Chronicles of Gabriel, page 8
“I am both mute and exceedingly wealthy,” he interjected politely, reaching into the pocket of his jacket and removing an envelope of cash. “For your trouble, with our regards.”
Gabriel blinked in surprise. Clancy blinked in surprise.
Then he reached over quickly and took the envelope.
“I thank you kindly, sir.” He gestured to the tarmac with a broad smile. “They’ve already finished loading and the ramp is still down. Wheels up in about ten minutes.”
Gabriel clapped him on the shoulder, hitching the bag higher on his arm. “Thanks, Clancy. I appreciate it.”
“Have a safe flight.”
The friends set off without a backwards glance, pacing in a deliberate line towards the aircraft with such confidence, it left no doubt to anyone watching that they were supposed to be there. When they were about halfway across, Gabriel flashed a sideways look.
“How much did you give him?”
“Five thousand pounds,” Devon recited immediately, glancing over himself as they paced up the ramp of the plane. “How much do you usually give him?”
Gabriel tossed his bag into the hold. “I’ve never paid him before.”
IT WAS ABOUT A TWELVE hour flight from London to Burundi. Twelve hours in an ice-cold, pitch-black cargo hold, with nothing but random phone apps to pass the time.
Truth be told, it wasn’t that long for an intelligence agent.
But it felt a lot longer, when that agent’s partner refused to speak.
I shouldn’t have called him a mute.
Finally bored past the point of pride, Gabriel abandoned his perch upon the boxes and waded his way across the length of the plane to where the fox had settled on the opposite side. “Is this about dinner the other night?”
Devon was lying on his back, listening to music with his eyes closed. But he sat up when he felt the vibration of footsteps, pulling the headphones from his ears. “What?”
“The silent treatment. Is this because I didn’t want to get curry?”
Devon blinked up at him, then pushed to his feet. “Are you serious?”
“I just thought—”
“That’s so perfectly like you,” the fox interrupted angrily. “What, you think I’m a child? I’m over here pouting because you didn’t want to get dinner with me?”
Gabriel lifted his hands, holding back a smile. “It’s my mistake.”
“You know what I did last night instead? I had dinner with someone better.”
Naturally.
“Glad to hear it.”
“Glad to share.”
It was quiet for a moment.
“What the hell do you have against curry?”
The men shared a dark look, then settled amongst the shipping containers once again, as the plane made a slow orbit across the sky. Devon tucked the earbuds into his hair and did his best to pretend he was the only one flying. Gabriel took a water bottle from his bag and slowly drained it empty. When he caught Devon watching, he took out the second and drained that one as well.
“Sorry, were you thirsty?”
Devon rolled his eyes and tried to angle himself in the opposite direction, but there was only so much a person could do while trapped in a cargo hold. No matter which way he turned, he could still feel the assassin’s eyes. When it finally became too much, he ripped the earbuds from his hair.
“What?” he demanded.
Gabriel shook his head blankly.
“Why do you keep staring at me like that?”
There was a pause.
“You know,” Gabriel began tentatively, spinning a blade between his hands, “I had to undergo extensive psychological training. Cromfield kidnapped a professor from Yale one summer for Angie and me. The guy took us through the courses, gave me an honorary doctorate himself.”
God rest his soul.
Devon glared bracingly in the dark. “What’s your point?”
Gabriel flashed an easy smile. “You’re fun to watch.”
They lapsed back into silence, one that was a little sharper than before.
Normally, Gabriel would have taken it easy, but the guy was so bloody fun to provoke. First, his fingers started twitching, then his shoe. Then he flashed a discreet glance across the plane, only to become immediately infuriated upon discovering his arch nemesis was staring at him once again.
“Stop that.”
“What?”
“Stop doing that.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Stop profiling me.”
Gabriel leaned back with a grin, arms resting on his knees. “Acute paranoia, that much is obvious. Definitely a few dissociative disorders as well. But with that level of defensive hostility, I’d guess there are some darker undercurrents at play. Perhaps some unresolved issues with your father?” he suggested innocently. “Or maybe you’ve finally come to accept the sad truth that I’ve been sleeping with your—”
“Do you actually want to do this?” Devon interrupted sharply. When Gabriel remained silent, he leaned forward himself. “You know, I had to undergo extensive psychological training as well. And as it turns out, Alden—you’re rather simple.”
Gabriel lifted his hands invitingly.
Go on, then.
“You know why you didn’t get dinner with me last night? The same reason you accepted a three-man job in Cuba, but insisted you could do it alone. The same reason you rerouted a recovery plane to collect a stranded agent in Georgia, without even reading the case file.”
A muscle twitched in Gabriel’s jaw, though he maintained a careful smile. “And what might that reason be—”
“You’re getting married in less than a week.”
This is less fun than I’d hoped.
“You know what,” Gabriel twisted uncomfortably amidst the boxes, suddenly feeling the claustrophobic space himself, “we can actually shelve this for later—”
“I didn’t want to share a meal with you, Alden. But this was a last-minute assignment, and it could only have helped our chances to talk things through. But you don’t want to do that. You’d rather go in reckless and unprepared, so that maybe, just maybe, something terrible might happen.” Devon paused for breath, staring him right in the eyes. “And then you might save Natasha from making one of the biggest mistakes of her life.”
The air went cold between them as both men went completely still.
In another life, Gabriel wouldn’t have let the sentence finish. He would have taken the blade he’d been absentmindedly twirling and buried it with expert precision between the fox’s sharp eyes. A part of him was still considering, but an odd paralysis had taken hold and he was unable to speak.
“Your words,” Devon said softly. “Not mine.”
You said them.
“You think you don’t deserve this,” he continued, his voice barely audible above the roar of the plane. “The best thing to ever happen to you—and you think you’re not worthy. So you’re careless, and reckless, and you self-sabotage every chance you get.”
There was another weighted pause.
“Like this isn’t also the best thing to ever happen to Natasha. And Jason. Like you’re not holding together this spectacular little family with your own two hands.”
Gabriel pulled in a breath, feeling almost dizzy.
His friend was coming at him from both sides—laying open the bitterest of fears, while countering with the most sacred of dreams. Sweet, to tame the sour. He tasted both the same.
Ex-friend. I suppose I’ll have to kill him after this.
Or shake his hand.
“Me—I don’t do that,” Devon said plainly. “I wanted to be an agent, so I worked my arse off until I got hired. I wanted the girl, so I asked her to marry me, even while the world was burning to the ground. You start to do those things, Gabriel, but then you stop yourself—for reasons I can only assume have a lot to do with your childhood house of horrors and a deflated sense of self-worth.”
There was a momentary pause.
“That part actually makes sense,” he added thoughtfully. “You’re a terrible person, one of the worst I’ve ever known. I’d probably have a deflated sense of self-worth as well.”
In a bit of fortuitous timing, a sudden jolt sent them flying into the air. Another jolt was soon to follow, but at that point, they were already gripping onto the thick netting that secured the boxes. The plane let out a metallic screech as it hit the runway, then rolled to a gradual stop.
A crack of light pierced the darkness as the ramp began to roll down.
That’s our cue.
In perfect unison, the men crept towards the sides of the exit, listening for the approach of footsteps, before dropping noiselessly onto the tarmac and ghosting away from the plane. It wasn’t until they’d reached the road and lifted their hands for a taxi that Devon cast a sideways glance.
“So what about me?” he asked bluntly.
Gabriel locked eyes with a driver, waving him to the curb. “What about you?”
“Are you going to do my profile and even things out?” Devon asked, yanking open the passenger door. “Or do I have to keep an eye on that blade?”
I’d keep an eye on the blade.
“Your profile’s a lot easier than mine,” Gabriel answered, leaning towards the front and directing the driver towards the nearest the hotel. “I summed it up the first day we met.”
The car shot forward into the dusky twilight.
“Care to enlighten me?”
Gabriel kept his eyes forward, still twirling the knife. “You’re a dick.”
THERE WERE ONLY A HANDFUL of hotels within range of the compound, but Gabriel and Devon were able to find a room in the first one they tried. A single room. This was standard procedure in case of ambush, one that had been cemented after several dangerously close calls. Even then, it was a procedure that both of them silently questioned before Devon reluctantly handed over his card.
They showered quickly, then split off to separate sides of the room—opening the window for good measure to make it feel like a bigger space. Without saying a word, Gabriel unzipped one of his bags and took out his weapons—going through each one of them with deliberate care.
It had been his nighttime routine for as long as he could remember.
Cromfield didn’t schedule missions in advance, like the Knights or the council, and he probably wouldn’t have given Gabriel any warning if he had. One learned to live in a state of readiness—able to pack up and leave at a moment’s notice. Since he had no purpose beyond what the man had given him, along with no earthly possessions of any kind—this meant weapons.
Across the room, Devon was indulging in a nighttime ritual of his own.
That’s a lot of pictures...
Gabriel couldn’t make out any details, he could only see the muted flashes of light as they whipped across the fox’s face. They’d been stored in his personal cell phone. A device that he’d taken with him on the plane. It was another potential risk, another deviation from protocol. But no matter how loudly Carter declared it was business as usual, no one in the agency was operating at peak performance those days. The photos were a comfort. They were all cutting each other a little slack.
And for one of the first times in his life, Gabriel was coming to understand that feeling.
There was a chance Devon was right. There was a chance he had been acting a bit more reckless as the wedding approached. But before that, he’d been cautious. Abnormally cautious.
His training might have allowed for more spontaneity, but he’d never had any trouble leaving everything behind at a moment’s notice. He’d never had any trouble drifting without any kind of tether across the globe. Unlike the rest of his new friends, he’d never had anything worth coming back to. A part of him always assumed that both he and Angel would eventually be killed, and if he was being honest, there was a certain level of comfort in that—a certain level of security in knowing that whatever situation he faced would always be entirely beyond his control.
He could do nothing more than his job, perfectly. There was a grim sort of ease in that, one that enabled him to act without thinking, to stare with perfect ease down the barrel of a gun.
But all of that had changed. There were people waiting for him to return.
“You heard what I said, didn’t you?” Devon broke the endless silence, shooting a bracing glance across the room. “About Jason and Natasha? Your adorable little family?”
Someone’s having regrets.
Gabriel tilted his head in mock confusion. “What do you mean?”
Devon rolled his eyes. “I’m serious, Alden. You have this delightful way of listening to the first half of a conversation, and then shooting the person talking before you can remember the rest.”
Sounds about right.
“No need to worry, we’re all friends here.” Gabriel flashed a dangerous smile, stretching out on one of the beds. “You heard what Carter said—we’re jogging buddies.”
Devon gave a hard laugh, settling on the other. “Right.”
They flipped off the lights and lay there a while in the darkness—listening to the sounds of a city just coming to life. Things had never been particularly easy in the city of Gitega. They’d gotten even more difficult when a German tycoon had built himself a pharmaceutical compound just a few miles away. But the people had claim to a vibrant culture, and made their fun where they could.
Even from three stories up, they could hear the loud sounds of drunken laughter and the whirling spokes of rickshaws. The smells of fried plantains and nutmeg drifted into the air.
“Did you set an alarm?”
Gabriel let out a quiet sigh, staring at the ceiling. He hadn’t anticipated the most harmonious of partnerships, but he was beginning to wish he’d left his friend in a cargo box on the plane.
“I set an alarm, Devon.”
“Are you sure? Because these hotel clocks can be—”
“I set an alarm.”
There was a pause.
“I’m going to set another one. Just in case.”
Chapter 8
The problem with playing the time zones was that you were never really asleep, but you were never really awake either. The unnatural darkness of the cargo plane had already been enough to throw off the friends’ circadian rhythm, and it didn’t help that they kept waking up before the sun.
By the time Gabriel fully registered the alarm, Devon was already shuffling around on the other side of the room—brushing his teeth with one hand, and heating water for coffee with the other. There was a roll of athletic tape on the bed behind him, along with a pair of throwing-knives that Gabriel had never seen before. They locked eyes briefly, then he snapped on a lamp.
“We should get moving. Before the delivery trucks.”
Gabriel nodded and reached for his bag, rummaging swiftly for clothes.
There were a few passing words, but the two men proceeded through their morning rituals in relative silence. The stakes were high, the tension was palpable, and there was something almost sacred about the preparation routine of a spy. Devon never said a word when Gabriel lined up each of his weapons according to size on the mattress, before concealing them in various places on his body. Gabriel pretended not to notice when the fox slipped in his earbuds and started looping the same quiet song—tapping the mirror three times, before heading towards the door.
“You ready?” he called, bouncing a little to stay loose.
Gabriel nodded again, and snapped the final weapon into place.
Here we go...
The stronghold they were infiltrating was only a few miles outside the city, but it was tricky in terms of terrain. Not only was the heat going to be a problem—considering they’d have to pose as air-condition mechanics or German pharmaceutical workers the second they arrived—but the land itself was also flat enough that they’d have difficulty concealing an approach. In the end, they decided to take a taxi halfway and do the last few miles on foot—taking great care to avoid all the lions, hyenas, and poisonous snakes they were absolutely positive were hidden at various points along the way.
Devon was still listening to music when they stepped onto the sidewalk, waiting for the taxi they’d flagged to weave its way to the curb. His head bobbed up and down, and his eyes were dilated with unnatural focus. He didn’t realize Gabriel was watching until almost a full minute had passed.
“You don’t have anything?” he asked curiously, taking one of the tiny speakers from his ears. “Nothing to help you relax?”
Gabriel shook his head. “He never allowed it.”
At that point, there was no need to clarify who he was. There was only one man in Gabriel’s life who’d ever reached such prominence as to have been implied. And it wasn’t Gabriel himself.
If we’re splitting hairs, that’s probably a bit unhealthy...
“Jules got me into it,” Devon continued absentmindedly, scrolling briefly through all their pre-game rituals and wishing the psychic was there instead. “Mental touchstones.”
Gabriel actually laughed.
Yes, he’d heard the psychic use that phrase many times.
When a man spent so much time drifting out of his own reality, he needed something concrete to anchor himself, routines and muscle memory, invisible landmarks to guide him back.
“You guys have been working together a long time now,” he answered, wishing Angel was there as well. “You have any good ones? Superstitions, I mean.”
The taxi bumped into the curb, and Devon gave him a significant look. “At this point, we usually kiss for luck.”
There was a beat.
“Get into the car, Devon.”
IF THE CABBIE THOUGHT it was strange to be driving two identically-dressed Englishmen in the quiet hours before dawn, he never said word. The people of the city had learned to fear the dreaded compound in the wilderness, and avoided speaking about it whenever possible.
Their money was good. And they’d only asked to be taken halfway.
He left them on the side of the road with a quick word of thanks, then high-tailed it back to the city—never seeing the way they stared after him before wading slowly into the brush.
