A light rain drizzled on Ealdwic as Frank made his way from Darkside to the park. Droplets spattered gently on store fronts, on parked cars, on Frank's battered and worn baseball cap.
Splat. Splat.
He'd asked the apartment manager to stay with the repairman, then had thrown on some clothes and started walking. As he went, Frank avoided looking at the windows of the shops that housed eateries, curiosities and watering holes.
There was a part of him that was afraid a different face might stare back at him.
He needed to get help. He needed to talk to someone.
And help run the Utica investigation. And fulfill his obligations in the Kaidan hot zone.
And now, go see Tova Stolt to find out just how many pounds of flesh the spymistress was going to demand for the help she provided.
Weeks ago, Felicity Bane had been snatched by a team of Orochi operatives, possibly rogue. At this point no one really had a clear idea who was pulling the strings of the megacorporation, or to whom its operatives gave their ultimate loyalty. He'd been able to find men and women willing to help rescue her, but he couldn't find her. Not quickly enough to matter, at least.
His rough features creased in a wry smirk as he walked, the rain letting up as quickly as it had arrived, leaving a clean, sharp smell in the air. He'd been forced to go back to his old employer, Tova Stolt, for help. And she'd provided it.
Satellite imagery. Topographical information. Climate data updated by the minute. And the use of a remote viewer, Tabitha Green.
She'd also told him there would be a price. Now she was going to collect, it seemed. Frank wasn't sure what the head of a Templar intelligence organization might want of him, but he was fairly positive he wouldn't like the answer.
Lost in his thoughts as he hurried past the Pangaea department store, Frank didn't notice the man who exited the store and walked alongside him until he spoke.
“Well, good morning Calhoun.”
Blinking in surprise, he looked to his right at the hardened, gray maned figure to his right. Still muscular and dangerous looking for a man supposedly in his fifties (or older), the lank haired Connor Davies was known as 'Mastiff' in the teams. There were many rumors regarding the grizzled old veteran, most revolving around alchemical potions that supposedly kept him going, albeit in constant pain.
Given he supposedly had been an active field agent since the Falklands War, Frank generally believed the rumors.
“Mastiff,” drawled Frank in response as the ex SAS sergeant matched his pace.
“Lovely morning, isn't it?”
Arching an eyebrow at the unusually cheerful Davies, Frank shrugged a bit.
“Rain's over now, so that's good. Oughta be a good day I s'pose. What're ya doin' in Ealdwic?”
“Mmm.” Davies kept grinning as they walked. Just a few hundred feet more to the park. The grin was like a dog baring its fangs.
“Got that piece you bought from Chesterton still, eh?” he asked instead of answering Frank's question.
Frank's pace slackened a bit. Davies slowed as well.
“I, uh...yeah.”
“Hand it over, then. Sorry Frank. Not going to see the director armed.”
Barking a short laugh, Frank shook his head as he pulled the concealed Sig from its holster and passed it quickly to Davies. He should have known.
“Don't worry, boy. I'll take it with me to that kebab place down the street and share lunch with it. You'll have it back when she's done with you.”
And just like that, pistol concealed once more, the old bastard sauntered off for some grilled lamb.
“Maybe I want kebabs,” muttered Frank under his breath as he entered the park, spying out the Swede with eyes the color of iron sitting on a bench. “I could go for kebabs, damn it.”
As Frank neared Stolt's bench, he noted some other people visiting the park now that he was more focused. A vagrant sitting on the community stage, swaddled in a blanket. A couple out for an early morning stroll. A woman that might have been a college student making a phone call under an oak tree.
Except the vagrant was far too healthy and too alert for some drunk, and had direct line of sight to Stolt's bench. The college student kept one hand near a conspicuous bulge (to Frank, at least) in her jacket pocket. And he recognized the 'young lovers' flat out as ex ARTEMIS security staff.
How many other watchers were in place that he couldn't see?
Nodding curtly to his ex boss, Frank eased himself down onto the bench, causing the aging wooden furniture to groan slightly. As he did, Tova offered him a to-go cup of coffee with “Moca Loco” proudly emblazoned on the side. Frank cocked his head to the side. The older woman sniffed.
“When the chief spy offers you coffee, just take the damn thing, man.”
Grinning crookedly despite himself, Frank accepted the cup. Stolt already had one for herself. Frank took an experimental sip, and nodded in approval.
“Black,” he murmured.
“Of course,” Stolt answered with a dry chuckle. “The only proper way to have it. If I want candy I'll buy some Bassetts.”
“Davies took m'gun. An' you've got...four guards. That I can see, anyhow. Th' young gal by th' tree there needs t' work a bit on her tradecraft.”
Stolt frowned a bit, nodding as she sipped her own coffee.
“Just joined my detail. One of the new hands they foisted upon us when they formed up Department F. Feh. 'Detail.' As a senior controller at ARTEMIS I was responsible for my own bloody protection. The fiasco at Rivington Street? I survived that with just Davies, Doyle and little Tabby Green.”
Frank coughed slightly as he held his cup.
“I recollect I mighta helped out with that survivin' thing. A bit.”
The woman smirked a bit, but nodded judiciously.
“You did. You did very well, agent Calhoun.”
Leaning back against the bench, Frank took a longer pull from his cup.
“Aaaaand then I followed yer orders t' round up th' assets of ours what got burned when that list of names got uploaded...and then I got brought back t' th' Hall in chains by th' Inquisition.” He turned to face her, face hardening. Tova met his eyes unflinchingly.
“And then I sat in a Templar dungeon. For you.”
Stolt blinked at him placidly, still calmly holding her coffee.
“You were acting under my orders, yes. Orders that were in the best interests of the Hall. Orders that resulted in several overseas assets not prematurely assuming room temperature. Some of those assets have resumed work for the Hall, in fact.”
Frank snorted, his voice becoming more heated.
“Y'know, th' Hall didn't seem t' agree with you, seein' as they threw me in a cell. An' what th' hell d'you mean' 'resumed?' None of 'em even knew they was bein' used by the Hall in the first place.”
The director of Department F rolled her eyes quickly in a 'oh, fine' gesture.
“They've started their official careers with the Order, then. I suppose that is a more correct way of saying it. And please, agent Calhoun. If the Hall was really that upset with you they'd never have let you out.” She drank from her cup for a moment before speaking again.
“They had make some examples. Show that you couldn't ignore standing orders, even if it was for...a good cause.” She paused again, looking over at the woman by the tree again. Frank followed her gaze. Apparently as he had raised his voice, she'd started away from the tree. Stolt gave her a withering look that caused the young woman to practically run back to the tree.
“Where in the hell do they find some of these agents?” she grumbled. Frank chuckled in response.
“If what I see in Ealdwics any indication, high school.” For a fraction of a second, it looked like Stolt might actually smile. Instead, she brought the conversation back around to the reason Frank had come here in the first place, denying him a chance to further vent his anger and frustration.
“So, agent Calhoun. How is this 'Felicity Bane' woman doing? Bane? I hope that's a nom de guerre.”
Folding both his hands around the Moca Loco cup, Frank nodded, exhaling slowly into the crisp morning air.
“She's...better now. Gal was pretty messed up when we got her, but she's had time t' heal up. She, ah, she's also back with th' Order.” Turning slightly on the bench, Frank shot Stolt a sardonic look.
“Course, I'm guessin' you already knew all that.”
“Mmm. It is good she is back in the Order. Good for her, agent Calhoun,” she added as he arched his eyebrows. Stolt continued, gesturing with her cup.
“Anima infused personnel cannot be running around willy-nilly. I am sorry, but they cannot. They are resources that can only be properly used within the bounds of a society. So, yes, it is definitely good for the Order. I say good for her because I know a little bit of her personality. That independent streak, that desire to fight authority...” She trailed off, searching for words.
“People like her,” she began again slowly, “cannot help but poke sleeping bears with sticks. The problem is as a true independent your stick is far shorter than the reach of the bear. Eventually that bear is going to reach you. Like it or not, people like you...you Bees...thrive best within a secret society. You help protect the objectives of the society in question—which incidentally means protecting humanity as a whole if not always as individuals—and the society protects you from your own self destructive tendencies.”
Frank grimaced like he'd just tasted burnt grits.
“So it's for our own good, huh? Is that th' story now?”
Stolt gave an arch sniff.
“It's always been the story.”
Still grimacing, the backwoods Templar looked skyward, watching slate gray clouds roll ponderously across the sky.
“What's th' price, then? What do I owe ya now for helping me get Felicity...away from th' bear. I imagine divertin' Tabby t' m'little job is gonna cost me.”
Stolt too watched the sky, resting her cup in her lap.
“That one is free, actually. As you never tire of telling me, you did spend time in a cell on my behalf. And during your little globe trotting adventure, you did preserve Tabitha's life. So. No cost to you and Miss Green makes up for what she owes you.”
Frank's hazel eyes bounced from the sky back to Stolt.
“...but?”
“But the satellite imagery, threat assessments, and the like...yes, you do owe me for that. The price is...another rescue. Of sorts. You enjoy those, hero that you are.”
Ignoring the dryness in her tone, Frank arched an inquisitive eyebrow, watching the spymistress.
“What d'ya mean?”
Stolt turned her body to face him, resting an arm across the back of the bench.
“A rescue, agent Calhoun. You're going to rescue someone for me.”
Nodding, the next question gradually came out of Frank's mouth.
“And...who am I rescuin'? Who am I getting' outta trouble so that we're square?”
This time Stolt did smile. Thinly, but it was still a smile.
“You only met him once, but I trust you recall the ex-director of ARTEMIS.”
“Yeah. Holy shit, someone nabbed him?”
“No. You likely didn't know, but the director was married. And has a child.”
Stolt finished off her coffee, standing up. As she did, she patted Frank's side in what an observer might decide was maternal regard, just above the pocket of his coat. He could feel something small drop into his pocket.
“I've just given you the details. His daughter, agent Calhoun. She's missing. You are going to find the director's only daughter. If necessary, rescue her. That is the job.”
Stolt walked briskly from the park, leaving Frank (and the many questions he had) in her wake. When she was out of sight, the various members of her detail in the park left as well.
Groaning softly to himself, Frank pushed off from the bench and felt around in his pocket for the thumb drive. Why him?
Turning over the drive in its hiding place, Frank snorted to himself.
Him because it was unlikely the Hall was going to expend resources of any kind for the disgraced former director or his daughter. ARTEMIS had been tolerated by the Hall, not loved. Once the organization had been restructured and the old director had stepped down, the Hall had likely wiped its hands of any obligation.
Everything he needed was probably on that drive. Stolt was a thorough woman.
A rescue 'of sorts,' huh? She was missing, not confirmed kidnapped.
Odd that Stolt would just sit on the information if it actually was a kidnapping. Unless she had just received the information and decided then and there to involve Frank.
Something about all this stank, but then again he'd assumed something would.
Hands in the pockets of his coat, Frank looked around to see if Davies was on his way.
He needed his pistol back.
And those kebabs still sounded good.
