WIP
Last Friday i began this piece and I worked on it some more today. It's untitled, set Season One, Pre- "The Box 1 & 2", and is self explanatory... opinions/feedback appreciated!
***
He strides confidently into the whitewashed, industrial makeshift office, “I’m the man,” he says. Slowly the dark leather chair behind a large metal table swivels to face him, “the man with the plan” he says. The seated figure silently nods her head in what he can only suspect is approval and interest. He pulls a metal folding chair from across the room, and she eyes him suspiciously as he unfolds it across from her. “Do you want to know how I plan to get it?” he asks boldly. She doesn’t give him the satisfaction of playing along; actually his plan is irrelevant, no matter how ingenious and plausible. He took too long, and now his window of opportunity has passed.
He doesn’t wait for her to ask him to continue, instead he begins to detail the plan he crafted to grab the priceless piece of artwork from the Szepmuveszeti Múzeum, the Museum of Fine Arts in Budapest. Occasionally, he pauses and looks up to her for some feedback, but her face remains reserved and emotionless. When he finishes explaining his tactical feat, he waits for her to say something, anything. But she doesn’t. So he begins to talk again believing he has missed something crucial, that she is still waiting to hear.
“…So after we cut the power source, we are going to loop the feed and route all outgoing and incoming calls through one of our people…”
She still looks distinctly disinterested, so he decides to ask her if something is wrong, a mistake he’s sure, but certain to get a response. “Has something happened?” he asks.
“That’s the first tolerable thing you have said McKenus.” Her voice is quiet, bitter and yet motherly. You can’t help but respect her, and listen intently, because everything she says is vital information that can be drawn upon in the not-so-distant future.
His expression is slightly hurt, and yet hers is slowly revealing a bemused smirk. “What time is it McKenus?” she asks sweetly.
He looks at his watch, knowing it must be a trick question. He answers it seriously nonetheless.
“11:53 AM” he replies after examining his three time zone watch.
“I see, and pray tell what time was the painting to be moved?”
He doesn’t need to really answer the question; it’s a moot point. Her sources had confirmed that a secure transport of the artwork would take place at 12:00 noon, Monday. And that’s when it hit him. Today was Monday. He was screwed.
“In 7 minutes…” he mumbled trying to mask his rage. The plane ride from Paris had taken longer than expected, and with the layover in Warsaw he had lost a day that he thought he still had.
“Yes, and do you have your assets in place and the necessary security protocol in check? While you are in here detailing your mission specs, is a team in place waiting for your signal?” she asked politely.
He could be dead no matter what he said. He thought he had another twenty-four hours. If he answered honestly saying “no” and excusing his actions and mistakes then he was a worthless component of her team; but if he said “yes” then he’d be caught in a lie, and if the agency didn’t have your loyalty, then they had didn’t need you. He didn’t want to die, so he decided to wing it, maybe she’d reconsider his value.
“Actually, that’s unnecessary. I received Intel just moments before I came to see you, it seems as though the transfer ordered was intercepted and the Hungarian government is working on alternative plans. My source said that our painting is in a vault in the South wing basement and gave me the necessary schematics.” He rambled on emphatically.
Thinking on his feet was not what he was best at, though out in the field it’s what kept him alive. Seeing the position he was in he knew he had to try his best to convince Irina Deverko to let him live.
“So you detailed a plan that was irreverent, concealed crucial information about the transfer, and wasted my time for what particular reason, McKenus?”
“I…” he began as a loud bang sounded nearby. To McKenus, the room seemed to rumble, seemingly swallowing him whole, but it was only his mind playing tricks on him. Deverko remained calm and collected, but did not look amused.
“It seems your source was incorrect, that would be Julian with the painting.” She said.
“Julian? You sent him out on my operation? Why?” he asked steal reeling from the Julian’s knock on the office door.
“I didn’t think you’d have all your ducks in a row on time. Seems I was correct. McKenus, this wears on me, your failures become mine… they reflect poorly on the organization and in turn on myself. Julian takes it upon himself to keep on schedule; perhaps you can stand to learn something from him…” she explains in a soothing tone he was accustomed to hearing from her.
“McKenus, if you can’t do the job…” she continues with a sense of finality in her voice, but he quickly interjects.
“I can do the job. I can do the job better than Julian or Tchen, anyone. You know I’m good…”
“Yes, I do. Otherwise I never would have hired you. But these oversights, and miscalculations are not acceptable. I only mean to say, if you value your position within this agency then perhaps you should… simply, take advantage of the opportunities I offer you.” She notices how pale his skin has turned and how rigid his limbs have become, “Relax, McKenus, I’m not going to send you down to human resources… ” She coos in an attempt to placate him. But he still flinches at those last two words, the employees who were sent down there were never heard from again.
She continues, “I want you to instead reflect on the three mistakes you made today. Reflect and don’t let them happen again…otherwise there will be dire consequences… do you understand, McKenus?” he nods gravely.
“Good, send Julian in on your way out, and perhaps… take the day off, you don’t look well. After all I wouldn’t want you to make any more mistakes today. You made too many as it stands, and in the future it could cost someone their life”.
With a “Yes Ma’am” he leaves the office and catches a glimpse of the toe headed teenager clad in black fatigues and a smug expression.
“How is mommy dearest this afternoon?” Julian asks as McKenus exits the office into the main hallway.
McKenus simply brushes past him, ignoring Julian’s presence all together, but Julian Sark, instigator extraordinaire, won’t have that.
“Nice to see you too. How’s Allison, you ask? She is absolutely lovely; thanks for asking. I’d love to stay and catch up on old times but I’m afraid my employer is urgently awaiting this package, and you know how she is about such pressing matters. But please do send my regards to the guys in H.R” he continues in his cocky, British accent.
McKenus, brooding, does not look amused. “Deverko didn’t…” he begins, but decides the effort would be wasted on his employer’s prodigal son.
“Didn’t? Well just because she let you walk out of her office alive doesn’t mean she values your services. She probably didn’t want you to bleed all over her new office… I bet the hit has been ordered though, snipers in place, brake lines cute, maybe even poisoned your coffee…” he sneers as he gives McKenus a smug look, it results in McKenus spitting out the swig of black coffee he just took onto the linoleum floor. “Never assume she didn’t or wouldn’t or couldn’t…” he continues, he feels compelled to look over his shoulder and abruptly stops speaking.
Irina is standing in the now open doorway, her arms are crossed and her eyes are burning a hole through the back of Sark’s head. “Sark, you’ve had your fun, stop taunting McKenus. He feels badly enough for his errors in judgment…” she glances at the frightened face of McKenus Cole and says “I haven’t had your desk emptied yet, don’t give me a reason to reconsider”
Julian shots McKenus a dirty look and before the door to the office closes, and McKenus Cole can distinctly hear Irina say, “Congratulations, you got the job”.
***<0>***
“The Man”, head of the up-and-coming Russian crime syndicate was nowhere to be seen.
In fact, low-level agents seen as security risks, such as McKenus Cole, had never even seen him. When McKenus was approached about joining a new terrorist organization hell bent on destroying all other terrorist cells he was elated and confused. All the communication between himself and his future employer was through Alexander Khasinau, ex-KGB, who referred to the elusive “The Man” as his employer. When McKenus’ curiosity got the best of him and he finally asked whom “The Man” was, he was stonewalled. It was not just a secret, but no one seemed to know.
McKenus had been in this business long enough to know that announcing to the public or even telling your employees the truth about your identity was a death wish. Everyone had their price and you’d be surprised how quickly people are willing to break promises when their limbs are being dismantled. McKenus had deduced early on, that “The Man” could be anyone in this office, anyone other than Irina Deverko. She was the highest-ranking officer in there; she had surpassed even her ex-KGB handler Alexander Khasinau, but only a handful of people even knew she existed. There seemed to be invisible strings pulling her at times, she was not in control, and definitely a man.
In fact, McKenus had only known of her existence within the last month. One of his smaller operations had snagged them an alliance with a K-Directorate mole that provided his new employer with a wealth of information on the inter-workings of the rival Russian terrorist cell. His reward for a job well done was a meeting with an official of the organization about a possible promotion. They were at the point in their operation that they needed to divide and conquer. Team leaders and international co-chairs would emerge to delegate responsibilities, and McKenus wanted to be on the front lines, bringing down Section Disparu cell 6, more commonly known as SD-6, the agency that lied to him and left him in Chechnya to rot.
He had walked into that meeting prepared to offer them the world for his chance to finally destroy SD-6 and Arvin Sloane. But Comrade Deverko, as she referred to herself, would not have it. “The Alliance of Twelve is a worthy adversary, but only 11 cells will be attacked, SD-6 will not ” he remembers her explaining, and he couldn’t help believing her, everything she had made perfect sense. It wasn’t until after the meeting, after McKenus really thought about it that he realized he had been duped. No job promotion, no revenge, he didn’t even find out who “The Man” was. The next day he stormed into her office, in an attempt to calmly explain that he had not gotten what he had come for, but there sitting on the corner on her desk, in spy chic was a blond teenager with an English accent marred by an Irish brogue. This was Julian Sark.
Julian Sark had never been approached to join the syndicate. He hadn’t even graduated high school; he was a con artist, a petty thief, and an arms dealer, not to mention a long list of other accomplishments that he could proudly rattle off. He was the perfect candidate to execute the raids on terrorist cells. He had excels faster than any other agent in this facility, and perhaps any agent McKenus had ever known.
When he entered Comrade Deverko was not in serious forum like the day before, instead she was tousling his hair with her manicured hands and they were deeply engrossed in conversation and blueprints. Irina, was she instructed Sark to call her, reprimanded Cole and ever since the two man had been competing to win the coveted position of East European co-chair.
Tbc...