(no subject)
This one's for Lee, admittedly it is very short. Happy early birthday, Lee! Rock that retreat!
Roxie Llewellyn, Rupert Prince, and I sat around my kitchen table, drinking tea that was going to go cold before we finished it, and went through our meeting with crisp, clipped words.
“All right, we have the profiles, our target information, the deadline, cover details, last thing is code names. Rupert, you’re Mr. White, Alice is Ms. Blonde. Roxie, you’re Ms. Pink, David is Mr. Orange. Wyatt is Mr. Brown, and I am Ms. Blue. Questions?” I asked, taking a pause to let my colleagues make a note of all that.
Roxie tilted her head while she looked at her notebook, written in upside-down Chinese, to discourage anyone trying to peek in on our business. Rupert wrote in backwards JavaScript, I used Russian translated into Hebrew.
“Why do I have to be Pink? I don’t want to be Pink. Is it because I’m the girly one?” she demanded, sounding rather like a spoiled teenager, unlike her usual self.
I raised an eyebrow but Rupert beat me to the retort.
“It’s just a name, Roxie. I’m sure it’s not personal. Just go with it,” he said, in his rich British public school voice that could soothe a charging rhino.
“Easy for you to say, you and Alice have cool names. David and I sound like eighties color choices for the toilet!” she hissed, tossing her gorgeous red hair and looking even prettier with her annoyed pout.
I opened my mouth, but Rupert beat me again.
“It’s just a codename. We’ve had worse ones.”
“Can’t I be something else? What about Purple?”
“You’re not Purple, you’re Pink!”
Roxie and Rupert continued to argue, the British redheaded queen of disguise against the British strawberry blonde information expert, both my fellow handlers on this mission, with their respective agents, and they were fighting about codenames. They didn’t notice my pen tapping out a warning, and I had to admit, having worked with them before, problem-free, my temper was getting short.
“Eight million colors in the rainbow, why do I have to be Pink?” Roxie objected.
“It’s just a name! Would you prefer to be Red?” Rupert snapped.
I smacked my palm on the table.
“Am I seriously having this conversation with you two?” I yelled at them.
It got their attention at once, but Wyatt always said I had a shout like a gunshot. I glared at them.
“Now, listen you two, this an important job, the very least of its parts being our codenames. Roxie, you are Ms. Pink, end of discussion. You want to argue further, talk to Edwards, I’m sure he can reassign you. If not, then continue taking notes. No one gets to be Purple because that is Mitchell and Webb in case of emergency. The abort mission word is Roosevelt. Questions?”
The last word came out of my gritted teeth like a shimmering silver razor blade brushed against the sensitive skin of one’s throat. Both Rupert and Roxie shook their heads. I nodded, satisfied with their silence.
“Good, then you have your orders. Jump off is in three days, I’ll see you all at the rendezvous. And before you ask, absolutely no one gets to be Black, not even the agents,” I said, as a warning, not an aside.
The last thing I wanted was the agents getting their opinion in about this nonsense. I hadn’t even picked the stupid codenames. I had assumed the mission writer was just a really big fan of Reservoir Dogs. Very annoying.
“Dismissed,” I said, giving each of them a frosty look in the eye, reminding them that I was in fact angry, even if I was usually affable American Emma. They were both older and more experienced than me, but they also knew I didn’t mess around with mission briefings. Too many cases had gone south because of a messed up mission briefing, because more missions failed because of a mistake at the outset. Once we’d gone deep, we’d be fine.
The two handlers faded out of the kitchen like smoke as I made my final notes. I didn’t hear them leave, but that was to be expected. Roxie had to retrieve David from his club, Rupert had to go make dinner for Alice, and both of them had to avoid being traced back to the flat where Wyatt and I made our home base. I didn’t hear anything more until Wyatt came downstairs.
“Been yelling at the troops again?” my agent asked as he walked to the fridge.
“Roxie didn’t like her code name,” I murmured, carefully stacking my files together in an orderly fashion.
“Well, I don’t blame her. It’s kind of a girly codename, and she takes a lot of crap for being the redheaded pixie of the intelligence force,” Wyatt observed.
I rose from the table and felt my spine pop in four places.
“Indeed, sir.”
I really could care less about the names by now. We were supposed to infiltrate a human trafficking ring in less than a week, using six people against an organization of hundreds, with powerful friends in powerful places, not to mention numerous ex-military guards and black market weapons at their very fingertips, my focus was elsewhere. I turned from the table to go to my office and begin laying out strategy, Wyatt and I being the tactical end of this mission. But I hovered on the entryway to look at him.
“Is there anything you need, sir?” I asked, feeling very professional and very tall in my power stilettos.
“I’m good, Emma, thanks. You should go call your dad. We’ll be under for a few weeks at the very least, he’ll miss you,” Wyatt suggested, making himself a peanut butter sandwich.
He looked up and gave me his best smile, and I found myself smiling back, continually surprised at how well my agent knew me. I hardly ever spoke about my personal life with him, and yet Wyatt knew every detail. He had to be using Rupert for intel.
“I’ll do that, sir. Thank you.”
“Not a problem, Ms. Blue.”
“Indeed, sir.”