"Is that what he's promised?" I demand, needing clarification to understand what game is being set up for us. "An outright answer on where Sathe has been locked up by his daddy?"
North doesn't outwardly react to my jibe or the acidity in my voice, ever the government drone.
"Yes," he answers, with no inflection to suggest how that conversation went although I can imagine, knowing Titanus as I do. "That's what he's told us."
"Then he probably does know what we need," I allow begrudgingly. "But that's not the point. If all he's asking for is money, it's bullshit. Money wouldn't be enough for him. He'll ask for more, and he'll do it when we're down to the wire, so we won't have time to think around him. That's his style, guerrilla negotiating tactics."
Plus, he'll be a right dickhead about the whole thing. He’d made it no secret, the times we were in the same space, that he saw me as little more than another gun to sell. He wasn't wrong, and that's what pissed me off the most. I was exactly what he thought I was: a weapon hewn from flesh.
I hated how he looked at me, like I'd be a prize worth making a fuss over, just so he could turn me into the centrepiece of his weapons exhibit. Made me want to cut him open, just so I could grind some glass into the wound. I was disappointed every time OI didn't order me to kill him after our dealings with him were done. OI is usually big on that. Wiping the slate clean, resetting the board, no loose ends dangling in the wind for anyone else to grasp onto.
Titanus made it no secret he was loyal to absolutely no one, villain or hero, government or criminal organisation. He was a mercenary salesman through and through. Pure-fucking-bred sociopath. One of those rich arsholes who think they have a clearance level above everyone else for all corners of life.
I've met plenty of creatures like him, twisted up and sharp like barbed wire and well suited to this world, but Titanus always stood out as someone I'd happily become a hero for just to put him down. Make like I was doing a public service by setting fire to a pillar of gunpowder and metal. As if it makes a difference, lighting a match in a whirlwind of smoke and shadow.
Leo is giving me another one of his searching looks, attempting to decipher the deeper truth behind my condemnation of a piece-of-shit international arms dealer. It annoys me that he's right; there is more to my intense dislike of Titanus than just his chosen career path as a gunrunning tycoon.
North appears to be crunching my words around inside his head, intellectual teeth breaking them down into digestible pieces.
"You believe he's telling the truth," he muses. "But that he will extort us for more than the information is worth once we enter into the deal."
"North, gotta tell you, if I was the type to be in charge of shit, I'd promote you from captain to major, no question." I lower my voice to an acerbic drawl. "Your ability to regurgitate the obvious is truly second to none."
North pretends to consider this idea, then responds wryly, "Either way, I'd be your superior. You are, of course, allergic to respect, self or otherwise, so we make allowances. But you should be aware I don't cut my knuckles on my subordinates' teeth, so I'm unlikely to live up to the standards of your previous handlers."
Self or otherwise? Oh, this bitch, though. That wasenchantinglymean.
"Don't put yourself down." I flash my teeth at North. "My incarceration and enforced servitude are no less meaningful and fulfilling with you and FISA than they were with all the OI fanboys who held my leash before."
North doesn't sigh, because he's better than that, but I can tell he's coming close to getting all finger flexy and nostril flary, like a bull who got magically transformed into a person one day and keeps reacting to every bit of red that I whip in his face.
"So can I take it you're suggesting we don't send you and Agent Snow to meet with Bullet?" North asks with forced calm.
"Oh, no, you can send me." I let my mouth slit up sharply at both ends. "If it means I get to rip his throat out with my teeth on FISA's orders?"
"That would be a negative, Agent. He's part of an ongoing investigation, many in fact, so we need to keep him alive." North gives me one of his top-five stern looks. "To be absolutely clear, using your teeth for blood sport is not authorised, I'm afraid."
I make a show out of demonstrating my disappointment. "No lie, North, FISA's limp-dick energy when it comes to killing bad guys in the name of big-picture bullshit is becoming a real turn off for me. Gonna be bringing that shit up during my quarterly performance review. And just so you know, your name will be mentioned. I'm not afraid of some crude office backstabbing."
"Always productive speaking to you, Agent Roth." North sighs. He gets up from his seat with the decisive air of a man who wants a conversation to end. "I'll be sure to pass along your objections to Director Snow."
"Yeah, you do that." I snort. "Make sure they write it in the mission file. The note should read: Agent Jack Roth, murderer and superfreak, objected to making deals with gun-smuggling war profiteer, and in response, the British government agency said, ‘Yeah, thank you for your concern, but, like,we're gonna, so,’ then put a shrug emoji in brackets at the end. Just to be certain that kids from future generations who read it will understand."
North doesn't bother to respond, likely knowing the pointlessness of trying to meet me blow for verbal blow. He wouldn't get anything out of it even if he did somehow manage to win. North might be many unpleasant things in my eyes, but petty isn't one of them. I'd know that just by how he's managed to raise his son. Damon is painfully noble in a completely different way from Leo. There's too much agent in Damon, and it makes me antsy to be around him, like he's got some ability to accurately judge people using his own parameters and the self-conviction to act on those conclusions.
I'm glad Leo was chosen to be my partner and not him. On the surface, it would seem like Damon would be the better match for me. He's not afraid to use a gun with lethal force, for one. He's also a lot less likely to allow sympathy or sentiment to get in the way of taking me down if he had to. But I know if we'd spent any extended amount of time, just the two of us, we'd have pushed each other into the red and triggered a clash with rooftop-level acrobatics and alley-fight rules.
He's too intense, takes the job too seriously as Leo once said.
Leo works for me as a partner because there's barely a drop of agent in him. He's what some might call a rare good man. I've learnt precious few things in my violent and stunted life that are worth knowing. But I know good men aren't heroes or agents, driven by duties or crusades; they're the ones who are kind to people without any agenda or ulterior motive behind it.
North turns to address Leo, easily dismissing me with the cut of his eyes to my less hostile counterpoint. He gives Leo another one of his top-five stern looks, this one meant to convey the seriousness of his impending mic-drop statement.
"Agent Snow, you and your partner are to go to the local airport in the morning and catch a flight. Your tickets, passports, and all other supplies needed for the trip are in these bags." He nods at two black travel bags dumped next to the table. "I will be going ahead to sort out the money and transport it to Bullet's current stronghold."
Leo gives our handler a nod in both acceptance and understanding. "See you on the other side, sir." He even manages to make the "sir" sound respectful rather than mocking.
North gives Leo the briefest of smiles, been and gone in a blink, but it was there, which says a lot about how much he likes his son's best friend.
