him a blowjob in the middle of the road.
At that moment, Eames knew it was pointless even pretending he wasn't hopelessly in love with the other man.
They walked like that for what seemed like forever, as if the moment was too perfect to be broken for anything, but then the sky started to cloud over, and they headed back out onto the main boulevard, hoping to grab a taxi before the heavens opened and they both got drenched.
The crowds were thicker here on the main street, and the two of them were jostled from all sides. Eames managed to fight his way through to the taxi rank, but when he looked around for Arthur there was no sign. It was as if the point man had vanished. Suddenly the crowd started to take on an ugly edge, like projections turning on the dreamer and Eames was gripped with a sense of panic. He reached for his totem, hearing what sounded like sirens in the distance.
He awoke with a gasp.
He was in one of the small bedrooms in the flat above their office space. The sirens were still going off and it took him a moment to realise that it was his alarm clock. He reached for it and took a perverse satisfaction from the sound the infernal contraption made as it hit the far side of the room, a final plaintive beep before sliding into silence. He reached over to the bedside table for his totem, running his fingers over the worn edges of the poker chip, feeling the grooves, the weight, the tiny details that told him that here, in this grotty little bedroom, was reality.
Fuck, he hadn't had a dream in years. Not that it was truly a dream, more a memory of a time in Paris only a few months ago, between jobs, when they had spent close to a month just enjoying each others company. Only in reality they had made it back to the small flat Arthur rented in the city, unharmed but soaked through and Eames had insisted on stripping the point man of his wet clothes immediately to avoid him 'catching his death'. They hadn't gotten dressed again for the rest of the afternoon and later in the evening, with the light fading, Arthur had given him a key to the place with an off-hand 'so you don't keep having to pick the lock' clearly covering the deeper meaning of the gesture.
With a sigh born from too little sleep, Eames staggered out of the bed, dragged his clothes haphazardly on and made his way downstairs to the small kitchenette where there was a pot of coffee waiting. He barely noticed the others as he walked past, blurry eyed, to ensure his caffeine fill. It was only once he had taken his first sip of coffee that Cobb started talking, “We've found out who he is.”
Eames spun round at that, the first frisson of hope he'd felt in well over a week. Once Eames had spotted the man in the video, they'd called round every contact they had to try and identify him. They'd even called in one of the many favours with Saito and though there was no way the businessman could, should, come in person, he had promised to put as many resources as he could muster to problem. “After all,” he'd said with some affection, “Mr Arthur has proven to be one of my more reliable investments. It would be a shame to allow this to go to waste.”.
That was barely two days ago, but it seems like their persistence had paid off. “Don't leave me in suspense here, who is the bastard so we can go and pay him a nice little visit?” And really, if this man was responsible for Arthur's disappearance, Eames was half tempted to suggest that they try and get the information out of him the old fashioned way. It may not be effective, but it would sure as hell make him feel better.
“James Carnhain, Irish national, he's a VP for a company called Quartz Security.” Cobb reads out what he had found from the file and Eames can't help feel a stab of resentment that Arthur would have been able to rattle off details on a mark like this from memory instead of having to refer back to them every five minutes.
“Let me guess, this Quartz Security just so happens to be a subsidiary of Cobol?”
Cobb gave him a odd look and shook his head, “Freelance...” he tried to correct him but Eames wasn't paying attention, there was something else tickling at the back of his mind.
“James Carnhain?” he rolled off the name, as if testing it “Ex-Provo? Big thing in the Real IRA back in the 90s?” Not just scum then, terrorist scum to boot.
“How do you...?” Ariadne there, curious.
He gave her a wry smile, “Spent a couple of years serving Her Majesty in Northern Ireland. Made quite a name for himself back in Belfast that bastard did, made his start blowing up squadies with pipe bombs before moving on to hunting down spooks for fun.”
“Still does,” confirmed Cobb. “From the information Saito was able to give us, he moved out East after Good Friday and set up in counter-corporate espionage. He specialises in tracking down corporate spies and extractors. If anyone will have a lead on where they're keeping Arthur, this guy is it.”
Yusuf spoke up from where he had been flipping through the file, “This won't be easy, someone like this, he will be militarised. You will need a stronger sedative than normal to keep the dreams stable” He held up his hand to head off the protests forming on the others lips, “not so strong as to no longer wake up, but strong nonetheless.”
Cobb nodded, a plan clearly already formulating and suddenly Eames was nothing but glad that he had called the extractor, because this was what he did, this was what made him the best and if anyone could think up a plan, it was Cobb. “Yusuf work on refining the sedative then, I want something that can handle two levels. Ariadne, I'll need some time with you after to go over the levels.” The young architect nodded in afirmative to that, sketchbook open and eager. “Eames,” Cobb continued, “any chance you can track down some of his old IRA buddies to forge? Preferably one that still alive?”
Eames nodded, “I think I know just the chap, nasty piece of work, should have just got out of Pentonville two years ago. Assuming he hasn't blown himself up in the meantime, he'll do.” He paused for a moment to give Cobb a chance to go on after the mutter 'good' in acknolwedgment of his suggestion.
When it didn't looked like he would, he asked the obvious question. “ So when are we doing this then? I don't know about anyone else, but I'm not willing to leave Arthur in the hands of those bastards any longer than I need to” There was a challenge in his voice, and a promise, if this took too long, he was going after Carnhain on his own.
“Three days, assuming the schedule Saito's people got us is right,” and there is frustration there, because Arthur would have gotten the marks movements down to the second. But the point man wasn't here, and they would have to make do with what they had. “He should have just gotten back from a business trip from Bangkok. I want to get Arthur back as much as you do, but we need to do this right, you know that Eames.” And Eames had to give him that one, fucking this up now would just make the task even more impossible than it already was.
That didn't mean he had to like it any better.
++++
The next three days were filled with as much preparation as they could fit in physically do, and very little sleep. The plan was almost simple in its complexity, a hallmark of a genuine Cobb plan.
They were going to play on Carnhain's past by making him think that the CIA had caught up with him and were trying to extract information from his mind. That was the deeper layer, the dream within a dream, the one he was meant to spot as fake. Ariadne would play the American spook, Cobb would be an extractor brought in to do the deed, who ultimately had been bought out by Carnhain's old pal, Mickey O'Herne. Once the Cobb had 'betrayed' his employers and shot Ariadne, him and Carnhain would make it up to the next level, where Eames would be waiting as good ol' Mickey and he and Cobb would make their escape with Carnhain from the security forces who would inevitably be after them.
It was elegant really, by convincing the mark that the mental security that was after the dreamer, in this case Eames, was in fact after him, they would hopefully confuse the subconscious long enough to get the information.
Eames could only see a hundred or so chances for it all to go horribly wrong, not least whether Ariadne had any chance of passing off as CIA. But really the sticking point was going to be whether Eames could get Carnhain to trust Mickey, to believe he was Mickey and for that he needed more information. And he knew just where to get it.
The phone cut to answer phone straight away, as expected, an automated voice kindly asking him to leave a message. He figured she wouldn't have given him the number if the line wasn't at least mostly secure, so he came right out to ask for it. “Answer phone, lovely darling, what if this really was an emergency. Look, I need some info Mickey O'Herne, nothing that'd get you in trouble, but anything you've got on his relationship to James Carnhain would be lovely.” It was several hours until he got a reply, a string of letter and digits and the e-mail address to one of the many anonymous accounts he used for work related purposes.
He could have kissed her, the encrypted file, although heavily sanitised, contained all the information he needed on one Mickey O'Herne, bomb maker, drug dealer and all around bastard really. It had attached an text file, with two words: “Remember, Christmas!” He grinned at that, and promised to himself he'd buy her an especially big present this year.
He spent the next two days going studying the file and going under by himself, in an attempt to perfect the fake. He hated putting on an Irish accent, it reminded him too much of Belfast, of guns and bombs and communities trying to tear each other apart. But eventually, piece by piece, he got the forge down and all he could hope was that the file was complete enough for it to pass muster. Though he could take some comfort in the fact that, as far as he could tell, Carnhain hadn't seen Mickey since he'd been put away.
By the third day the plan was refined as it could ever be, Cobb had confirmed Carnhain's itinerary through his own sources, it was just a question of getting Yusuf in place with the right taxi at the right time to pick him up. 'Because after his last display of driving ability that was clearly the best idea' Eames had thought when this was mentioned, but didn't dare voice it out loud in case Yusuf decided to add hallucinogens to his sedative the next time he was under.
Ariadne perfected her mazes, a high class restaurant in first, because the CIA have even less imagination that Arthur, and the back alleys in some anonymous part of Singapore for the second, to buy them as much time as possible. They trained in them, again and again, using Eames' to provide the projections. It wasn't perfect, usually when they needed training against militarised targets, they'd use Arthur's mind to provide the projections, and sometimes Eames had to worry about exactly how vicious that man's subconscious could be, but in a pinch, Eames' mind would do.
Despite the training and the work, it was what should have been a month long job pushed into three days, without the benefit of a point man either to cover the details. As a result, Eames was actually surprised when despite everything the extraction went off with barely a hitch.
They picked the mark up from the airport as planned, an airborne sedative pumping into the back of the cab as it pulled away, gradually sending him under. Even Ariadne managed to pull off CIA spook down to a T, according to Cobb. Apparently, it really was quite surprising how much of an ice queen the architect could be when she put her mind to. She must have been taking lessons from Arthur.
The only snag had come when Carnhain had started questioning 'Mickey' about former associates of theirs, clearly sounding him out with a sharpness that should have been expected given his file. He was glad that he had done some checking around of former associates before settling on O'Harne, because that allowed him to answer with some certainty that 'Tommy Finagle wasn't 'doing grand', him being six feet under for the past four years an' all' and that 'Mad Jessie was living up to his name in Broadmore, thank ye very much'.
It was when Carnhain asked about 'whether he'd been to have a drink with Old Gordon?' as they were ducking behind a set of bins in a filthy alleyway that was pretending to be Singapore, trying to avoid getting shot up by the man's overly vicious projections, that Eames knew he had to put a stop to this line of questioning.
“Oh aye, that's a nice joke since we both know Ol' Gordon hasn't touched a lick of alcohol in years,” he spat out. It was a guess, but really with the way the questions had been going, it really was a 50-50 chance and by the look on Carnhain's face it was the right one. “Now, you going to stop with the twenty questions and start working on how to get us out of here. Ye gotta know why them spooks were asking you about this fella. What's he called...” and that was Cobbs cue.
“Arthur. They were asking something about an 'Arthur'”
They got the information eventually. After being shot at far more times than was healthy and spending every moment of it trying to remind himself that they needed to keep Carnhain alive, despite rising temptations to throw him into the path of the projections bullets.
They got all the information they needed and more. And suddenly it became much more clear why his sister, who shouldn't have had any access to this information at all, had sought him out in London. He should have probably felt angry or betrayed, but he couldn't really bring himself to feel anything but resigned. She always had been a manipulative bitch, it was a family trait they shared.
But that was an issue for later. Because now they knew where Arthur was, and exactly why Carnhain had been travelling to Bangkok. Now they just needed to get there before it was too late.
++++
Bangkok, 25th September, 5.45pm
They got there too late.
It was a desolate place, an abandoned warehouse in a run-down part of the city. Like so many of the warehouses they'd used to work in, and yet so different, the fading sunlight filtering through broken and boarded up windows making a surreal tableau of the picture in front of them.
There was rickety furniture strewn about the place, held up more by hope than by design, a table here, some chairs there, a small cot in the corner of the room and in the middle was a steel office chair, considerably more robust than anything else in the room. Handcuffs were lazily dangling off the arms, looking somehow mundane despite the rusted blood along the edge offering a dark hint as to what had happened to their occupant.
Blood too was coagulating in a puddle at the base of the chair, spreading out like dark stain and pooling around a broken PASIV device, lying abandoned on the floor, it's IV lines strewn haphazardly around it. A small table lay on its side besides it, the bottles of chemicals, of sedatives and drugs and god knows what else, spilling out over the floor. It was too these Yusuf immediately went, to try and resolve the whole complex mess, failing the availability of copious amounts of alcohol, based on what he knew best. Chemicals
But that wasn't what caught Eames attention so much as the bodies strewn across the floor, half a dozen men in cheap suits. What were once cheap suits, Eames, but were now little more than rags stained with blood. And most importantly, none of them were Arthur.
Ariadne tried to push past him, to get in, to see for herself, to see if Arthur was there. Eames barred her way, giving her an apologetic but firm smile, “He's not here pet, and you really don't want to see what is.” He gave Cobb a knowing look. Cobb, who'd been taking in the scene with the same professional eye he had, who nodded back at his in agreement and gently lead Ariadne away from this scene of carnage before she lost her remnants belief in the goodness of humanity, which somehow, had survived intact after three years in the extraction business.
One of the bodies groaned, clearly not such a corpse as he looked, and Eames smiled grimly, drawing his gun and went to squat down by the man who was swimming his way gradually towards consciousness. He stroked the barrel of the gun across the man's cheek, the threat implicit, but wasted on the man given his level of lucidity.
“Now, you and me are going to have a little chat and you are going to tell me all about what happened here,” The words were delivered in a low, almost lazy purr, the threat behind them however was implicit even to a someone swimming in pain from a shattered knee, a broken arm and a slash across the chest. He moved the gun down to one of the larger gashes and pushed slightly to emphasise his point.
The man gasped, and started talking, the words spilling out, incoherent but painting a distinct picture for Eames, “... he...that bitch wasn't meant … shouldn't have been able to move... fuck... shouldn't been able... able to fight back. Fucking little bastard...” the rest was lost to intelligible rambles, interspersed with swear words. But he'd heard enough, the scene painted by the warehouse told him the rest.
The gun shot rang out in the silence, startling Yusuf from his study of the chemicals, he glanced briefly at the now dead body then looked swiftly away, as if unwilling to be party to the murder, no execution, the forger had just enacted but also unwilling to protest. Not given with the knowledge he'd gleaned from the bottles he was studying, not given the blood, Arthur's blood, staining them and the needles used.
Eames cursed softly to himself, because it was clear by now that Arthur, beautiful, stubborn, selfish Arthur had given up waiting for his knight in shinning armour to rescue him like any sensible man would and had effectively, efficiently gone about rescuing himself instead.
Part 4
Eames - London: 12th September 8.12am
Eames was on the phone to Cobb almost before he left café, barely even paying attention to the time difference. Not that he usually paid attention to such things, though Arthur had been steadily drilling the principle into him.
The call went straight through to answer phone.
He tried the house phone, and got essentially the same result. He suppressed a thread of dread that Cobol had somehow managed to get to Cobb too, but then dismissed the idea. Cobol had little sway in the States, certainly not enough to challenge the level of protection offered by their association with Saito.
Leaving messages on both machines to call him back, along with the number of the current mobile he was using. He'd get rid of the phone before he left London.
He called Ariadne on the way back to the hotel. He tried to keep the conversation light, but something of his emotional turmoil must have showed in his voice, because she asked in a firm, but concerned voice, “Did you and Arthur have a fight?” He choked out a bitter laugh at that, and assured her that whatever the issue was, that certainly wasn't it. But despite her questioning he was unwilling to break the news to her over the phone like this, especially not on an unsecured line.
Despite the lack of information, he managed to convince to fly out to Singapore on the next possible flight. He especially made her promise to be Careful. She knew what that meant, it was one of the things Arthur had drilled into her when she had first come back after the Inception job unable to stay away from dreaming, unable to stay even in safe, legal, dreaming. Not when she knew the world of extraction was out that with all its excitement and thrills.
Yusuf was easier, he called him once he got back to the hotel, half way through packing. The chemist had been in the business long enough to know better than to ask questions when getting a phone call in the middle of the night. Especially one asking him to travel half way round to the world. There were others he could call, other teams, other extractors, but none he'd worked with so closely, none who'd worked with Arthur so closely. Inception had cemented something between them like no other job had, and there was no one else he would trust to call.
He even almost called Saito several times, but every time thought better of it. The man owed them, had employed them since and financed their jobs on more than one occasion. But he was an important, powerful man, and he could imagine there would be no better way to draw attention to them, to the fact they knew that to get in contact. No, Saito would have to wait until they had something more solid.
He took off his jacket to pack it and that was when he noticed the extra weight. It was the package his sister had snuck in his pocket as she hugged him good-bye. He drew it out, a plain brown envelope, how very cliché. In it was a mobile phone, a mid-end Pay as You Go, with a garish pink post-it on it. The familiar messy handwriting indicated that it was 'For Emergencies Only', the only underlined several times to emphasise the point. The phone itself contained a single number, no name attached, and a video file.
He peered at it briefly, trying to figure out what he was seeing. It appeared to be CCTV footage, dated two weeks ago, showing an airport arrival lounge. It was busy, figures walking across shot, some pushing carts laden with baggage, others carrying nothing more than a small duffle bag or suitcase. He was puzzled briefly until he saw him. Eames made it his job to study people, their mannerism and quirks and he'd recognise that profile anywhere. The set of his shoulders, the confidence of his gait, the tight, effortless control and economy of movement that just made him Arthur. Even the casual travel clothes, which might seem out of place to those who were more used to seeing the man in three-piece suits, were oh so very Arthur. He didn't need to do any mental calculations on the time stamp to work out this must have been when the point man had landed in Singapore.
He spotted the two men following him almost as soon as they came into shot, the Arthur on the video clearly had too. There was no overt tell, not to anyone who didn't know him, but Eames had made studying Arthur into an art-form, and noticed immediately the slight change in gait, the tensing of the muscles ready for action and the barely noticeable change in direction and then he was off-shot, heading off somewhere to try and loose his tail no doubt.
'Well, we all know how they went,' Eames thought bitterly to himself. In the few seconds before the video ended the men following him seemed to scan round the lobby, checking no doubt that they weren't being watched themselves, and for a split second looked directly at the camera. 'Gottcha, you bastards'.
He was still studying the image, trying to make out their features on the tiny screen when his phone rang. It was Cobb, he can hear children in the background and wonders what they're doing up at whatever time in the morning it is over there.
“Eames, do you know what time it is over here?” He sounds tired, but the greeting holds little frustration, just a well-worn habit born from too many late night phone calls.
“Yeah, sorry about that mate, I didn't wake you did I?” He's avoiding the issue he know, but convincing Cobb to leave his family and fly half way round the world on short notice with little to no explanation is not a conversation he's looking forward too. Of course, he's even less looking forward to explaining to Cobb how he let the man he considers to be his little brother get kidnapped, no matter that said man is more than capable of looking after himself. At least most of the time.
“No, no, we were at the hospital, Phillipa fell and hurt her leg.” No wonder he sounded tired. Cobb continued cutting off Eames even as he voiced the question, “she's fine, just a sprain, but they kept us waiting for hours.” He sighed and then, when it was clear the other man wasn't going to start, he tackled the conversation head on, “What's wrong?”
The 'What did you do now?' was unspoken but clearly there, and under other circumstances Eames might have taken issue with it, but there were more important things to deal with now. “How quickly can you get to Singapore?” he asked instead.
“Etienne's here, so I can be on the next plane out in the morning. Why? What's happened?”
“I'll tell you everything when you get here.” Cobb started to argue, but he barrelled on, hoping to cut off his arguments, because really, he didn't want to get into this. “Really, trust me, this is important, but I can't tell you like this. I just need you to get here as soon as you can” he took a deep breath, “and bring the briefcase Arthur gave you”
That cut off any arguments. The 'briefcase' in question contained not just a fake passport, but a whole fake identity, well-researched, backed-up by documentation, resistant to almost any and all scrutiny. Arthur had started putting it together before Inception, as a way for Cobb to make it back to America despite the warrant. He'd never used it, his family was too closely watched for him to have gotten to see them and somehow being in the same country as them would have only made it worse. But he'd kept it in case of emergencies.
Eames asking him to use it conveyed in so few words exactly how bad the situation was. He said the only thing he could say after that, “I'll be there by tomorrow evening.”
+++++
Singapore, 13th September 11.58pm
Eames made it out to Singapore on the first flight he could get. Of course, the first flight he could get was considerably sooner than the first flight available by any legal means. But Eames was a con artist and a thief as much as he was a forger and arranging a flight out at short notice was hardly a stretch of his abilities. Using less than legal challenges also had the advantage of avoiding annoying technicalities like visas and paper trails.
The others took somewhat longer to make it there, although the difference in distance could have had more to do with it. Even so, by midnight the next day, he was leading them all into their new workspace with a flourish that felt fake even as he did went through the motions. He'd pulled some strings, from trusted sources, to get them an abandoned office to work in, with a small apartment upstairs removing the added need, and risk, sourcing a hotel would entail. This was normally Arthur's job, which probably explained their penchant for working in stark, utilitarian facilities, 'The unimaginative sod he was', he thought fondly.
He'd barely closed the door before the barrage of questions started, asking him 'why they were here?' and 'what was this all about?'. However, it was Ariadne, who'd been silent thus far, looking around the small office with a level of curiosity, who asked the pertinent question, “Where's Arthur?”
That shut them up. Cobb looked around the workspace, as if seeing it for the first time. Instead of the neat order that the point man always set up, it still had furniture strewn all over the floor, covered in a layer of dust and grime which would not have been acceptable to any workspace which Arthur inhabited. He turned back to Eames and the forger could see him putting the pieces together. There were many terms that could be used to describe the extractor, but stupid was not one of them, and his next words, oh so quiet, but forceful nonetheless, confirmed it, “What happened?”
Eames could feel the fragile façade of normality he'd been trying to maintain crack at that. He sighed and grabbed one of the chairs littered around the room before sitting down. He took an extra moment to brush off the dust before he did, partly because of habit after so many years of being around Arthur but mostly because it meant he could avoid looking Cobb is the eye that extra precious few seconds. Finally he faced them, and their curious, concerned faces. He bit the bullet, “Cobol Engineering happened”
There was silence for a few seconds as the others processed this, and then it was like a dam had broken. The questions flew thick and fast, mostly from Ariadne, but some from Yusuf, Eames answered them as best he could, barely having time to pause between one answer and the next. Throughout the process Cobb remained silent. It was only after Eames had told them all he knew and showed them the surveillance footage, now downloaded to the laptop, the better resolution allowing for a full crisp view of the men following Arthur, that Cobb spoke up, asking a single question, “Where were you during all of this?”
The accusation, so clear in the question, stung “We'd gone our separate ways after completing an extraction, highly successful I might add. A security measure I believe you instituted. So I imagine at the time this video footage was taken, I was on a plane back to London” He didn't even attempt to keep the sarcasm out of his tone. Cobb opened his mouth to respond but Ariadne cut in heading off the inevitable argument. Eames was certain if he wanted to kiss her or hit her because of it.
“So, if you were in London, how do you know all of this?” She asked, clearly trying to reduce the problem to a puzzle to be solved, her way of dealing with things.
“Let's just say I still have my sources and leave it at that”
“These sources, do you trust them?” Cobb again, accusatory as if Eames had kidnapped the point man himself.
“About as far as I could throw her, although that may actually be a bit too far.” Eames responded drily, he was under no illusions that his sister had given him the information entirely out of concern for his welfare. “But I'm pretty certain she's not actively trying to get me killed”
Cobb looked at him as if thinking things through, before nodding once and getting up to face to whiteboard still somehow attached the wall of the office and started writing even as he listed the sum of what they knew. Cobb was taking charge, as he always did. “We know Arthur arrived safely at the airport two weeks ago, where apparently he picked up a tail.”
Though Eames had never been a leader, nor, he admitted to himself, much of a follower either, he couldn't help but feel a flash of anger at the way the other man so effortlessly waltz in and took control. Because dammit, this wasn't just some job, this was about Arthur. He pushed the feeling down, because this was the whole reason he'd called in the extractor, because this was what he did, and despite his semi-retirement, he was still the best.
“And lost them again soon after.” Eames interjected, “Did some asking around whilst I was waiting for you lot to turn up. Folks are being surprisingly mum despite my considerable charms, but seems like he managed to book into a hotel for the night and pay a visit to our client to get things sorted. He wouldn't have risked either if he still had a tail.” Eames knew he probably came across as smug as he said it, demonstrating his superior knowledge of the point man but he couldn't resist it. After all, he was self-aware enough to admit that he'd never been particularly rational when it came to the hold that Cobb seemed to have over Arthur.
Either oblivious or ignoring the tone Eames used, he nodded and noted the information down on the board, “Right, so they must have picked up his trail again after the meet. Which gives us several leads to go on: the hotel, the client and the men from the CCTV footage.”
“Hey, it's a start isn't it” Ariadne interjected with an optimistic smile which clearly didn't make it to her eyes.
+++++
Singapore, 20th September, 8.43pm
They'd hit nothing but dead ends. A week, a whole week of searching, a whole during which they could be doing who knows what to Arthur, and they'd found sweet fuck all.
They hadn't really expected to get any information out of the hotel, but Yusuf and Ariadne had gone along nonetheless. A smile to the right receptionist, a sob story about a missing brother and she was hearing about how 'of course they'd noticed the handsome businessman'. He'd booked in for only one night, paying in advance, cash, and who'd stayed for approximately two hours to get changed from his travelling clothes into a very nice three-piece suit, and then left the hotel never to return. They'd even managed to get the rest of Arthur's things off them, after all they were only taking up space in storage.
Finding their client was easier than expected. Unfortunately this was because Mr Lo Tang had been involved in an 'tragic' fire at his place of residence. They'd spotted the funeral announcement barely a day after they had arrived. Everything had gone up in flames, all his records, paperwork, anything that could have possibly helped them get a lead. The timing was too perfect and Eames fervently wished that the man was still alive so he could kill him himself for selling Arthur out.
The men from the video footage had been more difficult to track down, and it took all of Cobb and Eames considerable skill, not to mention favours called in, to find them. One, a Mr John Smith according to his records, and really the name was so painfully obviously fake, was in hospital suffering from cracked ribs, a shattered ankle and a concussion. The Brit felt a certain measure of pride that whatever else had happened, Arthur clearly hadn't gone quietly. The other, Tom Jones, and Eames had to suppress a wince at that one, because really who was coming up with these names, had been through the hospital, a broken arm this time, and had conveniently left them a home address.
Not that any of that actually helped them, given that whoever these guys really were, they were clearly just hired muscle, on retained for Cobol and contacted anonymously whenever there was a job to do. Even after a painfully easy extraction, they were left none the wiser, just that they'd grabbed Arthur and after taking the time to 'subdue' him, had dumped him in the back of a van and that was that. They'd even found the van, stolen of course, burnt out in a parking lot. It was beginning to look like someone had an unfortunate obsession with fire.
Tensions had been running high for days as one by one their leads went up in smoke, literally in more than one case. Thinking back on it, the argument was inevitable.
Eames couldn't even say what had set it off, something small no doubt, a wrong comment here, a frustrated word there and then he and Cobb were in each others faces, accusations of blame flying everywhere.
“This is your fault.” Cobb was shouting, so close he was almost shoving him, and Eames took an involuntary step back from the force of anger, “If we'd have known about this sooner instead of two weeks after we might have had something to go on.”
“Oh really, my fault, and how pray tell is that my fault? I'm not psychic, if it wasn't for me we might not have known till we were all gathered round in Paris, wondering why our ever punctual point man hadn't turned up, hmm?” He smirked in a way he knew was guaranteed to get Cobbs blood boiling.
“He should never have been in Singapore without back-up. Hell what were you two doing taking the job on your own in the first place, anything could have gone wrong?” Despite Eames best efforts, Cobb was not backing off
“Well excuse me for treating Arthur like an adult who is more than capable of taking care of himself. Despite what you may think, we don't hang around by the phone, waiting for you to deign to call us. We can actually do jobs without the Great Dominic Cobb to guide our every move.” It was like waving a red flag and this time Cobb actually did push him up against the wall.
“And what's that suppose to mean?” the words were gritted out between clenched teeth and Eames got the feeling that the extractor might actually hit him. He couldn't bring himself to care.
“You. We hardly hear from you for eleven months of the year, and then you call out the blue and expect us to drop everything and come at your beck and call like an obedient dog. Oh wait, I tell a lie, not us, you expect Arthur to come, ever loyal, faithful Arthur. I bet it must kill you that he has a life outside of you, that he doesn't need you!” The words obviously struck a nerve because this time Cobb did go to hit him, and Eames, in no mood to be anyone's punching bag, raised his arm to block the hit but before it could strike home Ariadne's voice rang out around the workspace.
“Stop it! Just stop it, both of you, you're NOT helping! If you can't both act like adults maybe you should just leave instead.” She was glaring at them from across the room, though Eames could see tears of hurt trying to force their way out and it was obvious this was getting to her as much as it was to all of them.
They drew apart guiltily, frustration still visible in every line of their bodies. Cobb moved first, stalking over to the worktable and pulling out files, with a muttered “I have work to do” under his breath.
Eames felt the sudden need to get out of the office, the small workspace suddenly becoming far too claustrophobic for the four of them. “I need a fag,” he announced to the room at large, before grabbing his cigarettes off the table, he paused then leaned down to grab the phone Ems had given him from off the table, and made his way up to the small flat and then out onto the fire escape.
He was on his fifth cigarette and third watch through of the CCTV footage when he heard a sound from the small living room which adjoined the fire escape. It was Ariadne, quelle surprise. She gave him a small smile as she climbed out next to him and he moved over to give her more room.
They sat in companionable silence for a while, before she ventured, half hopefully, “Why don't we just grab one of the guys from Cobol and have a look around their minds. I mean Cobol's a pretty big company right? Shouldn't be too difficult to find one of their high-ups?” She was twirling her hair round her finger as she spoke, a habit that annoyed him no end, which probably explained the sharpness of his reply.
“Which one love? Like you say, Cobol's a big company, chances are we'd just end up grabbing some poor sod who works in HR and doesn't have a scooby about any of his employer's more exotic pursuits but who knows just enough about extraction to be able to warn them that we're on to them. And then we'll be even worse off than we are now.”
“It was just a suggestion,” she replied, somewhat hurt by his sarcasm, but really Eames couldn't bring himself to care. No matter how he looked at the problem, he kept on coming up blank. He had called in every favour, every mark he had and was turning up nothing. He couldn't help but feel he was missing something, some clue, but he just couldn't see what it was.
She doesn't speak again until he's reaching for another fag, lighting it with a tasteful silver lighter with an intertwined A and E carved on the underside, a gift from Arthur, one of the small things that showed he cared, even if he never was good at saying it.
“How long have you and Arthur been...” she trailed off as if hesitating verbalising it.
“What, working jobs together” He asked with a teasing smile.
“No! You know... together?”
Now there was a question, not one he could really answer, so he played for time, “Who says we're together then love?” And of course it had the added advantage of making her squirm.
“You mean you're not? But I assumed... ” she spluttered.
He decided to put her out of her misery, “Relax pet, we are. Been four years or so, off and on.” 'Off and on', now there was an understatement. He smiled at her confused look and he could guess what she was thinking, her next words confirming it.
“So you guys were together during the Fischer job, when he kis...” she trailed off as if realising what she was saying, clearly worried she'd let some big secret out. He had to laugh at that, she really did have no clue.
“When he kissed you in the hotel lobby you mean. I was there love, wearing a lovely little blond number if you recall.”
“So what, he was trying to make you jealous?” She was genuinely confused, obviously reading far more into the kiss that he suspected the point man had meant.
He snorted, “Maybe a bit, but mostly I think he was just trying to distract the projections love.” He grinned at her as he continued, “sometimes a cigar really is just a cigar”. She wasn't convinced, but Eames was a master at reading people's body language and even if he didn't know full well that Arthur's interest in women was minimal to say the least, the body language of the kiss was chaste and lacking in passion, even if there was some measure of affection behind it.
He turned his attention back to the CCTV footage which had started its play again. Somehow this time he saw it and he could have slapped himself for being so dense. He'd been concentrating on the details, trying to analyse it as he knew their missing point man would. But really he should have been looking at the body language instead.
Now he had noticed it, noticed him, he stood out like a sore thumb. It wasn't in the clothes, he was dressed like any of the umpteen businessmen travelling through, it was in anything he was doing, he barely looked up from the paper he was studying. But something about his body language was off, and as he watched he spotted what it was. Every time he did glance up, although only for a few seconds, he didn't around aimlessly or check the departure time, like all those other travellers were doing. Instead his eyes were unerringly drawn towards the figure of the point man making his way through the airport.
This was the break they'd been waiting for.
+++++
They were walking together along the river Seine, sunlight glinting off the windows of the magnificent buildings of this historic part of the city. Despite the sunlight, the air was crisp with a spring chill, none of which had managed to deter many of the cities inhabitants from heading out to enjoy the sunshine and they ended up having to share the path with other couples and young families. All out enjoying the first good weather that the city had seen in weeks.
Eames didn't like Paris as a rule. Sure it was pretty enough, but the people were eminently arrogant and rude and it always had far too many tourists coming to sample the 'magic' of the allegedly most romantic city in the world. He was more than aware of the hypocrisy of the complaints, coming as they were from a native Londoner, but then he never really like London all that much either. But at moments like this he could almost learn to love the place. More to the point, he could almost let himself love the man walking next to him.
Arthur was looking resplendent, as always, in a sharp Dunhill suit. More to the point he looked relaxed and calm, clearly enjoying the morning sun, the fresh air, the simple pleasure of being. Moments like these were few and far between, just the two of them, walking in companionable silence, and Eames treasured every second of it. He glanced over at the point man, admiring the sharp planes of his features and the lines of his body. There was something niggling at him in the back of his mind. Something important he meant to remember but then the edges of Arthur's mouth twitched in a semblance of a smile and Eames forgot there was anything at all outside the two of them.
“Didn't anyone tell you it was rude to stare?” Arthur asked him, mock annoyance tingeing his every word.
“I can't help it if you're irresistible now can I love? It's all I can do to stop myself pulling you into that alleyway over there and having my wicked way with you” Eames replied with a grin, moving closer, into Arthur's personal space and the point man let him, a testament to how relaxed he was.
“Resist. I have no wish to be arrested for public indecency.” But he was smiling as he said that, an amused tolerance for the other man's antics.
He made no move to get away and Eames risked bringing his arms up around him and bending forward to capture the other man's lips in a kiss. Arthur responded almost instinctively, and for a few moments it was as if they were the only people on the otherwise crowded path, caught in their own bubble of time. Then the point man pulled away and firmly, but with an edge of reluctance, moving out of Eames' grasp.
“Stop that.” The words were firm but Arthur beneath the frown it was clear that he was surpressing a smile of contenment and Eames took that as a very good sign.
“I told you darling, you're irresistible.” He moved forward again with a grin, but this time the younger man did step out the way.
“Find a way to contain yourself. I'm sure even with your libido you can manage until we make it back to the apartment.”
“You wound me love, really you do.” Eames gave him a mock pout, but nonetheless stepped back to a distance more suited to polite company. They started walking again, a slow amble and after a couple of minutes Eames felt a hand reach out to his. He glanced at the other man but he was looking steadfastly ahead, the contented smile he'd been suppressing earlier now showing clearly on his face. The forger didn't even try to stop his grin at the action, because for Arthur, with all his clear boundaries about around his private life and what was and wasn't acceptable public displays of affection, holding hands was effectively an equivalent to getting down on his knees and giving him a blowjob in the middle of the road.
At that moment, Eames knew it was pointless even pretending he wasn't hopelessly in love with the other man.
They walked like that for what seemed like forever, as if the moment was too perfect to be broken for anything, but then the sky started to cloud over, and they headed back out onto the main boulevard, hoping to grab a taxi before the heavens opened and they both got drenched.
The crowds were thicker here on the main street, and the two of them were jostled from all sides. Eames managed to fight his way through to the taxi rank, but when he looked around for Arthur there was no sign. It was as if the point man had vanished. Suddenly the crowd started to take on an ugly edge, like projections turning on the dreamer and Eames was gripped with a sense of panic. He reached for his totem, hearing what sounded like sirens in the distance.
He awoke with a gasp.
He was in one of the small bedrooms in the flat above their office space. The sirens were still going off and it took him a moment to realise that it was his alarm clock. He reached for it and took a perverse satisfaction from the sound the infernal contraption made as it hit the far side of the room, a final plaintive beep before sliding into silence. He reached over to the bedside table for his totem, running his fingers over the worn edges of the poker chip, feeling the grooves, the weight, the tiny details that told him that here, in this grotty little bedroom, was reality.
Fuck, he hadn't had a dream in years. Not that it was truly a dream, more a memory of a time in Paris only a few months ago, between jobs, when they had spent close to a month just enjoying each others company. Only in reality they had made it back to the small flat Arthur rented in the city, unharmed but soaked through and Eames had insisted on stripping the point man of his wet clothes immediately to avoid him 'catching his death'. They hadn't gotten dressed again for the rest of the afternoon and later in the evening, with the light fading, Arthur had given him a key to the place with an off-hand 'so you don't keep having to pick the lock' clearly covering the deeper meaning of the gesture.
With a sigh born from too little sleep, Eames staggered out of the bed, dragged his clothes haphazardly on and made his way downstairs to the small kitchenette where there was a pot of coffee waiting. He barely noticed the others as he walked past, blurry eyed, to ensure his caffeine fill. It was only once he had taken his first sip of coffee that Cobb started talking, “We've found out who he is.”
Eames spun round at that, the first frisson of hope he'd felt in well over a week. Once Eames had spotted the man in the video, they'd called round every contact they had to try and identify him. They'd even called in one of the many favours with Saito and though there was no way the businessman could, should, come in person, he had promised to put as many resources as he could muster to problem. “After all,” he'd said with some affection, “Mr Arthur has proven to be one of my more reliable investments. It would be a shame to allow this to go to waste.”.
That was barely two days ago, but it seems like their persistence had paid off. “Don't leave me in suspense here, who is the bastard so we can go and pay him a nice little visit?” And really, if this man was responsible for Arthur's disappearance, Eames was half tempted to suggest that they try and get the information out of him the old fashioned way. It may not be effective, but it would sure as hell make him feel better.
“James Carnhain, Irish national, he's a VP for a company called Quartz Security.” Cobb reads out what he had found from the file and Eames can't help feel a stab of resentment that Arthur would have been able to rattle off details on a mark like this from memory instead of having to refer back to them every five minutes.
“Let me guess, this Quartz Security just so happens to be a subsidiary of Cobol?”
Cobb gave him a odd look and shook his head, “Freelance...” he tried to correct him but Eames wasn't paying attention, there was something else tickling at the back of his mind.
“James Carnhain?” he rolled off the name, as if testing it “Ex-Provo? Big thing in the Real IRA back in the 90s?” Not just scum then, terrorist scum to boot.
“How do you...?” Ariadne there, curious.
He gave her a wry smile, “Spent a couple of years serving Her Majesty in Northern Ireland. Made quite a name for himself back in Belfast that bastard did, made his start blowing up squadies with pipe bombs before moving on to hunting down spooks for fun.”
“Still does,” confirmed Cobb. “From the information Saito was able to give us, he moved out East after Good Friday and set up in counter-corporate espionage. He specialises in tracking down corporate spies and extractors. If anyone will have a lead on where they're keeping Arthur, this guy is it.”
Yusuf spoke up from where he had been flipping through the file, “This won't be easy, someone like this, he will be militarised. You will need a stronger sedative than normal to keep the dreams stable” He held up his hand to head off the protests forming on the others lips, “not so strong as to no longer wake up, but strong nonetheless.”
Cobb nodded, a plan clearly already formulating and suddenly Eames was nothing but glad that he had called the extractor, because this was what he did, this was what made him the best and if anyone could think up a plan, it was Cobb. “Yusuf work on refining the sedative then, I want something that can handle two levels. Ariadne, I'll need some time with you after to go over the levels.” The young architect nodded in afirmative to that, sketchbook open and eager. “Eames,” Cobb continued, “any chance you can track down some of his old IRA buddies to forge? Preferably one that still alive?”
Eames nodded, “I think I know just the chap, nasty piece of work, should have just got out of Pentonville two years ago. Assuming he hasn't blown himself up in the meantime, he'll do.” He paused for a moment to give Cobb a chance to go on after the mutter 'good' in acknolwedgment of his suggestion.
When it didn't looked like he would, he asked the obvious question. “ So when are we doing this then? I don't know about anyone else, but I'm not willing to leave Arthur in the hands of those bastards any longer than I need to” There was a challenge in his voice, and a promise, if this took too long, he was going after Carnhain on his own.
“Three days, assuming the schedule Saito's people got us is right,” and there is frustration there, because Arthur would have gotten the marks movements down to the second. But the point man wasn't here, and they would have to make do with what they had. “He should have just gotten back from a business trip from Bangkok. I want to get Arthur back as much as you do, but we need to do this right, you know that Eames.” And Eames had to give him that one, fucking this up now would just make the task even more impossible than it already was.
That didn't mean he had to like it any better.
++++
The next three days were filled with as much preparation as they could fit in physically do, and very little sleep. The plan was almost simple in its complexity, a hallmark of a genuine Cobb plan.
They were going to play on Carnhain's past by making him think that the CIA had caught up with him and were trying to extract information from his mind. That was the deeper layer, the dream within a dream, the one he was meant to spot as fake. Ariadne would play the American spook, Cobb would be an extractor brought in to do the deed, who ultimately had been bought out by Carnhain's old pal, Mickey O'Herne. Once the Cobb had 'betrayed' his employers and shot Ariadne, him and Carnhain would make it up to the next level, where Eames would be waiting as good ol' Mickey and he and Cobb would make their escape with Carnhain from the security forces who would inevitably be after them.
It was elegant really, by convincing the mark that the mental security that was after the dreamer, in this case Eames, was in fact after him, they would hopefully confuse the subconscious long enough to get the information.
Eames could only see a hundred or so chances for it all to go horribly wrong, not least whether Ariadne had any chance of passing off as CIA. But really the sticking point was going to be whether Eames could get Carnhain to trust Mickey, to believe he was Mickey and for that he needed more information. And he knew just where to get it.
The phone cut to answer phone straight away, as expected, an automated voice kindly asking him to leave a message. He figured she wouldn't have given him the number if the line wasn't at least mostly secure, so he came right out to ask for it. “Answer phone, lovely darling, what if this really was an emergency. Look, I need some info Mickey O'Herne, nothing that'd get you in trouble, but anything you've got on his relationship to James Carnhain would be lovely.” It was several hours until he got a reply, a string of letter and digits and the e-mail address to one of the many anonymous accounts he used for work related purposes.
He could have kissed her, the encrypted file, although heavily sanitised, contained all the information he needed on one Mickey O'Herne, bomb maker, drug dealer and all around bastard really. It had attached an text file, with two words: “Remember, Christmas!” He grinned at that, and promised to himself he'd buy her an especially big present this year.
He spent the next two days going studying the file and going under by himself, in an attempt to perfect the fake. He hated putting on an Irish accent, it reminded him too much of Belfast, of guns and bombs and communities trying to tear each other apart. But eventually, piece by piece, he got the forge down and all he could hope was that the file was complete enough for it to pass muster. Though he could take some comfort in the fact that, as far as he could tell, Carnhain hadn't seen Mickey since he'd been put away.
By the third day the plan was refined as it could ever be, Cobb had confirmed Carnhain's itinerary through his own sources, it was just a question of getting Yusuf in place with the right taxi at the right time to pick him up. 'Because after his last display of driving ability that was clearly the best idea' Eames had thought when this was mentioned, but didn't dare voice it out loud in case Yusuf decided to add hallucinogens to his sedative the next time he was under.
Ariadne perfected her mazes, a high class restaurant in first, because the CIA have even less imagination that Arthur, and the back alleys in some anonymous part of Singapore for the second, to buy them as much time as possible. They trained in them, again and again, using Eames' to provide the projections. It wasn't perfect, usually when they needed training against militarised targets, they'd use Arthur's mind to provide the projections, and sometimes Eames had to worry about exactly how vicious that man's subconscious could be, but in a pinch, Eames' mind would do.
Despite the training and the work, it was what should have been a month long job pushed into three days, without the benefit of a point man either to cover the details. As a result, Eames was actually surprised when despite everything the extraction went off with barely a hitch.
They picked the mark up from the airport as planned, an airborne sedative pumping into the back of the cab as it pulled away, gradually sending him under. Even Ariadne managed to pull off CIA spook down to a T, according to Cobb. Apparently, it really was quite surprising how much of an ice queen the architect could be when she put her mind to. She must have been taking lessons from Arthur.
The only snag had come when Carnhain had started questioning 'Mickey' about former associates of theirs, clearly sounding him out with a sharpness that should have been expected given his file. He was glad that he had done some checking around of former associates before settling on O'Harne, because that allowed him to answer with some certainty that 'Tommy Finagle wasn't 'doing grand', him being six feet under for the past four years an' all' and that 'Mad Jessie was living up to his name in Broadmore, thank ye very much'.
It was when Carnhain asked about 'whether he'd been to have a drink with Old Gordon?' as they were ducking behind a set of bins in a filthy alleyway that was pretending to be Singapore, trying to avoid getting shot up by the man's overly vicious projections, that Eames knew he had to put a stop to this line of questioning.
“Oh aye, that's a nice joke since we both know Ol' Gordon hasn't touched a lick of alcohol in years,” he spat out. It was a guess, but really with the way the questions had been going, it really was a 50-50 chance and by the look on Carnhain's face it was the right one. “Now, you going to stop with the twenty questions and start working on how to get us out of here. Ye gotta know why them spooks were asking you about this fella. What's he called...” and that was Cobbs cue.
“Arthur. They were asking something about an 'Arthur'”
They got the information eventually. After being shot at far more times than was healthy and spending every moment of it trying to remind himself that they needed to keep Carnhain alive, despite rising temptations to throw him into the path of the projections bullets.
They got all the information they needed and more. And suddenly it became much more clear why his sister, who shouldn't have had any access to this information at all, had sought him out in London. He should have probably felt angry or betrayed, but he couldn't really bring himself to feel anything but resigned. She always had been a manipulative bitch, it was a family trait they shared.
But that was an issue for later. Because now they knew where Arthur was, and exactly why Carnhain had been travelling to Bangkok. Now they just needed to get there before it was too late.
++++
Bangkok, 25th September, 5.45pm
They got there too late.
It was a desolate place, an abandoned warehouse in a run-down part of the city. Like so many of the warehouses they'd used to work in, and yet so different, the fading sunlight filtering through broken and boarded up windows making a surreal tableau of the picture in front of them.
There was rickety furniture strewn about the place, held up more by hope than by design, a table here, some chairs there, a small cot in the corner of the room and in the middle was a steel office chair, considerably more robust than anything else in the room. Handcuffs were lazily dangling off the arms, looking somehow mundane despite the rusted blood along the edge offering a dark hint as to what had happened to their occupant.
Blood too was coagulating in a puddle at the base of the chair, spreading out like dark stain and pooling around a broken PASIV device, lying abandoned on the floor, it's IV lines strewn haphazardly around it. A small table lay on its side besides it, the bottles of chemicals, of sedatives and drugs and god knows what else, spilling out over the floor. It was too these Yusuf immediately went, to try and resolve the whole complex mess, failing the availability of copious amounts of alcohol, based on what he knew best. Chemicals
But that wasn't what caught Eames attention so much as the bodies strewn across the floor, half a dozen men in cheap suits. What were once cheap suits, Eames, but were now little more than rags stained with blood. And most importantly, none of them were Arthur.
Ariadne tried to push past him, to get in, to see for herself, to see if Arthur was there. Eames barred her way, giving her an apologetic but firm smile, “He's not here pet, and you really don't want to see what is.” He gave Cobb a knowing look. Cobb, who'd been taking in the scene with the same professional eye he had, who nodded back at his in agreement and gently lead Ariadne away from this scene of carnage before she lost her remnants belief in the goodness of humanity, which somehow, had survived intact after three years in the extraction business.
One of the bodies groaned, clearly not such a corpse as he looked, and Eames smiled grimly, drawing his gun and went to squat down by the man who was swimming his way gradually towards consciousness. He stroked the barrel of the gun across the man's cheek, the threat implicit, but wasted on the man given his level of lucidity.
“Now, you and me are going to have a little chat and you are going to tell me all about what happened here,” The words were delivered in a low, almost lazy purr, the threat behind them however was implicit even to a someone swimming in pain from a shattered knee, a broken arm and a slash across the chest. He moved the gun down to one of the larger gashes and pushed slightly to emphasise his point.
The man gasped, and started talking, the words spilling out, incoherent but painting a distinct picture for Eames, “... he...that bitch wasn't meant … shouldn't have been able to move... fuck... shouldn't been able... able to fight back. Fucking little bastard...” the rest was lost to intelligible rambles, interspersed with swear words. But he'd heard enough, the scene painted by the warehouse told him the rest.
The gun shot rang out in the silence, startling Yusuf from his study of the chemicals, he glanced briefly at the now dead body then looked swiftly away, as if unwilling to be party to the murder, no execution, the forger had just enacted but also unwilling to protest. Not given with the knowledge he'd gleaned from the bottles he was studying, not given the blood, Arthur's blood, staining them and the needles used.
Eames cursed softly to himself, because it was clear by now that Arthur, beautiful, stubborn, selfish Arthur had given up waiting for his knight in shinning armour to rescue him like any sensible man would and had effectively, efficiently gone about rescuing himself instead.
Part 4