The location Bullet gave us is for an Obsidian Inc. base masquerading as a high-tech research facility. North shows us pictures and videos taken of the building to give us an idea of the scale. It's protected by electronic gates and a fence with barbed wire at the top. The building itself is large and modern in design, more like a military base than an office, like some of OI's more ad hoc places of operation.
"We were lucky on this one," North tells us, arms crossed as he leans against the table where all the computers and surveillance photos are laid out. "We snatched one of the guards yesterday, who closely resembles you in appearance. His name is Connor Lark."
North explains that Connor has a high enough clearance to allow him access to the containment cells within the facility, which is hopefully where Rohan is being held. Connor himself couldn't confirm, or outright refused to confirm at any rate, if Rohan was being kept at the facility. If we want to know for sure, we'll need to scope the place out, which means a bit of undercover work for me.
North nods at me. "You should be able to use his credentials to get into the base during his shift tonight and hopefully find out where Rohan is."
Knowing Rohan's exact position will be an enormous help in planning the storming of a base this size and level of security. It won't be like breaking into an office or derelict warehouse. This place seems properly defended. We won't be getting Rohan free without a fight.
Jack makes a noise of complaint, scowling at the picture North has just brought up on the computer of the man I'll be pretending to be. He does look quite a bit like me, with the same dark hair and blue eyes, his face angular and stubbled. I'm glad I didn’t shave my face smooth this morning. The guard's outfit will help me blend in too, all in grey, including a cap I can use to conceal my identity further by keeping my face down and shadowed.
"I don't like this," Jack says, his scowl deepening with each word, as if he's getting more and more concerned the longer he thinks about it. "All it takes is one person who knows Connor to get a good look at Leo’s face."
I turn to Jack, wanting to reassure him, but North beats me to it.
"I said we got lucky," he reminds us. "Connor Lark has only recently been hired by OI. He's barely met any of his colleagues. The chances of anyone realising the truth are very slim, especially if Agent Snow keeps his head down and works fast. He should be in and out within a few hours."
When Jack opens his mouth to argue again, North spears him with a harsh look of reprimand. "You need to trust your partner, Agent Roth; he's done his fair share of short-term undercover missions."
He's right, I have. In comparison to some riskier situations I've been thrown into over the years, this should be a cakewalk.
Jack looks at me, catching my eye, an expression on his face I'm unable to decipher until he says, "I do trust him."
I have to press my lips together so I won't lose my cool and grin stupidly at my partner. I've been worried for a long time that Jack doesn't trust me, and our last mission seemed to confirm my fears. But it seems after everything that went down yesterday, things have shifted between us in a good way.
Apparently, the secret to healthy relationship dynamics is open communication. Who knew? Someone should write that down and make a TikTok about it. Then everyone will have this brand-new piece of information.
"Glad to hear it," North interrupts our Stare of Meaning. He claps his hands together and gestures at a bag of clothes, resting on a chair next to him. "Go change, Agent Snow; your shift starts in an hour. Once you're suited up, we can move out."
I snatch up the bag, presumably containing my lookalike's OI guard uniform, and find an empty room to use. In a matter of minutes, I'm decked out in the all-grey uniform. It's not much different than my FISA one, apart from the colour.
When I rejoin the others, there's a moment when Jack sees me, and his eyes fill with an instinctive dread and narrow defensively. He takes a step back, and his hackles rise so fast it looks painful. It's the OI gear kicking off that reaction. The terrible memories he must associate with it are likely innumerable.
I reach up a hand to fiddle with my grey cap, feeling suddenly awkward and uncomfortable, standing here in what is effectively the enemy's uniform. People who wore it by choice also chose to be active participants in Jack's lifetime of abuse and torture at OI's direction. It makes me vaguely sick to be wearing it, especially right in front of Jack.
North picks up on the tension instantly and makes to diffuse it with his usual brusque attitude. He steps up to me and holds out his hand, palm opened to reveal two small devices. One is a comm unit, and the other is a tiny camera.
I take both pieces of tech, attaching the camera to the left breast pocket of my OI jacket. The camera is shaped like a button and fits neatly over the pocket where the actual button has been removed. I put the comm unit into my left ear, pressing my fingers to it and turning it on.
"You'll have an open line to me and your partner," North reaffirms, nodding at me. "If shit hits the fan, I'll send in the storm team led by Agent Roth."
Over North's shoulder, Jack is busy trying to get his automatic response to the OI uniform under control. He's clearly struggling with it, which has to be more about specifically seeing me in it, not just the uniform itself, as he didn't have a problem with it the previous times we've encountered real OI guards during our raids of different OI facilities.
"Thanks, sir." I offer North an agreeable twitch of my lips, tipping my head respectfully.
With that, North backs off and returns to the numerous computers, tapping away at the keyboard of one, likely communicating with the rest of the storm team. They're probably somewhere nearby, waiting for the go-ahead.
I can only hope North picked some agents who he knows will work well with Jack. During our first storm of an OI base, several of the agents refused to take orders from Jack, either due to his age or his past as an OI agent. It was a complete disaster. Jack and I were forced to carry out the mission practically single-handed, which led to Jack getting shot multiple times and me dragging him, bloodied and swearing, away from the FISA agents who had disobeyed his instructions, leaving us in the lurch.
He was less pissed about getting shot than he was about the fact I took a ricochet bullet to the thigh. I thought he was going to tear the head off the lead agent, who outright said FISA was insane to trust a monster like Jack, and how I was just as much to blame for bringing him to FISA in the first and making him FISA's problem.
After that catastrophe of a mission, North sent us in alone whenever possible. If for no other reason than Jack had become even more mistrustful of anyone other than me, and some FISA agents might have wound up dead if we’d had another situation like that one.
Jack assuages my fears without me having to verbalise them, possibly noticing my grimace at North's mention of the storm team. "Your mate, Damon, is part of the storm team. He'll take point."
Jack moves towards me with obvious wariness, still discreetly eyeing the OI uniform like he wants to rip it from my body. With his strength, he genuinely could without any effort whatsoever. Maybe when this mission is over, I'll encourage him to go ahead and do it. Then we could pour gasoline over the fucking thing and set it alight. Might be cathartic for him to watch yet another part of OI burn.
I'm relieved to hear Damon will be working with Jack when they raid the base. At least I can depend on him to treat Jack with a certain amount of professionalism as well as keeping the other members of his team in check. Woe betide anyone who acts like a dickhead in Damon's presence. He's just like my aunt in that he can stare people into submission with the sheer power of his disapproval.
