Between the Lines - On the Edge continued
It was a five hour flight from Guatemala City to LA and the atmosphere on the plane was tense; they had after all just abducted an international arms dealer and his CIA liaison.
Dominic knew that Balthazar's people would be looking for them; they managed to get the two bodies out of the hotel but that didn't give them much of a head start. The CIA would lend a hand in the search and their flight plan made them a big, fat target.
But they haven't been to Guatemala - according to the flight plan they were returning from a business trip to Belize and they weren’t landing at LAX. If they were lucky the assumption will be that the now disappeared Colombian paramilitaries were responsible for Balthazar's disappearance - at least for a few hours longer.
Maybe it was luck, maybe it wass skill but, when they land there was no reception committee beyond the ubiquitous black vans and Langton with more of his people. Once they hit the ground Dominic knew he was out of time, that this would only work the way he’d planned it if he still had enough pull at the NSA to get them to take Balthazar off his hands.
"Are you fucking insane!" The pull wasn't looking too good right now. His old handler’s response to the news that he had Balthazar wasn't what he’d been hoping for. "You just took him off the streets? Jesus Christ Dom."
"Actually it was a hotel room," he responded stiffly. "We have footage of him agreeing to sell weapons to the Colombians." There was no response to that, it was as though he hadn't heard.
"Do the CIA know what you've done?"
"We took the CIA as well."
"You took the CIA as well, of course you did. Do you know how many laws you've broken?"
"What about the laws he's broken? Don't they count?"
"It's not that simple, the agency has backed off - we still want him but we have to co-operate with other agenceis and..."
"Since when did we care about scraps from the CIA table? You know they blew my cover?"
"There's no proof it was down to them."
"Well, maybe my old boss will tell me." As he ran his hand over his face the memories assaulted him, "three men died - three good men."
"It's not that simple Dom, you know it isn't."
"I'm giving him to you on a plate," he snarled, "so it's entirely that simple. You find me someone who can make a decision."
"Or else you'll do what? Have you thought about that at all?" He hung up rather than answer that question - because of course he'd thought about it; over and over. He'd thought about nothing else including that maybe, subconsciously, he'd set up this whole scenario so that the NSA will refuse, leaving Balthazar in his hands.
The man he once worked for lounged in a chair in the interview room. He was looking less than usually immaculate, but then he had been manhandled a few times before reaching his present destination.
There was a slight air of impatience in the way Balthazar drummed his fingertips on the desk but it was the impatience of a man wondering what was delaying his driver. He was expecting any moment to be told he could leave - well, he was going to be disappointed.
He looked up when Dominic entered, his gaze resting on him for a moment before he said, "the men who failed to kill you were punished severely." The familiar cadences of his accented voice remind Dominic of the orders he had given him, orders he had followed. "I trusted you."
"You don't trust anyone," Dominic pointed out and a sardonic smile and a tilt of the head acknowledge the point.
"But of all the people I didn't trust, you were one of my favourites. Of course I realise now that I didn't know you at all. Who are you really?"
"Right now? The man who is going to hand you over to the authorities."
"I don't think the CIA will allow that." Dominic considered the CIA agent, drugged, restrained and currently under heavy guard.
"I'm not planning on asking their permission. You think the NSA invested all of that time and effort in infiltrating your operation just to give it up? They'll snap my hand off."
"And if they don't?" Everyone did keep asking him that question.
"Then I'll be forced to dispose of you myself."
"He's unravelling." Langton observed, watching Laurence Dominic pace back and forth, the conversation he was conducting on his mobile phone clearly making him extremely unhappy. "We have an unconscious CIA agent downstairs and an arms dealer in the interview room, both of whom we abducted from Guatamala. The NSA aren't going to step in and if Dominic doesn't get control of himself he's going to kill Balthazar. Are you concerned at all ma'am?"
"Has Topher finished with Anthony?" Adelle asked - her gaze travelling back and forth between the screens displaying the area where Dominic was pacing and the interview room.
"As far as I know."
"I'd like to talk to him, to Anthony I mean."
"I'm not sure we want to make enemies of the CIA."
“I do understand the risks inherent in our position Mr Langton." She looked at him, coolly dismissive, "perhaps you'd ask Anthony if he can spare me a few moments?"
"Ms DeWitt..."
"Now, please." It took him a split second to decide it was not worth the trouble of remonstrating any further with her and as he stepped out of the room to do as she asked she turned her attention back to the screens.
Unfortunately, she didn't think his analysis was mistaken - she was looking at a man who is unpredictable at the moment. His rage was obvious; this was not the side of him that planned the engagement with clinical precision. She understood that some of the emotion was guilt; he blamed himself for the failure - but Balthazar was an easier target.
"Is Dominic all right?" Anthony asked, pausing just inside the door to her office, his attention fixed on the screens.
"I was rather hoping you could answer that question."
"You should have given me a psychologists imprint for that," Anthony commented. "If Caroline were here she'd be able to use one of her old ones."
"Well, Caroline isn't available and you've spent more time with Mr Dominic that anyone else. You don't need the imprint Anthony."
"He's agitated, angry," Antoiny stepped closer - eyes narrowed. "He feels cornered, I think he's reliving something that happened before - the failed undercover operation maybe. He feels he has to follow through but I'm not sure how much he wants to."
"Thank you Anthony, that's very useful." He seemed startled, perhaps by his insight.
"What are you going to do?" It was a good question. On the screen Dominic turned, giving her a clear view of the strain etched onto his face.
"Perhaps another option would be welcome."
He seethed with anger at the NSA’s craven attitude. They weren’t coming for Balthazar - they didn’t want anything to do with this; he was on his own. For a man who had spent years undercover, far from assistance and backup it wasn’t such an unfamiliar position.
The door slammed hard into the wall when he burst into the room. The aggression fuelled him and he grabbed Balthazar by the throat, shocking the arrogant son of a bitch when he drew his gun and pressed the barrel to his temple.
“You don’t have the nerve,” Balthazar gasped out, “cold blooded murder isn’t you.”
“I’ve killed on your orders,” he ground out, finger itching to pull the trigger.
“But this time you can’t pretend it’s an undercover mission, there’s no mission. It’s just you.”
“That’s not exactly true.” Both men start at the sound of another voice, Dominic turned his head to see Adelle DeWitt standing in the doorway. “Mr Dominic, perhaps you’d unhand our guest?” He decided to accede to what was halfway between a request and an order and as he stepped away she nodded to someone else and, because things weren’t already incongruous enough, a pot of tea was brought into the room.
DeWitt settled herself into one of the chairs and as her assistant departed she looked expectantly at both of her companions, who were still standing.
"Who the hell are you?” Balthazar asked, “the Queen?”
“Not quite,” she responded dryly. “Why don’t you sit down, have some tea?” She poured him a cup and pushed it across the table before repeating the action and sliding another towards Dominic. He had no idea what she was doing there, what the next move was going to be, but the very fact that she was sitting here meant that he wasn’t entirely alone. Carefully he pulled out a chair and sat, Balthazar hesitated and then did the same.
“Mr Dominic works for me now,” she explained - as though they were carrying on a completely normal conversation.
“I don’t know what kind of operation you’re running here but if you let me leave, I might be able to persuade the CIA not to destroy you.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” her tone was polite, even slightly regretful. “I sanctioned the operation that abducted you and your CIA handler. Just letting you walk away and return to your heinous business isn’t an option.”
“You don’t think the CIA are looking for me?”
“I’m sure they are. But they are only going to look so hard and for so long, before they just move on. Unfortunately, you aren’t the only arms dealer on the planet - you’ll be replaced, it’s possible you already have been.”
“So, you’re going to let your not so model employee to murder me?” She smiled, raised her eyebrow and took a sip of tea. Even Dominic had to admit the effect was chilling.
“I realise that you feel a certain posturing is necessary, but please don’t make the mistake of assuming that Mr Dominic is the most dangerous person in this room.” He bit back a smile at the startled look that appeared on Balthazar’s face. “Now, shall we discuss our options?”
“You aren’t going to kill me.” Balthazar reiterated; confident or arrogant Dominic couldn’t say which.
“Well, let’s see.” A slight smile graced her lips as she looked down at the papers she’d brought with her. “Were you aware that there is a warrant for your arrest in France?” Dominic remembered hearing about this when he was preparing for his original undercover mission - it was the reason they tended to stay away from Europe on their travels. He didn’t want to think about how DeWitt knew that.
"I’m not in France.”
“Fifteen years ago you were directly implicated in the murder of a competitor. You beat him to death with your own hands and then afterwards, you set fire to his house. His wife and son were still inside; they were fortunate to escape with their lives. You’ve got better at keeping your hands clean since them but the French Police are, persistent.” She looked directly at Dominic as she added, “I have it on excellent authority that they’d be happy to clear up this particular cold case.”
“I’m not going to Paris.” It was the first time he’d actually seen Balthazar look worried.
“It’s a beautiful city.” DeWitt told him.
“Do you know what he’s done, on my orders?”
“I can make you do or say anything,” she said, ignoring his question and dropping the words into the conversation like ice cubes into a glass. “I have access to amazing technology - it’s how we managed to create the customer you wouldn’t be able to resist. I can send you out of here with no idea who you are, or what you do. I can arrange to have you believe that you work in a bar in some obscure small town, with a habit of drinking the profits. It’s within my power to give you an unquenchable desire to walk out of here, find your way to a Police station and confess your many sins.”
“That isn’t possible.”
“Everyone says that,” she remarked - glancing over at Dominic. “Don’t they?”
“At first,” he agreed.
“Or I could let Mr Dominic kill you.” She wasn’t even looking at Balthazar now, her eyes were on Dominic’s and he could’t look away. It was as though only the two of them were there. “Which is it to be Mr Dominic?”
He looked genuinely surprised - which was rather endearing. She knew that his first instinct was likely to be to opt for the more violent option. He wanted to hurt Bathazar; she could see it in his eyes. But restraint and discipline were a product both of training and character - and she didn’t think she had misjudged him.
His smile when he had made his decision was extremely unpleasant.
***
He’d been on a plane for most of the last 24 hours, so between the tension and the jet lag he was exhausted by the time he found his way back. He managed to stay upright as he guided Anthony towards the imprint room and successfully ignored Topher’s sarcastic ebullience. All he wanted to do was crawl into bed, possibly after a brief stop under a hot shower. But first he had some unfinished business.
Anthony was a good travelling companion - quiet, competent and not at all emotionally invested in what he was doing. His imprint as a former US Marshall with experience in transporting prisoners had brought a welcome level of professionalism to the task of getting Balthazar safely to Paris.
He’d let Anthony take the lead on the hand-over to the French authorities, who had been waiting on the tarmac when their private jet landed. He was glad not to have to deal with the legal fall out that came with the arrival of a wanted felon with Egyptian citizenship and friends in the CIA. The French didn’t seem concerned by these complications and the senior officer had handed over what he suspected to be an excellent bottle of wine for DeWtt, who he’d called ‘Adelle’.
He’d been far too keyed up during the flight back to follow Anthony‘s example and get some sleep. All he’d succeeded in doing was brood on the decision he had made and the consequences of making it. He was still thinking about it as he stepped out of the elevator into the office; the inky darkness outside the windows telling him how late it was.
The woman in question was sitting in a pool of light at her desk, as he stepped into the office she looked up. “How was your delivery?”
“Successful,” he told her and then realised that was a little curt.
But she didn’t seem to notice, commenting lightly, “what’s a little rendition between friends?”
“Speaking of friends - apparently this is for you.” He held out the bottle of wine and she smiled, getting gracefully to her feet to retrieve it from him.
Dazed he focused a little too much on the way she moved so that she actually had to tug the wine out of his grasp. “Xavier has excellent taste,” she commented after inspecting the label, which was in French, “but I think we should let it settle before opening it.” As she crossed to her drinks tray she said, “your CIA friend was conveyed to a safe location yesterday, he should have woken up a few hours later with no ill effects - other than a gunshot wound to the knee. There was nothing on him that can be traced back to us - literally.”
“Have you even been home yet?”” He asked, surprising both of them by the question. Up close she looked tired and though she was wearing different clothing he was aware that meant nothing at all.
“I er,” she stuttered, before deciding to answer. “There’s somewhere here that I sleep.” He gathered she was not used to being asked questions about herself.
“I would have killed him,” he said as he took the glass she held out to him. It was the thought that he’d carried back from Paris. “I don’t know how I would have justified it to myself, but I would have done it.”
“I am aware of that.” He didn’t think he had ever met anyone quite so capable of surprising him and idly he wondered if she did this with everyone; or if it was just him.
Saying, ‘thank you for stopping me from committing murder,’ was difficult and actually he wasn’t sure that she would have stopped him, if it had come to it. She’d merely presented him with some other options and let him decide for himself. Faced with the alternatives he had jumped at the opportunity to deliver Balthazar to some sort of justice.
“I’m trying to thank you,” he grumbled - not particularly amused that the conversation wasn’t going the way he wanted
it to.
“And I’m trying to tell you that gratitude is quite unnecessary. But I am glad we were able to find a suitable
compromise.”
“Would you have let me use the tech?” He asked, causing a slight smile to curve across her lips.
“We’ll never know.”
“It would have been outside the limits you’ve set for its use,” he pointed out - watching her reaction carefully and gaining a fully-fledged smile for his trouble.
“As Mr Langton never ceases to remind me, I like to live dangerously where those particularly boundaries are concerned.”
“And only in that area of your life?” he asked. She raised as eyebrow, sipped her drink and looked confidently into his eyes.
“Perhaps not only in that area,” she agreed. They were definitely flirting and it was every bit as exhilarating as pulling Balthazar out of that hotel room.
“I’m in,” he told her - deliberately vague because actually he didn’t know if it was her, or what the technology made possible, or a combination of the two. “Whatever you have in mind, I’m signed up to.”
“Really?” She smiled in a way that should probably have scared the shit out of him but which instead went to his head, along with the scotch. “I’ll bear that in mind. Perhaps in the meantime you should get some rest - you may need it.”