The Arch-nemesis Job, part 3/3 (for bigbangjob)
Sorry for flooding your friend pages - I'm completely lost in posting with multiple links - if I knew how to hide this and post only master post, I would :/
Title: The Arch-nemesis Job
Characters: the Team
Fandom: Leverage
Spoilers: Season 5 - hiatus between Japan and The Rundown Job
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I do not own blah blah blah
Author's note: This one will be number five or six in 'The Texas Mountain Laurel' series
***
That Saturday was a working day for Leverage Consulting & Associates, and Hardison did everything humanly possible to fill it with all the info he could find, combining Washington, Japan and Afghanistan into one long, long stream to divert everybody’s attention.
Nate was almost entertained by the hacker’s attempts, admitting it really worked. Parker looked thrilled with Hardison’s description of the horticultural exhibition, particularly with the part in which Nate, to his surprise, seemed to climb an ancient tree that was planted in the middle of the building, reaching through the foyer up to four stories tall.
The tree was really there, but they only talked about how Parker would’ve been unstoppable if she was with them, and how no living man could restrain her from climbing. He certainly didn’t climb the fucking tree. Yet, he could only smile at Parker’s nod of approval, and keep his mouth shut.
Hardison completely skipped the part of the exhibition where Eliot fought men with swords, who tried to take from him the medal that Emperor Akihito gave Sophie, the medal with the key codes that all of them were after; Nate would probably never forget the streams of blood going into the little, beautiful pools and the shocked expressions of the fish swimming in them.
At the same time, he was occupied with the fucking monkey that ran away from his box; he had to put him under his jacket to keep him still. They were lucky he was still half drugged and quiet, though that didn’t stop him from squirming under the jacket. Those fifteen minutes of the talk with Generals Hashimoto and Jackson, trying to figure out how to stop World War Three, while the monkey went up and down his chest, was not a memory he was particularly fond of. Things were even worse than that, because Sophie was singing in the background - Eliot swore that she ruined his concentration so much that she almost got him killed - and Hardison was stuck in a giant box of dandelions that was ready to be poured from the top of the four story-tall tree onto the heads of the honorable guests.
On second thought, maybe Eliot went to Afghanistan to rest, Nate decided when everything that happened started to dance in front of his eyes as if he was still there.
Hardison brought up the blueprints of the Castleman vault and for almost one hour, Afghanistan was put aside for real.
Or, it would have been put aside, if one screen wasn’t set on CNN, with the volume lowered, but audible.
His decisions were troubling him, and he was only partially listening to the usual briefing and data that Hardison poured out. Sophie’s soft, gentle words that she had said right before they burned… everything that could’ve been burned, were still echoing in his mind.
Baby birds, learning how to fly.
Jesus, he knew it was the right call, but it was so fucking hard to decide when. When he would stop fearing for all of them? Probably never. But if he took only his fear for them as the key for what to do, he would simply lock them in some safe place and keep them all out of trouble for the rest of their lives. No, fear wasn’t a good guide.
He had to let his trust in them take over, and help him decide. And he needed more information. It seemed as if the past five years wasn’t enough to know everything about them, as if he needed much more.
He knew their minds, their hearts, and their souls.
He sighed. One more thing. They had to do something alone, just the three of them. After that, he would know.
He raised one hand to stop Hardison in the middle of explaining. “I decided that the three of you should go alone and deal with the diamond part of it in Washington,” he said calmly, not showing how much those words cost him. “Sophie and I will stay here and tie up all the local loose ends and work on politician part of it.”
A few moments of silence spread while everyone was thinking that there weren’t three of them here, but no one said it out loud.
“Yeah, sure, no problem,” Hardison said lightly. “I’ll start right away and see what I can do from here, to prepare everything. Parker will work on the safe, I have the specifications.” He stopped, messing with the papers in front of him, before he had to say something about who would deal with the guards and security. “I already know what kind of motion sensors they use, and I know where the diamonds are kept - box 1032. Not sure about lasers, though…”
“No need to hurry, Hardison, take your time.”
“Right.” He continued with the papers, not raising his head.
Silence, again, spread in the office. This day was full of silences.
Nate sighed.
***
Eliot started his attack when the evening was completely dark, but still early enough for everybody to be wide awake and relaxing after dinner.
Maybe it was the desert, or the entire tribe situation that surrounded him, but he felt like he was caught up in a C production Western movie, he though while he sneaked around, keeping himself close to the ground. His cute little explosive devices were spread all over the base, mainly in warehouses and auxiliary buildings, far away from people or anything important.
He didn’t come to destroy their base. He needed just one thing from them. And he knew which giant metal hangar had it.
He was near the Management building when alarms started to wail, when smoke spread and people started to run to and fro.
He waited until the mess and panic were complete, knowing that everybody would think of the announced attack and be ready to move into combat, then went in.
Jason B. Sierra worked the night shift in the Control room, as Mary from Supplies told him that afternoon, not hiding her despise for the newcomer who still thought that sun lotion was the most important thing in a desert war.
He burst into the Control room, switching into Commander mode without any trouble, finding the young man turning buttons on and off, in panic.
“What the fuck are you doing!?” he yelled. “Where are the orders?! Are you sabotaging the base, Sierra?!”
The soldier choked. “What?! What orders, Sir, whose? Not sabotaging - the alarms are on, we’re being attacked, we-”
“Damn right we’re being attacked!” he growled. “We have an Orange Alert, you idiot, why didn’t you listen to your orders? Colonel Sword ordered all troops to battle positions - why the hell you didn’t announce the Orange Alert?!”
His trembling hands went all the over the papers on his desk. “I don’t have it - nobody sent anything - I don’t know-” The howling of the alarms, red flashes and yelling from outside choked him again, he stumbled in his chair.
Eliot stepped closer, leaning into his face. “Listen to me, son,” he said quietly. “First thing - Orange Alert. Do it, now.”
Sierra swallowed and reached for the switch - the wailing changed.
“Good,” Eliot kept his eyes locked on his, lowering his voice even more. “Send the troops out. Total coverage of the perimeter, securing the surroundings. Now.”
“Y-yes, Sir,” Sierra reached for the microphone, sending all the orders to the external speakers.
Eliot absentmindedly wondered if their slight lack of brilliance would ruin his show.
He tapped Sierra on the shoulder when the panic from outside transformed into shouted orders and organized chaos, when the entire base moved as one man, and went out. He had to catch his prey when it left the huge metal hangar at the very end of the base.
***
Sunday morning started with Nate walking barefoot across the office.
When he came in, he didn’t notice water on the floor and he sat at the table, keeping his feet in the puddle, until he noticed something strange and discovered that his shoes and socks were soaking wet.
He traced the water to George - the plant looked at him with an aghast stare, begging him to save him - the poor laurel was literally drowning. Even the plate under the vase was completely full and water was leaking from it onto the floor.
He calculated that Parker must have climbed down several times during the night, in the darkness, watering him just in case, not paying attention to how much water he actually could take in.
He sighed, mopped up the floor, poured all the water out, and reassured George that Eliot would soon be home and take proper care of him.
He mentioned nothing when the others came.
George was silent, too.
***
The meeting point, arranged by Zalmai, was somewhere north of the place he stopped for the first time and looked at the mountain, at early dawn. A big opening among the endless canyons was, too, so much like Texas that he glanced around searching for smoke signals.
Ten Taliban turned to the tank - Jesus, it sounded like a children's song - admiring the huge metal beast that waited for them to take it. Eliot knew that dozens of them were hidden on the cliffs above them, and he kept his hands in plain sight. This was a business transaction, nothing more. His offer - an M1A1 US tank, which surprisingly got lost during the previous night’s turmoil, when all the troops left the base, was parked facing their old truck with six captives kneeling beside it.
The Taliban knew they wouldn’t get anything if they tried to negotiate with the American base, the policy about negotiating with terrorists was known worldwide. Their captives were useless, except for making a point.
He was counting on that when he sent them his offer.
They couldn’t be saved. But they could be bought.
Eliot stared at the black man. In seven days he located him, traveled half of the globe, found a way to take him home, and finally saw him for the first time. He was handcuffed along with five other men, kneeling in front of their truck, and their uniforms were torn and dusty. Desert weather and cruel captivity left marks on their faces, too. He knew his name was Mathew, but he couldn’t guess his age. He looked a little older than him.
“Six, those, yes?” The voice behind him spoke in bad English - Zalmai was intentionally diminishing his English skills during the negotiation, making himself a dull translator who had no idea what was going on and why. So far, he was extremely lucky that the young Afghan was on his side.
He nodded to him. “Put them in our truck.” He waited until one of the men that were staying beside Zalmai nodded back, approving the transaction. Ten armed Taliban surrounded him, watching his every move, waiting for a betrayal or a trap. They would be disappointed, he smiled, watching the captives coming closer; he had no intention to double cross anyone this time. More than he already did.
Eliot waved his hand to the tank. “It’s yours,” he said, waiting for Zalmai to translate. “When we leave, you take it.”
Ten different voices started to talk at the same time, and while he listened to Zalmai’s tries to tell him what they were saying, he watched the prisoners.
Mathew stopped as he was passing by him. When he came out of the opening Eliot wore the exact turban as the others, his face was covered by a hanging piece of turban cloth, but one of the Taliban asked him to show his face and remove it. He could only hope that Mathew had no drawing skills, in case Betsy asked what the man who came for them looked like. The short hair would save him, though, even if that happened.
Mathew stopped and looked directly into his eyes. He said nothing, just nodded. Then he raised his eyebrows.
It was strange, Eliot thought later. Flashbacks normally went in the opposite direction - in safe surroundings, images of past danger came to haunt those who survived. It was extremely rare to have flashbacks of Boston, right in the middle of a deadly prisoner exchange in Afghanistan. Yet, he was there for a moment, in Boston, in a well lit white room, looking at the same raised eyebrows and tender black eyes on a dark face. Flashbacks were supposed to bring horror and fear, but he felt… safe.
“Continue to the truck, slowly,” Eliot breathed, breaking the eye contact, at the last moment remembering to put a little Australian accent in his words. “And pray.”
Matthew didn’t nod again, just narrowed his eyes, nudging the others to continue their steps.
“Zalmai, we’re done here. Go,” Eliot said when all six of them were safely inside, and waited for the Taliban to approve. Their attention was on the tank, they just waved them to go, and he didn’t hesitate.
He had to be many miles away from here when all those little detonators he planted in it burned the sensitive electronics and made the tank completely useless. He bought six lives, but he didn’t want to pay for them with other deaths.
He would leave the men near the base and leave; the six days he said he would spend fishing had ended already, and he would barely have enough time to fly home to be in Portland on the ninth day. This went surprisingly well, even the stealing of the tank - it was a shame he could never tell Parker about it - and the probable suspicion from the team wouldn’t be a problem. Yet, he could only hope, with all of his heart, that Matthew wouldn’t ever, ever, mention to his mother the blue-eyed guy who came for them and retrieved them. Bought them, to be precise.
That would be a disaster worthy of a brutal flashback.
He needed a phone.
***
Sunday lunch in the office, a pretty unusual thing, wasn’t exactly a cheerful meeting, though everybody did their best to keep the conversation normal. Silence was something that was destroyed at first sight, Nate noticed after awhile - Sophie was a master of covering it with chatter, occupying them all.
She managed to talk about the streets of Istanbul without break, for one hour, and they didn’t even notice they were listening almost breathlessly.
He leaned back in the chair, listening to her, watching them all, doing nothing.
The only thing he did, twice, was pull Parker back when she stood up and went to George.
When they finished the meal and Nate brought one more bottle of wine from the brewery, Sophie switched to Scottish castles and the numerous problems the high class had with heating in cold winters.
The clear sound of an incoming message interrupted Sophie’s picturing the thick stone walls.
It could be anyone, Nate thought for a moment. It could be a message from Afghanistan, but not from Eliot, a dreaded one. It could be Bonnano, it could… he stopped, took the phone and checked.
Unknown number.
He pressed message, whipped by three steady stares.
“On a plane - ETA Monday morning,” he read a message out loud.
Hardison grinned. “Maybe you should check on Afghanistan,” he said.
“Maybe I should,” he answered lightly.
But he stayed at the table, as all of them did, and nobody said a word while they nursed their wine.
This silence nobody needed to break.
***
“Eliot just sent me a message, he’ll be here soon.” Nate greeted Hardison who was climbing down the stairs, still half sleeping.
“Good morning to you, too,” the hacker yawned and pressed a few buttons on his laptops that were working on the desk under the Harlan’s picture. “What are you doing here so early?”
Nate looked at him over the newspaper. “Waiting for Sophie.”
“Call me immediately when he arrives, I have important news.” With that Hardison returned upstairs.
The fisherman arrived half an hour later; tired, dirty, and with shade darker face… and with cut hair.
Nate stared at Eliot, but his frowning wasn’t inviting comments, so he just nodded.
“Successful fishing?” he asked laconically.
“Yep, you could say that.” He threw a bag in the corner, and sat at the table, taking his coffee without asking. “Everything alright here?”
Nate watched the man who had just returned from the other side of the world, who did a pretty much impossible thing, and who obviously had no intentions to let anyone know what he had done.
“Matthew is alright?” he asked.
Eliot stopped the cup half way to his mouth. “I won’t even bother to ask you how anymore,” he shook his head. “Yes, they are back in their unit. Alive and unspoiled, except for a few bruises - most of them result of my driving.”
“I had inside help.”
“I hope it wasn’t Betsy.” Eliot winced. “Don’t tell anyone, or it will come to her, somehow. I’ll tell them I did a job if they press, but not what I did.”
“Why not?” He took his cup back.
“Because she made me promise, back in Boston, that I wouldn’t, under any circumstances, try to repay what she had done. So I promised. She took it very seriously, and I would be in serious trouble if she ever-” his phone rang, stopping his words, and he checked the number. Nate could swear that in just one second, his tanned face paled to a pre-Afghanistan shade.
“It’s Betsy, damn, she must have some sensor, remind me not to speak her name in vain again…” he whispered. “This is not good… we haven’t heard from her in months, she has no reason to call me now except… you definitely didn’t speak to her, right? Nobody knows anything? I’ll have to lie to her, and that’s mission impossible, she always- Nate, she can't know I went there! I don’t want her to know what I did!”
“Eliot.”
“What?!”
“Answer the phone.”
He stared at the thing for a few more seconds, then took a deep breath and pressed the button.
“Yes?” Nate had to admit, he managed to sound lazy, casual, and slightly gentle, the usual combination in his voice when he talked to her, yet the grimace on his face was showing the effort he put into it.
“Nah, nothing at all…we were in Japan lately, so we are now having a few lazy days off, relaxing. What’s up? Knowing how much you hate phones…” He listened to the other side, nervously tapping his left hand on the table.
“My crops? Withered?” he laughed quietly, but to Nate it sounded more like a choked breath than a relaxed laugh. “You know, Betsy, Farmville crops are not the real ones, they don’t actually die when they wither, so I don’t see what the big deal is… I’ll just plant other ones, alright? What number of days? Nope, I don’t remember exactly… ah, nine days? What can I say, I forgot about it. Why you were checking my crops?”
He visibly squinted while listening the other side, and Nate knew she had just started the attack, after preparing the ground first. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that… is he okay? I had no idea. You should have told me… what mushroom? You’ve lost me there…” Eliot bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose; Nate elbowed the table and took a sip of his coffee, enjoying this immensely. “Ah, that kind of mushroom…well, I do not keep you in the dark, and do not feed you shit, for god’s sake, I have no idea what are you talking about - no I didn’t - no, certainly not - wait, breathe, there’s absolutely no need to yell, I’m trying to tell you I was here, I didn’t - what?”
He didn’t move, his head was still bowed, but he moved the phone away from his ear a little. Nate could hear bursts of a very pissed off female voice, though he couldn’t recognize any word.
“What?! Betsy, I’m completely positive that Afghanistan is full of semi-long haired, blue-eyed Southerners, be reasonable, there’s thousands of our soldiers there, and if we just look at the percentage of Southern States in the core, we can assume… No, no way, I’m not sending you my picture! It’s dangerous, you don’t understand - no, not for me, dammit, having my picture might be dangerous for - no, I’m not full of bullshit, I’m calmly and very reasonably explaining you why would having a picture of a wanted criminal might get you into trouble, no, I did not cut my hair, I have no reasons for- Besides, even if my hair was, for whatever reason, cut, it still doesn’t confirm these silly suspic - WHAT?!! No, you can’t come here-” At this point he really choked and stopped talking, bumping his forehead on the table.
Damn, that woman, the only one in the world, had the power to make his unbreakable and invincible hitter an amorphous mess; Nate always respected her immensely, but now he was starting to adore her.
“Alright…” Eliot’s voice became raspy, low gruff. “I said, alright!! Stop it… Yes, I was there, okay? So what? It was pure coincidence, I swear, things just happened… totally not my fault. I accidentally stumbled upon that thing, I happened to be near, and I did what I could do, which, again, happened to be enough. Nothing special, I really don’t see why you are making such a big deal out of it- no, ma’am, I won’t. Yes, of course. Yes, I will. No, I won’t. No, I would never... ah, okay, in that case, okay. Never. Will you stop being upset for no reas- I will. I will. I won’t. Yes, the first thing in the morning, I promise. Good day to you too.”
Nate tented his fingers and waited. Eliot stretched his arm and put the phone on the far end of the table, as far as he could reach, still keeping his head on the table. Then he stayed like that for a minute more.
When Eliot spoke again, it was a low murmur, dulled with the table. “Hardison was right, dammit. He warned me about that Facebook shit back in Boston, and I didn’t listen. He said she made me make that account just to have a nanny camera…The next time I go to Afghanistan, you’ll have to take care of my farm… and update my status on Facebook. Okay?”
That really didn’t need an answer, so Nate said nothing.
After a minute Eliot stretched his arm again, reached the phone and poked it with one finger, sending it crashing to the floor from the table.
Nate bit his lip and put a hand over his mouth, assuming a thoughtful pose that would hide his barely suppressed laugh.
“Stop staring at me,” the hitter growled.
Nate cleared his throat and thought briefly. “Did you just try to sell Betsy that you were accidentally in Afghanistan, accidentally in a ten miles radius from her captured son, in a country the size of Texas, on the other side of the world, and accidentally at the right time, Eliot?” he asked quietly. No response came, so he continued. “Does your brain has some switch, or something, that turns your higher brain functions on and off, when Betsy is in question, or do you have a more complicated control panel? Like, one turn clockwise for babbling idiot, two turns clockwise for whining moron, three turns for squeaky little-”
“I’d like to see you speaking with her today,” Eliot lifted his head; he didn’t look angry, just immensely pissed off. He also had a point. Betsy was really hard to handle, especially when she was on a killing spree, and Nate suppressed a wince. “Well, she would find out eventually, so it’s better I got rid of that immediately,” Eliot sighed.
Nate stirred his coffee, studying him. “You know... at one point in life, karma gives you someone you need. It often happens right at the moment you become too strong, too confident, invincible and on the top of the food chain. Until now, the only worthy opponent you fought was Eliot Spencer… but you beat that motherfucker into pieces a few months ago.”
“The point?”
“Everyone needs an arch-nemesis, Eliot. You didn’t fight obstacles in Afghanistan, you didn’t hide your tracks from us… you fought her, trying to hide from her all this, all the time. Your actions weren’t set on evading us, or the Taliban. We were easy to beat. But her… well, that was a challenge.”
“Just great,” Eliot huffed laughter. “You fight Sterling. I fight a creepy nurse. And I’m losing.”
“As I said, we all get what we need,” Nate smiled. “By the way, I thought for a long time that Sterling was my nemesis, but I’ve changed my mind,” he glanced around them, over the office, over the five chairs around the table, then smiled. “It’s… complicated.”
There was no need to say more, Eliot grinned.
“I need one more day - I’ll go to Boston and explain this shit.”
“We’re in Portland,” Nate pointed out. “You’ll go to Boston just to explain…” he sighed, shot with a nasty glare. “Yes, of course, you’re right… go. In fact, it’s good. You don’t have to return at once, stay there for a day or two. I’ll send Parker and Hardison to Washington and you can join them there. I have a client.”
“To Washington?” He saw Eliot remembered their talk about diamonds before he left. “Is there any chance…”
“Yep. Diamonds galore. And Parker in the middle of that.”
“Dear Lord.”
Eliot looked at him, shook his head, picked up his phone and left with one quick wave.
***
“He was here, and he left an hour ago,” Nate said when Hardison stomped down, followed by a flying Parker, and that stopped both of them, one in the step, one in the swing.
“What?!” Hardison hissed. “I told you to call me immediately when he returned… damn.” In spite of his hissing, he was smiling. Parker too had an unusual gleam on her face. Yes, he knew they would be happy when they found out Eliot returned safely, but they wore those smiles before he told them that.
“What’s going on?”
They exchanged evil grins. Just great.
“Nothing, everything’s fine,” Parker sang. “When is he coming back? And why did you let him leave?”
“We had to talk, and now he had to leave… he’s going to Boston for a day or two.”
“Fuck… wait, what?” If it was possible, the grin on Hardison’s face became even broader. “He is going to Boston to see Betsy? Peeerfect.” He rubbed his palms and fetched a phone. “Yo, man, listen to me very carefully. You at the airport yet? Never mind, just listen. I’ll send something to your phone. You have to watch it. No, not briefing materials, something completely different.” He listened for a few seconds, then shook his head. “Don’t know, don’t care, just do as I told you. Trust me on this. I want you to promise me you’ll watch- okay, that’s rude. Simply rude. Stop with that language, and hang up now, I’m sending it. Watch it, remember!”
“Hah!” Hardison huffed and pressed a button on his phone, giving Parker a smile. “Sent.”
“Okay, what’s going on?” Nate asked when Parker giggled. Jesus, even Hardison was close to giggling.
“Well, we planned to wait for all of you and watch it together, but we peeked at the opening scene, and we couldn’t stop… it was like meeting with the friends of old,” the hacker pointed at their apartment above their heads.
“Watch what, Hardison?” Nate patiently asked.
A quick, half evil grin flew over Hardison’s face. “The first episode of the season six of The Magnificent Seven: The Next Generation,” he solemnly proclaimed, enjoying every syllable of it. “Last night was the season opening.”
“And…?”
“Nothing,” Hardison said innocently. Parker giggled again. “I just thought he had to see it. Now that I think about it, it’s even better we didn’t watch it all together… for different reasons. It’s better if he’s alone while watching it.”
“You won’t tell me anything, right?”
Hardison thought for a moment. “Nope,” he shook his head. “No spoilers. But I can tell you that Florence did something that could destroy her - she started the season with a costume episode, that’s something you usually do in the middle of a season, and it’s always risky… but this episode, man, it rocked! She entwined two separate stories, one from the Old West, an homage to the original cast and, ekhm…” he cleared his throat and paused, thinking. “The Old West, when the main problem was distance, and a lack of communication devices… you know, two people, separated by an entire continent, not knowing where each of them were, simply couldn’t find each other in that time…The way she mixed that storyline with the contemporary, the technological solution to the same problem was fabulous. And, well… no, I won’t say anything further. But the way she solved that problem is…” He trailed off, struggling to find words. “You have to see it. I have it recorded, of course… go get Sophie, we’ll make popcorn.”
Parker pulled herself up to the upper level. “I’m on it.”
“I checked the ratings, of course,” Hardison continued, rubbing his hands together. “I hacked into Nielson and monitored it, she’s doing great - all that fuss we created doubled her viewers. I think I’ll wait to destroy Nielson’s databases, they are working in our favor now - but I’ll, just in case, add three hundred thousand viewers to each episode… that’ll be a considerable amount near the end of the season, and C4 will beg her to stay with them.”
Hardison went up the stairs but stopped and turned to him. “You know… there’s no need to hurry with that Washington job… we can rest a few more days, right? Look at her poor leg… it would be torturous for her.”
“Right,” Nate hid a smile. “And that means that Eliot would have to spend those days in Boston, waiting to meet you when you arrive in Washington?”
“I knew you would get it. You know… I just realized that some messages in bottles do find their way home. And Florence is clever.” Hardison swallowed a little, and smiled again. “Life is good. Especially when there’s a happy
end. That story did continue on disc two, so to speak.” With that, he turned and continued upstairs, leaving Nate to look at him.
Well, he smiled to himself… the hacker was right. Life was good.
And baby birds were ready to fly.
THE END
Title: The Arch-nemesis Job
Characters: the Team
Fandom: Leverage
Spoilers: Season 5 - hiatus between Japan and The Rundown Job
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I do not own blah blah blah
Author's note: This one will be number five or six in 'The Texas Mountain Laurel' series
***
That Saturday was a working day for Leverage Consulting & Associates, and Hardison did everything humanly possible to fill it with all the info he could find, combining Washington, Japan and Afghanistan into one long, long stream to divert everybody’s attention.
Nate was almost entertained by the hacker’s attempts, admitting it really worked. Parker looked thrilled with Hardison’s description of the horticultural exhibition, particularly with the part in which Nate, to his surprise, seemed to climb an ancient tree that was planted in the middle of the building, reaching through the foyer up to four stories tall.
The tree was really there, but they only talked about how Parker would’ve been unstoppable if she was with them, and how no living man could restrain her from climbing. He certainly didn’t climb the fucking tree. Yet, he could only smile at Parker’s nod of approval, and keep his mouth shut.
Hardison completely skipped the part of the exhibition where Eliot fought men with swords, who tried to take from him the medal that Emperor Akihito gave Sophie, the medal with the key codes that all of them were after; Nate would probably never forget the streams of blood going into the little, beautiful pools and the shocked expressions of the fish swimming in them.
At the same time, he was occupied with the fucking monkey that ran away from his box; he had to put him under his jacket to keep him still. They were lucky he was still half drugged and quiet, though that didn’t stop him from squirming under the jacket. Those fifteen minutes of the talk with Generals Hashimoto and Jackson, trying to figure out how to stop World War Three, while the monkey went up and down his chest, was not a memory he was particularly fond of. Things were even worse than that, because Sophie was singing in the background - Eliot swore that she ruined his concentration so much that she almost got him killed - and Hardison was stuck in a giant box of dandelions that was ready to be poured from the top of the four story-tall tree onto the heads of the honorable guests.
On second thought, maybe Eliot went to Afghanistan to rest, Nate decided when everything that happened started to dance in front of his eyes as if he was still there.
Hardison brought up the blueprints of the Castleman vault and for almost one hour, Afghanistan was put aside for real.
Or, it would have been put aside, if one screen wasn’t set on CNN, with the volume lowered, but audible.
His decisions were troubling him, and he was only partially listening to the usual briefing and data that Hardison poured out. Sophie’s soft, gentle words that she had said right before they burned… everything that could’ve been burned, were still echoing in his mind.
Baby birds, learning how to fly.
Jesus, he knew it was the right call, but it was so fucking hard to decide when. When he would stop fearing for all of them? Probably never. But if he took only his fear for them as the key for what to do, he would simply lock them in some safe place and keep them all out of trouble for the rest of their lives. No, fear wasn’t a good guide.
He had to let his trust in them take over, and help him decide. And he needed more information. It seemed as if the past five years wasn’t enough to know everything about them, as if he needed much more.
He knew their minds, their hearts, and their souls.
He sighed. One more thing. They had to do something alone, just the three of them. After that, he would know.
He raised one hand to stop Hardison in the middle of explaining. “I decided that the three of you should go alone and deal with the diamond part of it in Washington,” he said calmly, not showing how much those words cost him. “Sophie and I will stay here and tie up all the local loose ends and work on politician part of it.”
A few moments of silence spread while everyone was thinking that there weren’t three of them here, but no one said it out loud.
“Yeah, sure, no problem,” Hardison said lightly. “I’ll start right away and see what I can do from here, to prepare everything. Parker will work on the safe, I have the specifications.” He stopped, messing with the papers in front of him, before he had to say something about who would deal with the guards and security. “I already know what kind of motion sensors they use, and I know where the diamonds are kept - box 1032. Not sure about lasers, though…”
“No need to hurry, Hardison, take your time.”
“Right.” He continued with the papers, not raising his head.
Silence, again, spread in the office. This day was full of silences.
Nate sighed.
***
Eliot started his attack when the evening was completely dark, but still early enough for everybody to be wide awake and relaxing after dinner.
Maybe it was the desert, or the entire tribe situation that surrounded him, but he felt like he was caught up in a C production Western movie, he though while he sneaked around, keeping himself close to the ground. His cute little explosive devices were spread all over the base, mainly in warehouses and auxiliary buildings, far away from people or anything important.
He didn’t come to destroy their base. He needed just one thing from them. And he knew which giant metal hangar had it.
He was near the Management building when alarms started to wail, when smoke spread and people started to run to and fro.
He waited until the mess and panic were complete, knowing that everybody would think of the announced attack and be ready to move into combat, then went in.
Jason B. Sierra worked the night shift in the Control room, as Mary from Supplies told him that afternoon, not hiding her despise for the newcomer who still thought that sun lotion was the most important thing in a desert war.
He burst into the Control room, switching into Commander mode without any trouble, finding the young man turning buttons on and off, in panic.
“What the fuck are you doing!?” he yelled. “Where are the orders?! Are you sabotaging the base, Sierra?!”
The soldier choked. “What?! What orders, Sir, whose? Not sabotaging - the alarms are on, we’re being attacked, we-”
“Damn right we’re being attacked!” he growled. “We have an Orange Alert, you idiot, why didn’t you listen to your orders? Colonel Sword ordered all troops to battle positions - why the hell you didn’t announce the Orange Alert?!”
His trembling hands went all the over the papers on his desk. “I don’t have it - nobody sent anything - I don’t know-” The howling of the alarms, red flashes and yelling from outside choked him again, he stumbled in his chair.
Eliot stepped closer, leaning into his face. “Listen to me, son,” he said quietly. “First thing - Orange Alert. Do it, now.”
Sierra swallowed and reached for the switch - the wailing changed.
“Good,” Eliot kept his eyes locked on his, lowering his voice even more. “Send the troops out. Total coverage of the perimeter, securing the surroundings. Now.”
“Y-yes, Sir,” Sierra reached for the microphone, sending all the orders to the external speakers.
Eliot absentmindedly wondered if their slight lack of brilliance would ruin his show.
He tapped Sierra on the shoulder when the panic from outside transformed into shouted orders and organized chaos, when the entire base moved as one man, and went out. He had to catch his prey when it left the huge metal hangar at the very end of the base.
***
Sunday morning started with Nate walking barefoot across the office.
When he came in, he didn’t notice water on the floor and he sat at the table, keeping his feet in the puddle, until he noticed something strange and discovered that his shoes and socks were soaking wet.
He traced the water to George - the plant looked at him with an aghast stare, begging him to save him - the poor laurel was literally drowning. Even the plate under the vase was completely full and water was leaking from it onto the floor.
He calculated that Parker must have climbed down several times during the night, in the darkness, watering him just in case, not paying attention to how much water he actually could take in.
He sighed, mopped up the floor, poured all the water out, and reassured George that Eliot would soon be home and take proper care of him.
He mentioned nothing when the others came.
George was silent, too.
***
The meeting point, arranged by Zalmai, was somewhere north of the place he stopped for the first time and looked at the mountain, at early dawn. A big opening among the endless canyons was, too, so much like Texas that he glanced around searching for smoke signals.
Ten Taliban turned to the tank - Jesus, it sounded like a children's song - admiring the huge metal beast that waited for them to take it. Eliot knew that dozens of them were hidden on the cliffs above them, and he kept his hands in plain sight. This was a business transaction, nothing more. His offer - an M1A1 US tank, which surprisingly got lost during the previous night’s turmoil, when all the troops left the base, was parked facing their old truck with six captives kneeling beside it.
The Taliban knew they wouldn’t get anything if they tried to negotiate with the American base, the policy about negotiating with terrorists was known worldwide. Their captives were useless, except for making a point.
He was counting on that when he sent them his offer.
They couldn’t be saved. But they could be bought.
Eliot stared at the black man. In seven days he located him, traveled half of the globe, found a way to take him home, and finally saw him for the first time. He was handcuffed along with five other men, kneeling in front of their truck, and their uniforms were torn and dusty. Desert weather and cruel captivity left marks on their faces, too. He knew his name was Mathew, but he couldn’t guess his age. He looked a little older than him.
“Six, those, yes?” The voice behind him spoke in bad English - Zalmai was intentionally diminishing his English skills during the negotiation, making himself a dull translator who had no idea what was going on and why. So far, he was extremely lucky that the young Afghan was on his side.
He nodded to him. “Put them in our truck.” He waited until one of the men that were staying beside Zalmai nodded back, approving the transaction. Ten armed Taliban surrounded him, watching his every move, waiting for a betrayal or a trap. They would be disappointed, he smiled, watching the captives coming closer; he had no intention to double cross anyone this time. More than he already did.
Eliot waved his hand to the tank. “It’s yours,” he said, waiting for Zalmai to translate. “When we leave, you take it.”
Ten different voices started to talk at the same time, and while he listened to Zalmai’s tries to tell him what they were saying, he watched the prisoners.
Mathew stopped as he was passing by him. When he came out of the opening Eliot wore the exact turban as the others, his face was covered by a hanging piece of turban cloth, but one of the Taliban asked him to show his face and remove it. He could only hope that Mathew had no drawing skills, in case Betsy asked what the man who came for them looked like. The short hair would save him, though, even if that happened.
Mathew stopped and looked directly into his eyes. He said nothing, just nodded. Then he raised his eyebrows.
It was strange, Eliot thought later. Flashbacks normally went in the opposite direction - in safe surroundings, images of past danger came to haunt those who survived. It was extremely rare to have flashbacks of Boston, right in the middle of a deadly prisoner exchange in Afghanistan. Yet, he was there for a moment, in Boston, in a well lit white room, looking at the same raised eyebrows and tender black eyes on a dark face. Flashbacks were supposed to bring horror and fear, but he felt… safe.
“Continue to the truck, slowly,” Eliot breathed, breaking the eye contact, at the last moment remembering to put a little Australian accent in his words. “And pray.”
Matthew didn’t nod again, just narrowed his eyes, nudging the others to continue their steps.
“Zalmai, we’re done here. Go,” Eliot said when all six of them were safely inside, and waited for the Taliban to approve. Their attention was on the tank, they just waved them to go, and he didn’t hesitate.
He had to be many miles away from here when all those little detonators he planted in it burned the sensitive electronics and made the tank completely useless. He bought six lives, but he didn’t want to pay for them with other deaths.
He would leave the men near the base and leave; the six days he said he would spend fishing had ended already, and he would barely have enough time to fly home to be in Portland on the ninth day. This went surprisingly well, even the stealing of the tank - it was a shame he could never tell Parker about it - and the probable suspicion from the team wouldn’t be a problem. Yet, he could only hope, with all of his heart, that Matthew wouldn’t ever, ever, mention to his mother the blue-eyed guy who came for them and retrieved them. Bought them, to be precise.
That would be a disaster worthy of a brutal flashback.
He needed a phone.
***
Sunday lunch in the office, a pretty unusual thing, wasn’t exactly a cheerful meeting, though everybody did their best to keep the conversation normal. Silence was something that was destroyed at first sight, Nate noticed after awhile - Sophie was a master of covering it with chatter, occupying them all.
She managed to talk about the streets of Istanbul without break, for one hour, and they didn’t even notice they were listening almost breathlessly.
He leaned back in the chair, listening to her, watching them all, doing nothing.
The only thing he did, twice, was pull Parker back when she stood up and went to George.
When they finished the meal and Nate brought one more bottle of wine from the brewery, Sophie switched to Scottish castles and the numerous problems the high class had with heating in cold winters.
The clear sound of an incoming message interrupted Sophie’s picturing the thick stone walls.
It could be anyone, Nate thought for a moment. It could be a message from Afghanistan, but not from Eliot, a dreaded one. It could be Bonnano, it could… he stopped, took the phone and checked.
Unknown number.
He pressed message, whipped by three steady stares.
“On a plane - ETA Monday morning,” he read a message out loud.
Hardison grinned. “Maybe you should check on Afghanistan,” he said.
“Maybe I should,” he answered lightly.
But he stayed at the table, as all of them did, and nobody said a word while they nursed their wine.
This silence nobody needed to break.
***
“Eliot just sent me a message, he’ll be here soon.” Nate greeted Hardison who was climbing down the stairs, still half sleeping.
“Good morning to you, too,” the hacker yawned and pressed a few buttons on his laptops that were working on the desk under the Harlan’s picture. “What are you doing here so early?”
Nate looked at him over the newspaper. “Waiting for Sophie.”
“Call me immediately when he arrives, I have important news.” With that Hardison returned upstairs.
The fisherman arrived half an hour later; tired, dirty, and with shade darker face… and with cut hair.
Nate stared at Eliot, but his frowning wasn’t inviting comments, so he just nodded.
“Successful fishing?” he asked laconically.
“Yep, you could say that.” He threw a bag in the corner, and sat at the table, taking his coffee without asking. “Everything alright here?”
Nate watched the man who had just returned from the other side of the world, who did a pretty much impossible thing, and who obviously had no intentions to let anyone know what he had done.
“Matthew is alright?” he asked.
Eliot stopped the cup half way to his mouth. “I won’t even bother to ask you how anymore,” he shook his head. “Yes, they are back in their unit. Alive and unspoiled, except for a few bruises - most of them result of my driving.”
“I had inside help.”
“I hope it wasn’t Betsy.” Eliot winced. “Don’t tell anyone, or it will come to her, somehow. I’ll tell them I did a job if they press, but not what I did.”
“Why not?” He took his cup back.
“Because she made me promise, back in Boston, that I wouldn’t, under any circumstances, try to repay what she had done. So I promised. She took it very seriously, and I would be in serious trouble if she ever-” his phone rang, stopping his words, and he checked the number. Nate could swear that in just one second, his tanned face paled to a pre-Afghanistan shade.
“It’s Betsy, damn, she must have some sensor, remind me not to speak her name in vain again…” he whispered. “This is not good… we haven’t heard from her in months, she has no reason to call me now except… you definitely didn’t speak to her, right? Nobody knows anything? I’ll have to lie to her, and that’s mission impossible, she always- Nate, she can't know I went there! I don’t want her to know what I did!”
“Eliot.”
“What?!”
“Answer the phone.”
He stared at the thing for a few more seconds, then took a deep breath and pressed the button.
“Yes?” Nate had to admit, he managed to sound lazy, casual, and slightly gentle, the usual combination in his voice when he talked to her, yet the grimace on his face was showing the effort he put into it.
“Nah, nothing at all…we were in Japan lately, so we are now having a few lazy days off, relaxing. What’s up? Knowing how much you hate phones…” He listened to the other side, nervously tapping his left hand on the table.
“My crops? Withered?” he laughed quietly, but to Nate it sounded more like a choked breath than a relaxed laugh. “You know, Betsy, Farmville crops are not the real ones, they don’t actually die when they wither, so I don’t see what the big deal is… I’ll just plant other ones, alright? What number of days? Nope, I don’t remember exactly… ah, nine days? What can I say, I forgot about it. Why you were checking my crops?”
He visibly squinted while listening the other side, and Nate knew she had just started the attack, after preparing the ground first. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that… is he okay? I had no idea. You should have told me… what mushroom? You’ve lost me there…” Eliot bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose; Nate elbowed the table and took a sip of his coffee, enjoying this immensely. “Ah, that kind of mushroom…well, I do not keep you in the dark, and do not feed you shit, for god’s sake, I have no idea what are you talking about - no I didn’t - no, certainly not - wait, breathe, there’s absolutely no need to yell, I’m trying to tell you I was here, I didn’t - what?”
He didn’t move, his head was still bowed, but he moved the phone away from his ear a little. Nate could hear bursts of a very pissed off female voice, though he couldn’t recognize any word.
“What?! Betsy, I’m completely positive that Afghanistan is full of semi-long haired, blue-eyed Southerners, be reasonable, there’s thousands of our soldiers there, and if we just look at the percentage of Southern States in the core, we can assume… No, no way, I’m not sending you my picture! It’s dangerous, you don’t understand - no, not for me, dammit, having my picture might be dangerous for - no, I’m not full of bullshit, I’m calmly and very reasonably explaining you why would having a picture of a wanted criminal might get you into trouble, no, I did not cut my hair, I have no reasons for- Besides, even if my hair was, for whatever reason, cut, it still doesn’t confirm these silly suspic - WHAT?!! No, you can’t come here-” At this point he really choked and stopped talking, bumping his forehead on the table.
Damn, that woman, the only one in the world, had the power to make his unbreakable and invincible hitter an amorphous mess; Nate always respected her immensely, but now he was starting to adore her.
“Alright…” Eliot’s voice became raspy, low gruff. “I said, alright!! Stop it… Yes, I was there, okay? So what? It was pure coincidence, I swear, things just happened… totally not my fault. I accidentally stumbled upon that thing, I happened to be near, and I did what I could do, which, again, happened to be enough. Nothing special, I really don’t see why you are making such a big deal out of it- no, ma’am, I won’t. Yes, of course. Yes, I will. No, I won’t. No, I would never... ah, okay, in that case, okay. Never. Will you stop being upset for no reas- I will. I will. I won’t. Yes, the first thing in the morning, I promise. Good day to you too.”
Nate tented his fingers and waited. Eliot stretched his arm and put the phone on the far end of the table, as far as he could reach, still keeping his head on the table. Then he stayed like that for a minute more.
When Eliot spoke again, it was a low murmur, dulled with the table. “Hardison was right, dammit. He warned me about that Facebook shit back in Boston, and I didn’t listen. He said she made me make that account just to have a nanny camera…The next time I go to Afghanistan, you’ll have to take care of my farm… and update my status on Facebook. Okay?”
That really didn’t need an answer, so Nate said nothing.
After a minute Eliot stretched his arm again, reached the phone and poked it with one finger, sending it crashing to the floor from the table.
Nate bit his lip and put a hand over his mouth, assuming a thoughtful pose that would hide his barely suppressed laugh.
“Stop staring at me,” the hitter growled.
Nate cleared his throat and thought briefly. “Did you just try to sell Betsy that you were accidentally in Afghanistan, accidentally in a ten miles radius from her captured son, in a country the size of Texas, on the other side of the world, and accidentally at the right time, Eliot?” he asked quietly. No response came, so he continued. “Does your brain has some switch, or something, that turns your higher brain functions on and off, when Betsy is in question, or do you have a more complicated control panel? Like, one turn clockwise for babbling idiot, two turns clockwise for whining moron, three turns for squeaky little-”
“I’d like to see you speaking with her today,” Eliot lifted his head; he didn’t look angry, just immensely pissed off. He also had a point. Betsy was really hard to handle, especially when she was on a killing spree, and Nate suppressed a wince. “Well, she would find out eventually, so it’s better I got rid of that immediately,” Eliot sighed.
Nate stirred his coffee, studying him. “You know... at one point in life, karma gives you someone you need. It often happens right at the moment you become too strong, too confident, invincible and on the top of the food chain. Until now, the only worthy opponent you fought was Eliot Spencer… but you beat that motherfucker into pieces a few months ago.”
“The point?”
“Everyone needs an arch-nemesis, Eliot. You didn’t fight obstacles in Afghanistan, you didn’t hide your tracks from us… you fought her, trying to hide from her all this, all the time. Your actions weren’t set on evading us, or the Taliban. We were easy to beat. But her… well, that was a challenge.”
“Just great,” Eliot huffed laughter. “You fight Sterling. I fight a creepy nurse. And I’m losing.”
“As I said, we all get what we need,” Nate smiled. “By the way, I thought for a long time that Sterling was my nemesis, but I’ve changed my mind,” he glanced around them, over the office, over the five chairs around the table, then smiled. “It’s… complicated.”
There was no need to say more, Eliot grinned.
“I need one more day - I’ll go to Boston and explain this shit.”
“We’re in Portland,” Nate pointed out. “You’ll go to Boston just to explain…” he sighed, shot with a nasty glare. “Yes, of course, you’re right… go. In fact, it’s good. You don’t have to return at once, stay there for a day or two. I’ll send Parker and Hardison to Washington and you can join them there. I have a client.”
“To Washington?” He saw Eliot remembered their talk about diamonds before he left. “Is there any chance…”
“Yep. Diamonds galore. And Parker in the middle of that.”
“Dear Lord.”
Eliot looked at him, shook his head, picked up his phone and left with one quick wave.
***
“He was here, and he left an hour ago,” Nate said when Hardison stomped down, followed by a flying Parker, and that stopped both of them, one in the step, one in the swing.
“What?!” Hardison hissed. “I told you to call me immediately when he returned… damn.” In spite of his hissing, he was smiling. Parker too had an unusual gleam on her face. Yes, he knew they would be happy when they found out Eliot returned safely, but they wore those smiles before he told them that.
“What’s going on?”
They exchanged evil grins. Just great.
“Nothing, everything’s fine,” Parker sang. “When is he coming back? And why did you let him leave?”
“We had to talk, and now he had to leave… he’s going to Boston for a day or two.”
“Fuck… wait, what?” If it was possible, the grin on Hardison’s face became even broader. “He is going to Boston to see Betsy? Peeerfect.” He rubbed his palms and fetched a phone. “Yo, man, listen to me very carefully. You at the airport yet? Never mind, just listen. I’ll send something to your phone. You have to watch it. No, not briefing materials, something completely different.” He listened for a few seconds, then shook his head. “Don’t know, don’t care, just do as I told you. Trust me on this. I want you to promise me you’ll watch- okay, that’s rude. Simply rude. Stop with that language, and hang up now, I’m sending it. Watch it, remember!”
“Hah!” Hardison huffed and pressed a button on his phone, giving Parker a smile. “Sent.”
“Okay, what’s going on?” Nate asked when Parker giggled. Jesus, even Hardison was close to giggling.
“Well, we planned to wait for all of you and watch it together, but we peeked at the opening scene, and we couldn’t stop… it was like meeting with the friends of old,” the hacker pointed at their apartment above their heads.
“Watch what, Hardison?” Nate patiently asked.
A quick, half evil grin flew over Hardison’s face. “The first episode of the season six of The Magnificent Seven: The Next Generation,” he solemnly proclaimed, enjoying every syllable of it. “Last night was the season opening.”
“And…?”
“Nothing,” Hardison said innocently. Parker giggled again. “I just thought he had to see it. Now that I think about it, it’s even better we didn’t watch it all together… for different reasons. It’s better if he’s alone while watching it.”
“You won’t tell me anything, right?”
Hardison thought for a moment. “Nope,” he shook his head. “No spoilers. But I can tell you that Florence did something that could destroy her - she started the season with a costume episode, that’s something you usually do in the middle of a season, and it’s always risky… but this episode, man, it rocked! She entwined two separate stories, one from the Old West, an homage to the original cast and, ekhm…” he cleared his throat and paused, thinking. “The Old West, when the main problem was distance, and a lack of communication devices… you know, two people, separated by an entire continent, not knowing where each of them were, simply couldn’t find each other in that time…The way she mixed that storyline with the contemporary, the technological solution to the same problem was fabulous. And, well… no, I won’t say anything further. But the way she solved that problem is…” He trailed off, struggling to find words. “You have to see it. I have it recorded, of course… go get Sophie, we’ll make popcorn.”
Parker pulled herself up to the upper level. “I’m on it.”
“I checked the ratings, of course,” Hardison continued, rubbing his hands together. “I hacked into Nielson and monitored it, she’s doing great - all that fuss we created doubled her viewers. I think I’ll wait to destroy Nielson’s databases, they are working in our favor now - but I’ll, just in case, add three hundred thousand viewers to each episode… that’ll be a considerable amount near the end of the season, and C4 will beg her to stay with them.”
Hardison went up the stairs but stopped and turned to him. “You know… there’s no need to hurry with that Washington job… we can rest a few more days, right? Look at her poor leg… it would be torturous for her.”
“Right,” Nate hid a smile. “And that means that Eliot would have to spend those days in Boston, waiting to meet you when you arrive in Washington?”
“I knew you would get it. You know… I just realized that some messages in bottles do find their way home. And Florence is clever.” Hardison swallowed a little, and smiled again. “Life is good. Especially when there’s a happy
end. That story did continue on disc two, so to speak.” With that, he turned and continued upstairs, leaving Nate to look at him.
Well, he smiled to himself… the hacker was right. Life was good.
And baby birds were ready to fly.
THE END