The promised CharlIan...
I know I promised to start posting this almost a year ago, but...let's face it, I had a horrible case of writing ADD. Anyway, here's the first bit.
Charlie was contently working at HQ in Kabul on the latest probability composites for search parties, when one of his escorts barged in.
“Sorry to interrupt, Dr. Eppes, but the General wants to see you.”
Putting down the marker, Charlie turned to the Major, “Any clue what about?”
“Supposedly, there's some kind of op he's received a request for your help on.”
Curious, Charlie followed the major, still ink-smudged, to the General's office. Upon knocking, he went straight into the office.
“Sir, you needed to see me?” he asked, not going into detail, as he sensed another person next to the door.
“Yes, Dr. Eppes. We, or rather Commander Edgerton here, has an op he needs your help on.”
Turning toward the presence, he asked, “So what do you need? Probabilities, route predictions, pattern recognition...”
“Cover,” the tall, thin man in the corner cut in.
“Oh, um...how?”
“I came across your file photo, you look enough like Ali to stand in for him where they don't know him.”
“What?”
“I need you to pretend to be a backer for a group of terrorists and introduce me as an arms dealer. I need an in to interrogate and take down the organizer of a group of cells.”
Shocked at this matter-of-fact discussion of another man's death, probably messily, Charlie just asked, “And how am I supposed to do that? I don't speak Arabic or Pashto, and my Dari's barely past ordering food. I know nothing about Ali or the situation, not to mention how you know they don't know Ali by sight?”
“I can teach you enough conversational Arabic within a week and enough etiquette in two to be prepared to visit the House of Saud. As for contact, they only know Ali through email, with a general description. They'd take his knowledge of the location as positive ID. Alongside all this, I'll teach you to shoot two or three models of guns with accuracy. Besides, Robert Thompkins will be on my back if I fuck up.”
Calmed at the mention of Bob's oversight, Charlie agreed. Within 15 minutes, his things were moved to a suite in the main building and he'd been told to not shave until he got the go-ahead. In two hours, he knew proper terminology and etiquette to greet and introduce people-tone and word perfect. He'd also been ordered to sit under a sunlamp for an hour a day to get sufficient skin color.
A week and a half later, Ali and his friend Ryan were in a jeep to a local warlord's compound, though Ali looked a bit pale under his olive tone.
“Just introduce me, socialize over a few cups of coffee, then you'll be sent off while we discuss business. You'll leave tomorrow morning, and by the day after, I'll be back with Kamil's head on a platter, metaphorically.”
Taking a deep breath, the other replied, “OK, I've never done this before. I'm allowed a few butterflies.”
“Just don't let it affect your manners, Ali's a nervous guy, but no jumping at shadows.”
“Greetings, Ali. I hope your travel wasn't too arderous?”
“I'm willing to do almost anything to get Kamil what he needs. And presently, what he needs, I have brought. My acquaintance, Bert Ryan, awaits speech with Kamil about those RPGs he wanted.”
The sentry's face lit up, “Come in, come in.”
The operation went just as Ian had predicted. Charlie was back at his white-boards by mid-afternoon the next day, and I came to see him the following afternoon.
“It's done. Thank you for your help. I'll have the intel ready to add to the schematic in the morning. For now, though, would you like to grab a cup of coffee?”
Charlie seeing the look in Ian's eyes, shivered. He had found Ian compelling from the second he saw him, and the feeling got even more intense when he was spending 24/7 with the man for 11 days. Now that focus, usually trained through a scope or used to stare down recalcitrant prisoners, was solely on him.
They got their coffee, then went to sit behind the mess hall on the empty smoking bench.
“Ian, am I picking up the signals I think I am?”
Opting for blunt, Ian replied, “Yes. Are you repulsed?”
“The complete opposite, but...I'm leaving in a few days, the new semester starts in less than a week, and I got an email from my dad. My mom's sick again. What happens then?”
“My tour is up in about six months, then I'll at least be in the same country for a while. Various federal agencies, and all of the armed services, have been clamoring for me to teach stealth and marksmanship, so I'll be in the US to stay. We'll work something out,” he replied, putting an arm around Charlie.
Charlie turned to Ian, offering a kiss, which Ian took with aclarity. The initial kiss was all they shared in public, returning to the suite Ian kept, that Charlie had stayed in. They didn't exchange more than ardent caresses and kisses, but woke the next morning content with their places in the world.
Charlie woke to his head rising and falling on a bare male chest. He panicked for approximately one second, then realized it was Ian's name on the dog-tags he'd imprinted on his cheek. Kissing the shoulder he'd settled in, he purred in satisfaction. Ian responded by running his fingers through Charlie's hair, which was getting a bit long, staying uncut for over two months.
“Never let your hair be shorter than earlobe length. It's too nice to play with,” Ian murmured.
“That implies you'll be playing with it often.”
“I hope to, but that's dependent on where we are. If I'm at Quantico, do lots of work for the CIA and FBI.”
“I do anyway, but usually by fax. If I have someone to snuggle with after long days of manipulations, though, I'll do even more on-site work.”
They exchanged a few more kisses, then started their days.
When Charlie went to meet his plane, Ian accompanied him, dragging him into the bathroom for a good-bye kiss.
“I'll miss you. Email me five times a day if you want.”
“Ditto,” Charlie said as he stepped down off the steel-toed combat boots.
Charlie was contently working at HQ in Kabul on the latest probability composites for search parties, when one of his escorts barged in.
“Sorry to interrupt, Dr. Eppes, but the General wants to see you.”
Putting down the marker, Charlie turned to the Major, “Any clue what about?”
“Supposedly, there's some kind of op he's received a request for your help on.”
Curious, Charlie followed the major, still ink-smudged, to the General's office. Upon knocking, he went straight into the office.
“Sir, you needed to see me?” he asked, not going into detail, as he sensed another person next to the door.
“Yes, Dr. Eppes. We, or rather Commander Edgerton here, has an op he needs your help on.”
Turning toward the presence, he asked, “So what do you need? Probabilities, route predictions, pattern recognition...”
“Cover,” the tall, thin man in the corner cut in.
“Oh, um...how?”
“I came across your file photo, you look enough like Ali to stand in for him where they don't know him.”
“What?”
“I need you to pretend to be a backer for a group of terrorists and introduce me as an arms dealer. I need an in to interrogate and take down the organizer of a group of cells.”
Shocked at this matter-of-fact discussion of another man's death, probably messily, Charlie just asked, “And how am I supposed to do that? I don't speak Arabic or Pashto, and my Dari's barely past ordering food. I know nothing about Ali or the situation, not to mention how you know they don't know Ali by sight?”
“I can teach you enough conversational Arabic within a week and enough etiquette in two to be prepared to visit the House of Saud. As for contact, they only know Ali through email, with a general description. They'd take his knowledge of the location as positive ID. Alongside all this, I'll teach you to shoot two or three models of guns with accuracy. Besides, Robert Thompkins will be on my back if I fuck up.”
Calmed at the mention of Bob's oversight, Charlie agreed. Within 15 minutes, his things were moved to a suite in the main building and he'd been told to not shave until he got the go-ahead. In two hours, he knew proper terminology and etiquette to greet and introduce people-tone and word perfect. He'd also been ordered to sit under a sunlamp for an hour a day to get sufficient skin color.
A week and a half later, Ali and his friend Ryan were in a jeep to a local warlord's compound, though Ali looked a bit pale under his olive tone.
“Just introduce me, socialize over a few cups of coffee, then you'll be sent off while we discuss business. You'll leave tomorrow morning, and by the day after, I'll be back with Kamil's head on a platter, metaphorically.”
Taking a deep breath, the other replied, “OK, I've never done this before. I'm allowed a few butterflies.”
“Just don't let it affect your manners, Ali's a nervous guy, but no jumping at shadows.”
“Greetings, Ali. I hope your travel wasn't too arderous?”
“I'm willing to do almost anything to get Kamil what he needs. And presently, what he needs, I have brought. My acquaintance, Bert Ryan, awaits speech with Kamil about those RPGs he wanted.”
The sentry's face lit up, “Come in, come in.”
The operation went just as Ian had predicted. Charlie was back at his white-boards by mid-afternoon the next day, and I came to see him the following afternoon.
“It's done. Thank you for your help. I'll have the intel ready to add to the schematic in the morning. For now, though, would you like to grab a cup of coffee?”
Charlie seeing the look in Ian's eyes, shivered. He had found Ian compelling from the second he saw him, and the feeling got even more intense when he was spending 24/7 with the man for 11 days. Now that focus, usually trained through a scope or used to stare down recalcitrant prisoners, was solely on him.
They got their coffee, then went to sit behind the mess hall on the empty smoking bench.
“Ian, am I picking up the signals I think I am?”
Opting for blunt, Ian replied, “Yes. Are you repulsed?”
“The complete opposite, but...I'm leaving in a few days, the new semester starts in less than a week, and I got an email from my dad. My mom's sick again. What happens then?”
“My tour is up in about six months, then I'll at least be in the same country for a while. Various federal agencies, and all of the armed services, have been clamoring for me to teach stealth and marksmanship, so I'll be in the US to stay. We'll work something out,” he replied, putting an arm around Charlie.
Charlie turned to Ian, offering a kiss, which Ian took with aclarity. The initial kiss was all they shared in public, returning to the suite Ian kept, that Charlie had stayed in. They didn't exchange more than ardent caresses and kisses, but woke the next morning content with their places in the world.
Charlie woke to his head rising and falling on a bare male chest. He panicked for approximately one second, then realized it was Ian's name on the dog-tags he'd imprinted on his cheek. Kissing the shoulder he'd settled in, he purred in satisfaction. Ian responded by running his fingers through Charlie's hair, which was getting a bit long, staying uncut for over two months.
“Never let your hair be shorter than earlobe length. It's too nice to play with,” Ian murmured.
“That implies you'll be playing with it often.”
“I hope to, but that's dependent on where we are. If I'm at Quantico, do lots of work for the CIA and FBI.”
“I do anyway, but usually by fax. If I have someone to snuggle with after long days of manipulations, though, I'll do even more on-site work.”
They exchanged a few more kisses, then started their days.
When Charlie went to meet his plane, Ian accompanied him, dragging him into the bathroom for a good-bye kiss.
“I'll miss you. Email me five times a day if you want.”
“Ditto,” Charlie said as he stepped down off the steel-toed combat boots.