Bullet seems far too entertained by the discourse between me and my partner, which is the exact reaction I was trying to avoid. I don't want Bullet to take any more interest in us than he already would have due to having known Jack when he worked for OI.
"Agent Snow," Bullet murmurs to himself, moving his mouth like he's tasting the words. He gives me a congenial smile and nods his head, ignoring Jack's angry scowl. "I made it clear to your agency that I would be willing to offer the location of their missing scientist, Rohan Sathe. This is not a claim I make lightly, as giving you this information would put me in the direct crosshairs of Obsidian Inc., who our mutual friend here can tell you is not an organisation you want to be on the wrong side of."
Jack all but growls at the wordfriendbeing used to describe his relationship with Bullet, but I'm not paying enough attention to berate him for it.
There's something off about this, about how he said that as if he's expecting more from this than initially agreed upon. Jack's warnings ring in my ears.
"Then why are you willing to risk it?" I ask, unable to keep the suspicion out of my voice.
Bullet's eyes seem to become heated with something almost like excitement. It makes me want to back up, but I force myself not to. I can't let him know he's gotten to me that much, or he'll use it to his advantage, and he's already got so much of the power in this situation. I can't give him more, no matter how uncomfortable he makes me feel.
Jack swoops in before Bullet can answer. "Because he needs us to do a little side job that makes it worth kicking the hornet's nest over." He's glaring at Bullet hatefully, not making any effort to hide his absolute loathing of the man sitting across from us. "So go on, then," he growls furiously, "tell us what you actually fucking want."
Bullet parts his hands and holds them up in a “you got me” kind of gesture. He puts on a forlorn expression, like he's as upset about this deception as we are. Although I wouldn't use the word “upset” to describe what either Jack or I are feeling right now.
It doesn't exactly surprise me that Jack called it right when he told us Bullet would want something extra in return for the intelligence about Rohan, but it's still a kick to the gut, especially with how resigned Jack sounds to doing whatever it is Bullet is going to ask of us.
Bullet seems genuinely delighted by Jack's abrasiveness, like it's something he's been looking forward to. I can only imagine he still thinks he's dealing with a past version of Jack, who had no choice but to keep his more lethal instincts at bay for the sake of his brother's life as well as his own. That is no longer the case. If Jack were to snap right here and now, kill Bullet and somehow get away from his bodyguards unscathed, there's no one who would pay for it with their life. Jack might get banged up if FISA decides he's too much of a loose cannon, but I'm certain that offing Bullet wouldn't earn Jack an execution order.
Bullet either has no idea how easy it would be for Jack to murder him, or he believes my safety will be enough to temper him. As much as I'd like to think the same, I couldn't entirely blame Jack if that turned out not to be the case. There are nightmares that Jack lives with that I could never understand, some of which it seems Bullet might have caused.
"Agent Jack is correct," Bullet addresses me rather than Jack even though he was the one who spoke. "There is a small task I will need to be carried out before we can complete our transaction. It's something well within your partner's abilities, I assure you."
"What is it you want him to do?" I ask warily. There doesn't seem to be any point in arguing he shouldn't have lied to the agency about the parameters of this deal. Jack did tell us he would do this, and we still chose to come; now it's up to Jack and me to decide if we can let ourselves be involved in whatever Bullet asks for.
"I recently declined to sell a significant amount of cargo to a group calledRighteous Anarchy. They're an extremist cell from some Slavic country." Bullet waves a hand as if it doesn't matter which country it is. I don't know if that's because he really doesn't care, or if he just doesn't want to give us any more information than he needs to.
"Let me guess,” Jack says, tone acidic. "The extremists didn't take rejection real well and decided to steal the 'cargo.’" He even makes air quotes; Jesus Christ. "And now you want us to get the guns back and annihilate the idiots who took them."
First of all. Righteous Anarchy? Bloody hell, is this an extremist group or a punk band?
Second of all—
"He can't kill anyone for you," I tell Bullet adamantly, shooting Jack a fierce look of reproach. "He's a British agent now, not an assassin for a cracked-up shady organisation. He can't just go around mass murdering people, no matter who they are. Not without it being a sanctioned mission."
It feels weird to say that mass murder could ever be an acceptable course of action, but it would be unhelpfully naive to ignore the reality. Jack might not be an OI agent anymore, but he's still a professional killer. That is what my aunt hired him for, like it or not.
Bullet appears unimpressed and unconvinced by all this. He diverts his attention to Jack as if asking for confirmation.
Far from backing me up as I hoped he would, Jack meets Bullet's questioning gaze and shrugs.
"You know where this group is keeping your stolen guns?" he asks as if it's a foregone conclusion he'll be doing what Bullet wants, like their location is the only thing standing in the way.
Bullet nods. "I can give you the exact coordinates of the camp where the goods are being kept. They haven't left the country with them yet."
"Hold on." I raise a hand. This is all happening way too fast. "Why can't you just send a battalion of your men to deal with this group if you know where they are?"
Bullet gives me an indulgent look, as if the answer is obvious, and I'm a little bit thick for not getting it straightaway. "If word gets out I let anyone steal my cargo in the first place, it will mark me, put a dent in my reputation," he explains patiently. "A reputation I spent decades building from the ground up. I send my men in after them, and everyone will know I didn't sell those guns to Righteous Anarchy. But if a rogue agency assassin goes after them, I can say I sold them the guns, and they couldn't handle the heat. No blowback on me this way."
Nice. Repugnant as all hell, but it makes logical sense at least. That doesn't mean I'm any more enthusiastic about the idea of complying with Bullet's request. Doing what he wants will go against so many FISA protocols, as well as my own code of ethics, it's not even funny.
"You give us the location, and we'll get it done," Jack says with a finality that makes my body feel like it's on fire from the bolt of sheer panic it sends through me.
Bullet makes a satisfied sound and reaches into his pocket to produce a piece of folded paper. He hands it to Jack, who snatches it off him like one of those big jungle spiders that grab low-flying birds, and he stuffs it in his pocket without looking at the information.
"No, hold on," I say, giving my head a sharp little shake like I'm trying to throw off rainwater. "We need time to discuss this," I tell Bullet although I'm really talking to both him and my partner.
Jack makes an exasperated sound next to me but mercifully doesn't argue out loud. I resist the very real urge to smack him upside the head anyway.
