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Post by LโEฬแดสแดษดษขแดส on Jan 1, 2017 2:44:43 GMT -5
"Mista Ghost," the young woman's accent easily gained Alphonse's attention as he glanced up from the report he was currently writing regarding a previous mission he had just completed. It was getting to be quite late, but if his audience was required he supposed he could spare the poor woman a bit of his time before heading home. "Director Hugo wants to speak to you." Furrowing his brows in a mixture of confusion and annoyance, Alphonse nodded to the young woman without giving her a verbal response as he lightly tapped a random key on his typewriter. Well, this was an unfortunate and surprising change of events.
Silently pondering, he almost missed the fact that the young woman had not left from his desk side. "Yes, I will talk to him in a bit, Diana," he finally acknowledged as he stared at the last few lines of his report, suddenly not feeling the work ethic he had possessed a few moments before Diana's arrival. Dragging his hand over his mouth, he sighed deeply as he decided to conclude his report first. It would appear far more professional if he came in baring the report rather than like a bird the cat dragged in, after all. Without hesitation, he tapped in the last bit of his report, glancing over the conclusion to make certain it was worded properly. If not, he was going to have to retype the entire god damn report and he wasn't going to damn himself to staying another two hours to do that. The report would have to wait for tomorrow if that was the case.
"The events that transcribed were completely out of my control, and though the death of Agent Smith was unfortunate, the mission was completed without any ties to S.A.F.E. All the calls made by me and the other head operative in command of the unit was necessary and absolutely essential the success of the operation." Good enough, he decided as he closed his eyes, the imprint of Smith's blood soaked suit filling his mind. It had been a real shame. Smith was out of position, out of line, and doubting a superior and as a result, he faced the consequences - death.
The job was supposed to have been an easy in and out scenario. The team of five, under his and Gang's direction, was supposed to have slipped into the home of the Cypriot minister's house. It was supposed to be staged like a robbery, sneak in past the minister's army of guards. Disable the alarm system, steal valuables, and the vital documents. Smith had been out of line, he had put the team at risk, and in the end, he had died at the hands of a guard who caught the young spy reaching for his weapon.
He knew he wasn't responsible for what had transpired and neither was Gang, his and her judgment calls were just and they were right. So as to why Hugo wanted a conference with him - alone and in private, at the late hour of 9 pm was beyond him. Standing up, he rubbed the exhaustion out of his eyes and briefly made eye contact with the agent opposite of him, Jabir. The other man didn't say a word, and instead immediately downcasted his gaze at Alphonse's stoic expression.
The burden of guilt didn't relinquish it's hold on him even as he grabbed the file - the report on the events that had transpired during the course of the mission - and made his way to Hugo's door. He raised two knuckles and lightly rapped the door, waiting for a response. A loud "Come in!" was his cue and he turned the brass door handle, entering Hugo's large office space. The older gentleman sat, head down with a pair of glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, clearly more interested in whatever was on his desk than the fact that he had summoned the spy for a meeting.
Closing the door behind him, he stared at Hugo - awaiting some sort of message or acknowledgment other than the standard 'enter', but all he received was the other man's silence. Clearing his throat, Alphonse waited for the man to glance up - and glance up he did. An expression that could almost be described as relief flickered over Hugo's face as he noticed that his audience was the man he had been waiting for. "Alphonse!" His words were far warmer than Alphonse had anticipated, and he raised an eyebrow in confusion as Hugo waved to the chair before his desk. "Sit, please."
Sitting down and placing the file against his chair's arm, he waited for Hugo to continue. He had honestly anticipated something along the lines of a dignified scolding as Hugo was known to do when a mission went wrong - whether or not the leading agents were responsible for the results or not. It was a testament to his authority, and though Alphonse and Hugo got along well enough, it didn't mean he was free of Hugo's disapproval. Though as to why he was here alone and Gang was not was truly one of the confusing factors.
Never had he had a problem reading Hugo. The man, though talented in keeping his cards hidden, was easy enough. But whatever had Hugo in an almost gleeful state was beyond him. He was completely out of the loop in this scenario and Hugo had reclaimed his hand and Alphonse knew not what to expect. Glancing towards the other man's hands, he finally made out an envelope that bore the seal of the United Nations - that couldn't be good. Slowly, Hugo extended the letter to him, looking quite pleased with himself. "You should read this," was all Hugo said.
Accepting the letter, Alphonse unfolded it gingerly. His eyes scanned over the content, taking in the basic details. Apparently, according to the letter the UN wanted S.A.F.E. to partake in a new elite agency meant for spies, getting them not only entrance into the UN's database, but also making S.A.F.E. an official spy agency in relation to the United Nations. At one price, of course. Their most skilled spy. Now, Alphonse had no doubts he was good at what he did, but Gang, Jabir, and another handful of agents were his equals in their own rights. They just specialized at different things. "And?" He asked, tilting the letter back towards Hugo so the other man could reclaim it.
"And?" Hugo repeated, almost dumbfounded. "This is the biggest opportunity S.A.F.E has ever been given, and your only statement is 'and'?" Hugo frowned, the corners of his mouth downcasted in a gesture of disapproval. This was more customary of the man, but just when Alphonse thought they had returned to familiar territory, Hugo's icy eyes stared at him, as if trying to pressure him into accepting the proposal.
"This is recognition for S.A.F.E., Alphonse. This is bigger than you, bigger than me, bigger than any of us. This makes us a viable organization, not just an elite and private one - but a viable one to the United Nations. This isn't a choice, this is a briefing... and a farewell." Hugo left no room for argument and Alphonse sighed, leaning against his hand as he spared Hugo his temper.
He had been working with S.A.F.E. for a total of fifteen years and suddenly to understand that he was being transferred - one of the most experienced and skilled agents - to a new organization baffled him to some degree. It was safe to say he was bitter - just a bit. All thoughts regarding the Smith incident and why he had prepared to enter Hugo's office in the first place slipped his mind as he finally crafted a response. "We have many skilled operatives, Hugo. I don't understand," he paused. "Why me?"
"You of all people are asking that?" Hugo looked as if he was suspended in disbelief as he gave Alphonse a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Have you been paying attention to recent news? The conversation down the grape vine about the mysterious and unknown Ghost who has a perfect track record in the eyes of the clandestine service? You of all people are asking me that?"
"So what you're telling me is I'm just a bargaining chip for S.A.F.E.'s recognition by the UN's standards?" Alphonse raised an eyebrow, daring Hugo to argue with him. So, Hugo probably had a point. He was respected for his prowess in the field as both a skilled assassin and thief.
Hugo had the gall to look slightly sheepish. Rubbing the back of his head, Hugo smiled to him, "Not exactly."
"Can't you send somebody else?"
He could feel Hugo roll his eyes at the request. "You're debatably one of the best spies - if not the best - internationally."
Backed into a corner without much other to argue for or about, he broke eye contact with Hugo and instead stared past him at the da Vinci behind the other man on the wall. A sensation of dread filled him.
"You don't look like you enjoy the idea very much."
Alphonse nearly wanted to snap at the man with a "why yes, I don't quite like this idea", but he kept his temper in check as he glanced up at Hugo looking for confirmation. "When they say the best of the best, they don't mean from every organization, do they?"
"What else would they mean?"
Well, there went his plans of an early retirement or even surviving his years as a spy. He didn't bother to hide his discomfort from the idea as he recalled the number of individuals who would probably be there that were... not fond of him. Well, this would be pleasurable. There was, of course, going to be someone from the Service who would have assumed he was dead, first of all. Which one of them was beyond him, but knowing that he was considered a traitor and a warmonger, that conversation was going to be unpleasant. And then there was Djamel Farah of the Algerian DRS who he had left tied up to a bedpost in a previous mission in 1966. And there was also-
"Alphonse?" The other man was peering at him with concern.
"Alright, alright," he conceded. "What's in it for me?"
Hugo immediately brightened up, worries forgotten as he patted Alphonse's shoulder. "Now that's the spirit! They're going to clear all your records. Your previous employments, any run-ins with the law, everything. You're going to get a clean slate, Alphonse. You can go back to France, now, Alphonse. You won't be regarded as a traitor anymore. Austria won't mark you as a criminal and a dead man. You're free to go home," Hugo said. The warm, thoughtful tone Hugo used softened Alphonse's expression and he finally resigned himself to his fate.
"So what about my employment here? What becomes of that? And my files?" He might as well learn what he needed to know before leaving for good.
"You won't be an operative for S.A.F.E anymore, but if you ever need my assistance - you know how to reach me," Hugo said. Briefly, he paused contemplating the second question. "And I suppose your files will be sent to the Agency. We're not allowed to possess anything about you, it either goes to the Agency or is destroyed. From here on out, you and I no longer bare any ties. But I'll remember you, and you'll remember me, won't you?"
Adjusting his tie, he nodded, "Fair enough. And where is the Agency located so I can plan my travels accordingly? If you say Austria, Hugo, I swear I will kill you."
"I know your distaste of Austria. Had it been there, I would have reconsidered sending a fluke in your place, no worries. It's located in Norway. I think it's quite characteristic of your favored environments. I'm certain you'll thrive."
"When's the mandatory arrival date?"
"March 2nd, would you look at that! A full two weeks to prepare your flight plans and materials. You could probably write an introductory speech in the meantime."
Though appreciated, Alphonse wasn't certain if Hugo's jokes were rightly timed but regardless he cracked a smile. "It was a pleasure working with you, Hugo," he finally said as he stood up, holding out his hand for a handshake.
"If they ever dismiss you because they doubt you, come running back," the Director advised with a grin, standing up to shake Alphonse's hand. "I'll take you back. But otherwise, perhaps we'll have the chance to work together in the future, Alphonse. It's been my pleasure." So this was how it ended his career at S.A.F.E. Not with betrayal, not with a burn notice, but with a simple letter. He picked up the United Nations letter as he left, his file report on the previous mission forgotten as he left the office.
It was with a strange sense of melancholy that he walked through the hallways and back to his work space, mind burdened with the realization that this would be his last time working here. He couldn't remember the last time he had had to pack up everything and start over again. It was a long time ago, and as he entered the large room shared between him and three other operatives, he realized Jabir was still there. He had assumed the other man would be finished long ago and would have left then, but he saw the other dozing off with a questionable magazine spread over his face.
Briefly, he contemplated waking Jabir up, but knowing Jabir's temper when he was roused from his naps during conferences, Alphonse thought twice of it and started to sort out his supplies. He didn't have much at the office, in all honesty. He was rarely in the office except to write the occasional field report or train an operative or receive and discuss the contents of a mission. Otherwise he was home or in a differing nation with a job on his hands.
Sighing, he took a seat in his leather chair. The chair squeaked slightly, as it was prone to doing, and the leather seemed to sink with the added weight. It had always been a con of the office space, the horrid chair, but it had been a familiar object regardless and Alphonse never had the heart to discard of it. Well, now it seemed he didn't have to. He wouldn't be seeing much of the chair anymore. Leaning over, he slowly opened each and every drawer of his desk to find it mostly empty. There were a few books - all lovingly annotated and marked, because believe it or not Alphonse was not known for pristine and clean books. He placed the books on top of his desk and peered into another drawer, finding more of nothing.
There was of course his type writer and assorted pens, but the pens weren't really that important to him. So that was it. Fifteen years and he had a typewriter and a grand total of three books to accompany his leave. Scratching his temple, he briefly wondered if he had always been this indiscernible and foreign to his colleagues when Jabir shifted. He could hear the crinkle of the magazine and his eyes immediately flitted up, prepared for the worst but instead he was greeted with a large yawn by the Kuwaiti.
"You're a little early for spring cleaning," Jabir said, voice teasing as he stiffled another yawn. "So what was it, huh?" With Jabir curiosity came in floods. "What'd the big honcho want? And don't tell me he said nothing. He chewed you out, didn't he?"
He huffed a laugh as he gathered up his books and placed them on the corner of his desk, moving to pull out unimportant scraps of papers with notes sprawled upon them and files regarding past targets and research on differing facilities. He would have to find a trash can for them. The contents weren't exactly classified, just mostly nonsensical notes for himself. "I wish it were that simple, Fahad."
"Come on, you and I have shared a few beers, I'd like to think we're at least friends." Fahad Jabir was nothing if not curious and the man was looking for answers to sate his desire for knowledge. That had been one of the reasons why Jabir made such a wonderful spy. His desire to learn and discover empowered him and made him brave and bold, but Alphonse feared it would one day be his demise as well.
But Jabir had a point. They had shared quite a few beers, something less refined than his general preference in wine, but still something they had shared nonetheless in the worst scenarios where they had thought death had certainly found them. "I've been cut, Fahad. Hugo is transferring me. I'm leaving," he stated simply. It was almost comical to watch the man's eyes bulge in shock and surprise.
"Hugo's cutting you?" The man was sitting up straight all of a sudden and leaning in far too close for comfort. "Why? Where to? He couldn't have been that angry about Smith. The kid was bound to mess up and it wasn't your fault or Gang's. Speaking of which, why the heck would he cut just you and not Gang as well. Wait-"
Clearing his throat gently, he gave Jabir a pointed look so the other would settle down. "It's classified."
"Oh." Jabir's jaw was slack slightly before he repeated the statement. "Oh. Is it the kind of classified where if I know I'm dead? Never mind, nope. It's all good Fournier, you keep your secrets, I wasn't here. I didn't hear that. It is Fournier, right? Or have you been lying to me this entire time?" Jabir's beady eyes searched him, trying to read him.
"It is Fournier, Fahad. And yes, it is that kind of classified, so I suppose I'll pack everything up and get going," Alphonse said simply. That was when Jabir brightened up.
"If you're gone, can I tell everyone you're dead? I could make up an amazing story about how the uh, the - the NIS broke into the office and killed you but you killed like-"
"No."
"But, just imagine, they'll think of you as a hero!"
"I said no, Fahad."
"My god, you're so boring. No wonder Smith died, he probably wanted to seek excitement while you were nagging at him like a grandmother."
"Fahad, don't tell them I'm dead." His deadpan was met with Jabir's over exaggerated sigh as the man threw his hands up in defeat.
"Fine, fine," he could swear Jabir was pouting at him. Dear god. Suddenly there was a suspicious look in Jabir's eyes that put Alphonse on the edge as the other man leaned even closer. If he shifted forward, their noses would touch. "But can I have your typewriter?"
To be fair, that was the last thing Alphonse had expected and he stared at Jabir without moving a muscle. It seemed like five centuries before he blinked. "My what?"
"Your typewriter," Jabir repeated. The request was beyond surreal and Alphonse found himself once again questioning the seams that made up reality. This certainly couldn't be true, but who was he to judge a dream from reality? And, now that he thought about it, Jabir's request was very... Jabir-like. Jabir had always been the kind of man to covet another's possession. He could recall specifically that once Jabir traded three hundred in US dollars for a skewer of meat. The money he had paid for it had been the equivalent to the amount required to feed a family for at least two months.
He couldn't quite recall which awful thing he had done to deserve Jabir's existence in his life, but he sighed as he pulled away and picked up the old and worn black typewriter. It was an old make and model that was slowly becoming antiquated. To be fair, he was certain they had stopped being popular nearly forty years ago and he had picked up the Underwood No. 5 typewriter at a sale, when the sleek typewriter had caught his eye. Well, considering he was leaving without a proper farewell, it seemed fair enough. And he had been meaning to buy a Remington Portable typewriter instead so that he could bring it along on his travels, just in case. Now he supposed he had a reason.
Offering the typewriter to Jabir who was grinning widely, he felt a ping of loss as he saw the other man take the thing in his hands like a newborn child. Well, he supposed, at least Jabir would take good care of it... "Hey, Fournier," Jabir's words caused him to take his eyes off of his typewriter. Jabir placed the typewriter down, moving for his pockets and pulling out his wallet. "You ever been to Kuwait?"
"I've never been to Kuwait, no," Alphonse said, raising an eyebrow in confusion as Jabir opened up the wallet and pulled out a coin and flicked it towards him. Catching it easily before it landed, he looked at the coin in the palm of his hand. It was gold in color, but judging from the weight and feel of the metal, he highly doubted it was gold. It had the words 'K U W A I T' engraved on one side of it and on the other, a ship at sea. Well, this was an unexpected but pleasant surprise.
"You collect coins, don't you? That's a Kuwait fils, I think it'll fit into your collection, yeah?" Jabir grinned widely at him, seemingly pleased with himself. "But hey, treat yourself. Visit Kuwait if you have the chance. It's beautiful." He could have swore he saw a trace of wistfulness on Jabir's face that quickly faded. "Take care of yourself, yeah, Fournier?" The Kuwaiti's face was unreadable as he gave Alphonse a blank stare for a few extra moments. "And let us both pray we're never going to meet each other on the opposite side of the field."
To be fair, that had been a point he had completely forgotten about. Now that Jabir mentioned it, he couldn't help but think about what would happen if they did. He quite liked Jabir, it would be a true misfortune if he had to take Jabir's life. "I hope so too, Fahad. I hope so too." The last word faded away into a whisper before he resolved himself. "Well, I should get going, Fahad. It's getting late, and I'm certain my wife is waiting for me."
"Wait," there was a hint of something in Jabir's voice that Alphonse couldn't quite place. "Good luck, Fournier. Though I don't believe in Allฤhโ, I hope he'll be there for you." The implication chilled Alphonse briefly, but he nodded nonetheless.
"Merci, mon ami. Adieu."
-
On his way home, a lot of thoughts plagued his mind. It was a sense of bittersweet rage that filled him as he contemplated what exactly had happened and what it meant to him and his family. The streets of Iceland had been different from what he was accustomed to in his childhood home of Paris, France. France had been all about the night life. The thought brought a smile to his face as he drove past empty streets. The houses were dark and seemed empty, but he highly doubted they were. They were perhaps just all asleep.
Tapping the steering wheel lightly, he drove at a speed that was highly ill-advised, but the sensation of the speed combined with his racing mind did wonders to calm him down. Considering that he was already a complete three hours late and it was 10 pm, he supposed arriving home even later than anticipated would not do any more harm than his tardiness had already caused. From the corner of his eye, he spotted his neighborhood in his rear mirror but he kept driving.
Pulling up to an empty lot of land, he cut the engine and got outside of the car. His eyes lifted up to look at the stars overhead briefly before glancing down as his fingers worked through his suit in search of his cigarette case. He removed one of his Nat Shermans from the case before placing it back securely into his suit. Placing the cigarette into his mouth, he sat on the hood of his car, enjoying the night view. Though it was a little colder at night, he was no stranger to the cold and enjoyed the solitude given to him.
In Paris, it would have been a little harder to find a place equally as wide and empty as this. But it had been home, nonetheless. Lighting the cigarette, he took a drag of the cigarette, enjoying the calming rush of the nicotine. It was places like this where he thought best, after all. In the cover of night it was where he thrived.
He sighed, exhaling a stream of smoke through his mouth and nostrils. After the incident in Austria and S.A.F.E's act of generosity towards him, he had relocated his entire family to Iceland. They had a humble abode, two cats, and their children had grown up in Iceland. Though Camille, Miles, and Colette had spent most of their younger years in Paris, he was certain they thought of Iceland when they thought of home. After all, Camille had only been nine when the Fourniers had moved to Iceland, and the other two had been even younger.
Nowadays, the children were everywhere. Colette was studying culinary in Greece, Ivan was trying to make a name for himself as a dancer in France, Jerome and Elaine were in Italy mastering their practice in design and tailoring, and the rest were scattered. Honestly, it was hard to keep track of the children with his jobs and the letters that came in every so often at random intervals. But it calmed him greatly to know they were safe, they were happy, and most importantly, they were doing what they loved.
A soft smile found its way onto his face as he breathed out another trail of smoke. So that left him, Seraphin, and Camille who still lived together. The others came home to visit, yes, but it was just him, Seraphin, and Camille. They had gotten so used to living in a small house too. Things were simple. It was easy. There was no need to flaunt money in Iceland. There wasn't even many chances to, to be fair.
He himself, sadly enough, had gotten quite acquaintanced to the grassy landscape of Iceland and the quiet community that treated him and his family as one of them. The selfless love shared between the neighbors was touching and surprising to him, considering he had gotten used to surviving on his own. He would be lying if he said he was fine with giving that up. But what choice did he really have?
There was no denying Hugo. No denying the United Nations. It didn't matter how much notoriety his name possessed. He was just one man, and he could not combat whatever the UN had up their sleeves. And somehow, he suspected regardless of his and Hugo's relationship, Hugo would have no problem placing a burn notice on his assets and bringing him back to square one. He had worked so hard to get to where he was in life, and the thought of returning back to where he had came from was absolutely absurd.
But, he thought, laughing softly at his own foolish optimism, he had gained quite a lot from it. First of all, he was being given an opportunity - and Hugo was right - that was much more important than he was. He was being given the opportunity that he had wanted, that he had taken when he was young and a soldier in the Resistance. He was being given the opportunity to do what he was good at in order to protect the weak. This wasn't going to be like the jobs he had taken back in the Service and they wouldn't be like the assorted operations S.A.F.E. ran. No, these were definitely morally questionable jobs, but they were jobs that would protect more at the cost of few. And that was a fair trade in his books.
Ever since he had dedicated his time and service into clandestine activities, he had learned he quite excelled at it. Following the atrocities of the war, there was little that fazed him and even less that could stop him from completing a mission. And most importantly, this job gave him something he never thought he could possess. It gave him a clean slate. The accusations made upon his name... They would be gone. The thought - that after all of this, if he survived - that he could go home was honestly... all he needed. He had been convinced that France was lost to him. That he would never be able to walk those streets again without avoiding prying eyes, but this - this was it.
He could visit his parents' grave in Paris. He could stop by Annabelle's bakery - now a complete stranger to his little sister - but it was the fact that he could. His enemies wouldn't be able to trace him. Not through the Service, not through S.A.F.E., not through anything. The Untied Nations could effectively make him not exist. Nobody would know where to find him, how to find him, or what he had even done that required them to find him in the first place.
And it was ultimately that thought that plagued his mind. For the first time, in a long time, he suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of freedom and control. That he was finally free of his burdens and the constant paranoia that had kept him on his toes as he waited for the inevitable end at the hands of those he had wronged.
Finally, he was brought back to the reality that Seraphin had been waiting for him. She was waiting for him. Dropping his cigarette down to the gravel, he crushed the last of the embers underneath the tip of his oxfords. Opening up the car door, he checked the time briefly and grimaced. It was 11, and he had no doubt Seraphin was still sitting in wait of his return. He hoped, at the very least, she had had something to eat.
Pulling into the driveway, he scanned over the dimly lit house and pulled his keys out from his suit, unlocking the door in a quiet manner. Despite the stealthiness of his actions, the creaking of the hinges was enough to rouse his sleeping wife from the sofa where she had dozed off while waiting for him. There was no anger or confusion in her gaze, but he saw nothing but warmth and happiness as he smiled at her.
"Alphonse," she breathed out, voice a little rough from her exhaustion. She was immediately standing up, moving to his side to pull him into an embrace. A soft 'oof' escaped him as her arms wrapped around his bruised frame, but he grinned nonetheless. Though it hurt, there was nothing quite like his wife's warm arms around him to brighten his mood. Exhaling softly, he rested his head on top of hers, closing his eyes.
"I'm home," he said, voice soft. "I'm okay, I'm home," he knew she must have been worrying herself to death over his late arrival. He had been gone for a full thirty six hours and had spent an hour in the infirmary at S.A.F.E where they tended to his bruises and sprained ribs before he had crashed for five hours and wrote his report for the next three. He was supposed to have come home by 7 pm, but the meeting with Hugo and his conversation with Jabir had lengthened things out quite a bit.
Suddenly, the warmth pressed up against his side was gone and his wife had backed out of his embrace with a slightly disbelieving expression. He was not prepared for his wife to jab his chest and failed to conceal a hiss of pain. His wife did not look amused in the slightest. "I'm fine," she parroted back at him. "Close the house door then take off your shirt, Alphonse. What did they do to you this time?"
Sighing, he conceded the defeat. He could lie to just about anyone but Seraphin. Closing and locking the door behind him, he shuffled over to the sofa and worked slowly on his tie and shrugged off his suit jacket. At the same exact time, his wife was working on his buttons without a devious expression he was fond of on her face. Instead, all he saw was a sweet amount of concern that left him quite guilty for causing her to be scared in the first place. As Seraphin peeled back the button up, her eyes widened at the bruises on his chest, around his trachea, and the bandaging done to his right arm.
"What happened, Mi vida?" Her voice was a hushed whisper as her fingers gently trailed over the bruises dotting his frame. It was a very reassuring feeling, the sensation of her nails tracing over his skin in a manner that felt safe and right. He leaned into her touch almost instinctively, closing his eyes as her fingers closed in on his bruised trachea.
"One of the younger operatives screwed up, Ma Reine, he nearly costed us the mission." Alphonse's features were grim as the bitter taste that was left in his mouth at the thought of gunpowder and blood reared its fearsome head in the back of his head. "But most of us are relatively unharmed."
Seraphin's features were unreadable as his eyes fluttered back open, trying to decipher his wife. She was silent for a long time before speaking, "What did he do?"
He scoffed, shaking his head. "I gave him a direct order and he went back on it. He... He tried to crack a safe that we were clearly not equipped to manage and set off the alarm. He and two other operatives were rushed, the other two managed to escape, but..." Here he closed his eyes. He remembered being in the control room the guards had set up with Agent Anton, looking through various codes for the security system and safes to find where the intel could have possibly been, when the radio of the unconscious guard sparked to life stating that there were two fleeing felons and one who had been shot and killed. "He died. The mission was incomplete, and we had no choice but to regroup, locate the information we wanted by force, and we tried recovering him, but the body was too... too much to bring along."
He remembered sharing a look with Gang in the cold night air as he rubbed his trachea. Gang was sporting a nasty looking gash across her face, but she looked mostly disheartened rather than a rush of adrenaline by what had occurred. He could understand, they had lost Smith. "What do we do now?" He had stared back at her, wondering what there was to do. The man had bled out. There was nothing, no life and no light in Smith's eyes. They had lost the young man. He remembered clearly shaking his head. They had burned the body, left no traces. They had secured the intel and they had left nothing behind, not even the corpse of their colleague.
"Al," her words were strangely soft and comforting. He hadn't realized his breathing had accelerated or that his voice had shook as the feelings of guilt overwhelmed him. He should have known better than to let Smith inside. He should have kept Smith with him, in the control room. "Al, it's okay." It had been a judgment call he had messed up and as a result, Smith was dead.
He could feel Seraphin's arms wrap around him, pulling him in close. He had not realized how much he had needed the contact, because the second she had made contact, he felt himself melt into her arms. A shuddering sigh escaped his battered form. It's okay echoed back at him, Seraphin's very own words. A promise. It was okay. It was okay. "It's not your fault." Not your fault. He had not realized how much he had needed those words either, but when she had said it, it suddenly felt like a weight lifted off of his chest.
He didn't quite remember when, but he had fallen asleep in her arms on the sofa. He had woken up before her, trapped in her iron grasp as she clung to him, arm and leg thrown over his body. He could feel something suspiciously wet against the nape of his neck, but all he felt was a budding warmness in his chest as a grin crossed his face. It was still early, he could tell from the dim light starting to filter in through the window shutters. Too early for a morning after a mission.
Groaning, he shifted his position on the small sofa to turn around to face his wife. True to his suspicion, she was drooling slightly and he managed another exhausted grin as she shuffled slightly, making a frustrated noise at his movement. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her close to his chest, feeling the flutter of her heartbeat against his chest. Slowly, his eyes drifted shut once again. There would be time to tell her about the new job proposition later...
It had felt like an eternity, but eventually, the light became too bright to sleep through and he had finally sat up, still drenched in exhaustion, but for the most part feeling better than his condition yesterday. He had left Seraphin on the couch, sleeping soundly as he headed off to the bedroom, wrinkled suit jacket, vest, button up, and tie in tow. Throwing the former three into the laundry bucket, he hung up his tie and chose out a simple undershirt and boxers. He wasn't going to be going out of the house anyways, he thought as he grabbed the two and headed towards the bathroom.
Taking a quick shower, he was careful to avoid straining his muscles too much or applying too much pressure on the bruises. Once he was done, he stepped out of the shower, drying his hair quickly and slipping into the boxers and shirt just as fast. He looked in the mirror at his messy hair and sighed deeply before shaking his head. He would groom himself in they went out, but otherwise today he was just going to relax. Bedhead be damned.
Heading into the kitchen while scratching at the new bandages he had wrapped around his arm, he pulled out a variety of ingredients. Well, he supposed he was officially on vacation for two weeks. No point in wasting it. He stared at the eggs he had taken out, briefly wondering what had been in his mind when he had decided to take out the eggs in the first place. Racking his brain for the recipes that required eggs, he finally settled upon scrambled eggs. It was quick, it was simple, and with the right ingredients it would taste great.
Shrugging, he set off to work, making dinner before Seraphin roused from the sofa. He could hear her approaching him from behind, footsteps not loud, but telling enough. Glancing back towards her as he cooked the meal for three - no, he had not forgotten Camille - he smiled as she wrapped her arms around his waist. "I thought you'd sleep in," she hummed, hands snaking down a little lower than necessary.
Chuckling at her deviousness, he shook his head. "And I had thought you would stay asleep for quite some time."
Seraphin had laughed in return, lifting one of her hands to run through his hair. "What's this? You didn't style your hair?" She exclaimed in mock horror. "Well, I think it's cute."
"Mmm," he hummed back at her. "You think everything I do is either sexy or cute, Seraphin."
Her laughter was infectious and he laughed along with her as she pressed a kiss to the back of his neck as he turned off the gas stove. "Touchรฉ," she conceded. As he piled eggs into a plate, he felt her hand snaking around and claiming it as hers. Shrugging, he felt the warmth against his back disappear as she headed off to the table to eat her breakfast. The traitor had only been here for the eggs.
Dutifully, he piled another plate with eggs, he placed it aside. Once the third dish of eggs was complete, he brought both plates with him to the table. Setting his dish down, he glanced at Camille's dish in his hands. Well, knowing his son, he was probably still sleeping. Sighing, he headed in towards Camille's room. Knocking gently, he heard no response. Opening Camille's bedroom door, he entered and placed the plate of eggs on the table near Camille's bedside. Shaking his son slightly, he waited for a response. What he got in response was something along the lines of a childish whine as Camille tried covering his head with his blankets. Well, that was always one way this could play out.
Sighing, he sat down at his son's bedside and waited patiently for Camille to blearily blink open his eyes. "Breakfast is ready, Millie," he spoke softly, voice filled with warmth as he grinned at his son's sleeping form. He sighed, giving in as Camille continued to squeeze his eyes close. He supposed Camille could eat whenever he actually decide to wake up... Shrugging, he left the eggs on the table and closed the door behind him to spend the morning with his wife. He had quite some news to tell her, after all.
Sitting down across from her, he was met with her bright smile and all he could do was smile back. A hint of discomfort plagued his heart, wondering how he would tell her what he had to tell her. "Al," her words were reassuring, and grounding. Like an anchor to a boat in a restless sea, he met her soft and gentle eyes. "What's wrong?"
"It's about yesterday," he finally sighed, eating a spoonful of eggs. Chewing thoroughly, he swallowed before continuing. "About why I came home late."
"If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to," she was gentle, as always. She understood he never wanted to keep secrets from her or lie to her, but she also understood that sometimes his job demanded it of him. And rather than forcing him to lie, she gave him the power of omission - of never saying anything at all.
Smiling weakly back at her, he shook his head, "I have to tell you about this." The tea was new. Apparently, when he was with Camille, Seraphin had been making tea rather than eating and there was a cup sitting at his hand. He took a sip before continuing. "I've been cut from S.A.F.E., Seraphin. They're reassigning me."
His wife didn't miss a beat. "To where?"
"Norway."
"Is this reassignment permanent?"
"I'm afraid so."
His wife looked unfazed as she nodded, taking in the news all in a stride. "So when are you required to show up, Mi vida?"
"March 2nd," he said simply.
She continued eating, as if nothing was wrong, her gaze locked onto her food before flitting up. "Why aren't you eating, Al?"
"About what I said..."
"There's nothing to talk about it, I'll tell Camille to pack up and I'll make sure we have everything. This house would make a good vacation home," she chimed back, cheerfully. "Don't worry about it, Al."
"Seraphin, you don't understand. The people I am working for are very powerful... The people I am working with are dangerous. I don't want you near them." I'd rather be alone then put you in danger went unsaid as he continued to hold his ground.
Seraphin's features were unreadable for the briefest of moments before she finally sighed and placed down her fork to cup his much larger hand between hers'. She held onto his hand even as she spoke. "Alphonse, there is nothing, past or present, that has separated us. I'm not afraid of the risks, Mi vida. I'm only afraid of living in a world without you."
She emphasized the term of endearment, reminding to him exactly what he was to her. Mi vida. Her life. Cracking a small smile for her sake, he shook his head. "You are unbelievable, Ma reine. Nothing fazes you."
"And you are lovely, Mi vida. Nothing will stop you from coming home and no one will hurt me because I have you." She smiled at him for the longest time, and during that moment he felt like he had been graced with an angel's blessing. Her features were beautiful, just as radiant as she had once been in their youth. A budding feeling of warmth filled his chest as he found himself unable to break eyecontact until she removed her hands from his and tapped his face lightly with her fingertips. "Now eat up. Your garden is looking hideous and I'm not going to weed it myself."
Laughing, he obliged to her request. Somehow, he felt the next few days would be marvelous. No, they would be perfect. And whatever came next... well, it would damn be worth it.
-
They had packed early. Due to Seraphin's adamance, they were to take the flight out on the 28th of February, arriving on that same day so they would have time to look around Norway. Then of course, they would have to find a place of residence for the time being. The current location they would be staying was a hotel he had booked in advance called the Helma. It was supposedly one of the most posh places in the area, and would serve as their residence until Seraphin found a house that suited her tastes.
The budget didn't matter to him. The prices couldn't get much higher than how much he already made, so his wife was free to buy whatever she had wanted. What he not expected was honestly the luggage. They had to send boxes of books in advance. The Fournier family were avid readers, and the thought of leaving their books behind was absolute blasphemy. Well, the well loved ones, at least. The less important ones were mostly just there to show case the family as an educated family, all things considered.
Then there was Serahphin's piles of clothes. There were numerous things that she wanted. There was her ballgowns, her cocktail dresses, her summer dresses, a variety of suits, and far too many things for Alphonse to list. He could understand her though. He would have honestly felt nothing but pity if he wasn't bringing along his satin and velvet suits. So instead, he took things all in a stride, and had gotten the family a private jet flown by a friend of his who had served in the war, but was now a retired cargo pilot.
He was certain the extra cash combined with the fulfillment of an old favor was certainly a bonus for the British pilot. It was just a shame his Cadillac would be a late arrival. Cutting the engine to the car, he glanced back at Seraphin who smiled brightly at him and headed out to help Camille with the suitcases. Walking over to his friend, Darius Wilson, he shook the shorter's man hand. The thing about Darius was that he was completely unsuspecting. The man stood at about 5'9" with mousy brown hair and bright and brilliant amber eyes. He looked more like a school teacher than a war veteran.
"By god's fine name, it is you, Alphonse," Darius spoke with a heavy British drawl that followed the man everywhere he went. "News down the grapevine said you were dead a good eighteen years ago, you could imagine the fright you gave me when you called."
"Any one who is good at my job is never dead, only suspected as such," he jested in return as he patted Darius on the back. "Thank you, by the way, mon ami, for your assistance."
The pilot shook his head, pursing his lips as he did so. "Don't thank me, you son of a gun. I owe you this. So tell me, where am I taking you? A man can't fly a plane without a destination, or else I'll be like a bird migrating to god knows where."
He laughed, "Norway. I'm going to Norway."
"I ain't going to ask why, but come on. Let's help them with your god awful luggage or else we'll be here until evening."
Once aboard the plane, things were mostly uneventful. Camille had fallen back asleep after being roused from his usual sleeping habits and his wife was far too entranced by the sky outside to really hold a conversation. Instead, he joined Darius in the cockpit. He had flown a few planes in his day. He was by no means good at it, but if needed, he could pilot one badly. Better than most.
He sat next to Darius, sparing his wife a glance. She seemed to have fallen asleep at last. He and Darius met each other's gaze briefly before Darius looked forward once again. Sighing, he finally leaned his head against the side of the plane. This wasn't supposed to be a long flight, by most standards. Only approximately two and a half hours. So that left him with plenty time to think about his plan of action.
Once the plane touched down, he was going to pull a few strings with Asbjรธrn Munsen and get the Norwegian mobster to figure out a ride for him. Then from there, they would just have to move the luggage upstairs, unpack, and settle down for the most part. He would figure out where the coordinates of the Agency was exactly later on.
Things were mostly as planned from then on out. Asbjรธrn, after a brief spat, finally sent one of his men - a jumpy mailman by the name Gard, to pick them up. The man cowed in the presence of Alphonse, but he took no notice to it. From there, they had unpacked and settled in the hotel room. It was not a bad place, to be fair. Honestly, the Helma was quite homely and beautiful and the view he had spared for Seraphin was wonderful. He personally had never been a fan of balconies, but he knew Seraphin enjoyed the accursed things.
There were too many dangers and possibilities regarding hotels that had him booking rooms near exits, rather than rooms with a view. But the smile on her face made any risk worth it.
Norway was different from Paris and it was different from Iceland. He had had no doubt about this fact, but it didn't change a thing. To start things off, the geography of Norway was quite peculiar. It was mountainous and breathtaking. Though he had known there was a coastal area, he had decided to live more inland. The coordinates were, after all, closer to where they were living. The long drive to the base would be foolish just for a coastal home, so the mountainous regions were a great choice.
He sat pondering silently as his eyes looked at his wife's silhouette in the warm glow of the setting sun contrasting with the beautiful ice-capped green mountains truly bringing out her form. For the first time in a long time, he didn't regret taking the risk at all. Not a bit. Seraphin was the happiest he had ever seen. She seemed as happy as the day when Camille was born. Her smile was similar to the smile she had when he had asked her to wed him.
On second thought, Norway wasn't all that bad.
-
It was early in the morning when he woke up. Today was the 2nd of March. They were meant to show up at the Agency later in the evening, at four pm. The letter had specified the details regarding the meeting, and though he tried not to think too hard about it, the fact that it was sent to him and brought directly to his room meant they were watching him. The letter stated to meet at the coordinates given at four pm, come dress in formal attire for a "gala". Well, he supposed there were perks to a spy orientation, after all.
He had taken the time to stretch and even go out for a run. The crisp air in Norway made the jog far more rewarding, and though his accursed smoking habits made it a bit more strenuous than it had to be, the constant exercise and training of his lungs kept him in good shape. Besides, he was cutting the smoking back. He had maxed his cap on cigarettes at about 5 at most a day.
He had approximately eight and a half hours before his audience was required. Well, that was good by his standards. He spent the rest of the morning with his wife, taking her out for breakfast. After that, he had spent most of the morning with her, participating in various activities with her. It was one when he had finally sat up from their bed and glanced at his wife, who had been content with curling up close to his nude body. He smiled, brushing her hair out of her face with his fingertips.
Kissing her gingerly on the cheek, he tilted his head, waiting for a reaction. Her green eyes snapped open and she moved slightly to look into his gaze and smiled back at him. "I have to go now," he said, leaning in for another kiss. She reciprocated it by capturing his lips in her and when she pulled back to she sighed.
"Always so early," she complained as she rolled over onto her stomach instead of laying on her side. Her face was buried in the pillows. "Hurry up in the showers so I can take one too." The words came out as mumbles, but he grinned nonetheless as he went into the bathroom.
The shower was quick, but it got the job done. When he finished, he dried himself off and stood outside, steam still on the bathroom mirror. Wiping the steam away, he pulled out his razor and shaved his stubble before gelling his hair back. Content with his face, he exited the bathroom, entering their room to get dressed. He saw his wife, sitting up in the bed covered in the bed sheets. She yawned widely before settling down and appreciating his toned body.
He kept track of her face in the mirror as he wore on his collarless tunic first. His next move was the wear on his socks and sock garters. She was watching him in absolute silence as he attached his suspenders to the back of his trousers. "I probably won't be home for quite some time," he said as he pulled and buttoned up his trousers and secured his suspenders. Grabbing his waistcoat, she shifted in the bed, "Don't wait for me if it gets late."
Seraphin sighed, a quiet acknowledgement of his words. "Have yourself a good time, Alphonse," she finally responded, the soft lull of her spanish making him smile as he secured his white bowtie and shrugged his tailcoat on. Smoothing out the lapels, he nodded.
"You should look around, Ma reine, in the meantime. I'm certain there are plenty of interesting places here." He turned around, satisfied he was dressed smartly enough for the event. Considering that the event had required formal wear, white tie was probably an appropriate dress code. Folding up his white linen handkerchief, he placed it into jacket's pocket before wearing on his black formal patent leather lace ups. Once the shoes were in place, he was slipping on his white formal dress gloves.
That was when she stood from the bed, the sheets piling around where she had been sitting. Walking over to him, her warm hands moved up to adjust his bowtie one last time as she captured his lips in another kiss. Her words were gentle as she spoke. "Don't get into trouble," she whispered, and he could not help but smile.
"I'll be on my best behavior, Ma cheri," he responded, pecking her cheek lightly. He could see the quiet admiration in her eyes saved only for him, but he understood she deserved far better than him and it was him who was lucky for having her in his life.
"I'll be waiting for you."
-
It had turned out the Agency's gala, as it had been called, was deep in the mountain ranges. The further he drove, following the directions of the coordinates and the map he was using, the more the terrain transformed into large mountain ranges. Unless the gala was held under the open sky, he didn't see much room for a building, but he had been wrong before.
And wrong he had been. The trees and gravel gave way to a paved street, though it was rare that anybody would have drove this way in the first place. It was quite well hidden, and as he drove on, an iron gate finally caught his eyes. It was black in color with golden tips, very intricately designed, with an 'A' engraved on both sides of the driveway gate. The gates towered and were at least twenty feet high and reminiscent of the Buckingham Palace's very own gate, down to the white pillars on either side of the gate with matching intricate designs.
The entire area, from what he could see, also bore the same fencing made of iron. He raised an eyebrow as he pulled up closer, noticing that on either side of the gate was a guard, each dressed in a tuxedo. Slowing down the car, he rolled down the vehicle and waited for one of the two guards to approach him. The man leaned down and spoke, tone gruff and voice accented. "Do you have an invitation, sir?" He had paused here to lean up briefly, calling out to his partner in Norwegian. "I bet it's another one of them, these kind of people can't seem to read a clock."
Being quite ignorant in the mother-tongue of the Norwegians, he chose to raise an eyebrow but not make a comment on his ignorance. Pulling out the letter that had arrived the previous day, he presented it to the guard who clicked his tongue in approval and motioned to his partner to open the gate. Once the gate was open, the man stepped back and allowed him room to enter. Once inside the gates, there was a roundabout immediately in front of him that circled around a large fountain with three tiers.
It was a very beautiful location, he had to admit as he drove slowly around the roundabout to take a look at the building. It was not fair to call it a house or a mansion. It was large, as large as the S.A.F.E. headquarters and the Service's. It had a architectural style that reminded him of the Harlaxton manor. That said, it even had the same colors with the antiquated grey, yellow, black masonry. It was extraordinary and he knew that the inside would be quite as spectacular.
Driving down the paved driveway, he finally came across an open lot. To his surprise, though it was a mere hour before the event, it was quite empty. There were only about twenty or so cars already parked. Nodding as he took in this interesting information, he pulled the 1965 thunderbird into a parking space and cut the engine.
Getting out of the car, he looked up towards the building once more. Well, this was certainly a step up from where he used to work, And that said, S.A.F.E was not so shabby itself.
Guiding himself to the front of the building, he found the large double doors to be quite as extraordinary as the entire house. It was walnut or some equally dark brown wood and had the crest of a lion carved onto it. A symbol of bravery, no doubt. Rapping his fingers lightly against the door, he stood on ceremony, waiting for an answer. Upon receiving no answer, he pushed the door gently open to find that it was not locked. Another intriguing factor about this building.'
Letting himself in, he glanced around. The ceiling was high and lining the side were hickory walls with engravings on them reminiscent of most old and grand architecture. There were a number of priceless paintings hanging on the wall and displays of statues on tables lined the hallway. Looking up, he saw a large chandelier swaying slightly, lighting the hallways with ease. He glanced around, wandering which way to go next. There was the door to his immediate left, with white and black marble on either side of it. There was no plaque on the door and he raised an eyebrow.
Well, with the sheer size of this building, he would have reckoned having a tour guide wouldn't have been a bad decision. Chuckling to himself, he instead took the door further down the hall to his right instead of heading straight in. Whatever was deeper in the building would be discovered later, but for now, the unmarked rooms held his interest. As he pushed the door gently open, he found that whatever this room was - it was meant to be a work space. There were multiple desks in here, all with chairs but nothing else. There were no pens, no papers, no files, no typewriters. Nothing.
Curiously, he swiped his gloved fingers along the desk and lifted his white gloves to find not a speck of dust on them. He huffed a laugh. He couldn't begin to imagine the face of the sales clerk who must have sold these tables recently. He had not thought to close the door behind him, not seeing a point in trying to hide when he was in an unfamiliar building he had been invited to. But it did come as a surprise when there was a knock on the door behind him.
Turning around, he spotted an unfamiliar face. He had never seen this man in any files regarding the United Nations, ambassadors, or important politicians. But something about the control he had when in this building told Alphonse he was someone with authority, someone who knew what he was doing. The man's face was aged and worn by time.
He was dressed equally as smartly and stepped into the room without a moment's hesitation. "Yet another early bird comes to find the worm," the man's voice was aged and rumbled like thunder, deep but not intimidating.
Tilting his head in interest as he stared at the man, he smirked. "I suppose so. And may I ask who are you?"
"You must be Alphonse," there was something about the way he said Alphonse's name that didn't sit quite right. Perhaps it was the fact that he knew it prematurely, or the fact that he thought he had the right to say it like he possessed it. The man stepped closer, a good eight inches shorter than him. "I was going to greet you later, but I suppose now is not too early." He shrugged as he came to a stop about one feet away from him. "I am the Director of the Agency."
Somehow, he had anticipated those words. It still didn't make him feel in control of the situation, but as a spy he excelled at lying - and maintaining a facade of control and confidence was in the job description. "A pleasure to meet you, monsieur...?" The words trailed off, waiting for a response.
"Clever one, aren't you?" The Director laughed, "Trying to bait some information from me." The man shook his head and turned his back on Alphonse, walking back out the way he came. "Come along now, I'll fill you in. Though I must say, I was surprised to find your name in the list of agents."
Alphonse resigned himself to listen instead of speak. It was a known mantra that good leaders were first good followers, and good followers were good listeners. Besides, one learned the most when listening - not talking. "Could you imagine the look on my face? Alphonse Fournier? Surely, I had thought, it was just another man with the same name. Imagine the shock when your file came in."
"They said you were dead. We, as a whole - the United Nations - thought you were dead. You had us all fooled. Once the best, and suddenly dead. So how did you do it?" He stopped, mid-sentence. "How did you fake your death?"
"I didn't," Alphonse answered dismissively. "I was lucky."
That was that, and the Director continued to lead him deeper into the building. The architecture around him was gorgeous, absolutely stunning. And finally, they reached a door that the Director opened. Inside, was a large ballroom with multiple tables and chairs set up. Multiple waiters and waitresses were busying themselves around with setting the tables and bringing out food. "I'll keep that in mind, Fournier. But remember," the man smiled. It was a deceiving smile, one that promised to be friendly but was quite the opposite, "I know what you are. I'll have my eye on you."
With those words, the Director left him to his own company as he entered the doors feeling slightly shaken. It wasn't often that someone had the upper hand to him, but that was what the Director had. He had insight and knowledge into Alphonse's files and he knew. He knew what had transpired, but which side did he believe? Did he believe the accusations that Alphonse had been a war criminal attempting to ignite a third war because the second had failed or did he believe that Alphonse had truly been betrayed?
And, all things considered, did he know about how Alphonse had slaughtered Corriveau? What had he meant when he had said he knew what Alphonse was. Exhaling deeply, he neared one of the waiters starting to pour out glasses of wine and helped himself to one, sparing the young man a 'merci' as he walked past. The tables all had multiple name tags printed on fine card stock, each in front of a seat identifying which agency the agent was from. Sighing, he realized he would have to find S.A.F.E. on his own accordance.
Taking a sip of wine, he noticed there were others like him who were here early, seated in their respective seats and looking around - trying to come to a conclusion regarding the building, the workers, and each other. And possibly, even the Director himself. Finally finding his seat, he sat down and pulled out his pocket watch. Thirty minutes until four, not bad.
He wondered what it was exactly the Director had meant by his words. It seemed as if he had not liked Alphonse very much. It might be that the Director did not like people very much, but somehow Alphonse doubted it. Perhaps the man just had a negative opinion of him at the moment, but that was fine. What was important was that he was an invaluable member to the Untied Nations... until considered otherwise.
Sighing he continued to drain the glass of wine as he contemplated his fate. It was never a good thing to start off on the wrong foot with one's employer, but he supposed he would be fine as long as he proved his prowess in the field. As he continued to contemplate, the seats around him were filling quickly. The conversation was polite around him, at best, but mostly uneasy. They just wanted to know what happened at four, and that thought amused him. How like students at orientation these spies were.
It had seemed the cue to finally pay attention came when the Director came in front of the tables of people and tapped a spoon against his wine glass to gain the spies' attention. The man smiled, his smile different from the one he had flashed Alphonse earlier. This one was much warmer and kinder. "Hello Ladies and Gentlemen," the man said. "I am glad all of you have joined us today as directed. I would like to welcome you to the Agency. You have all been selected, the best of the best, to work for us."
"Now, I understand this is very much a social gathering as it is our first meeting, so I must apologize for speaking about work so soon. Your jobs here as international intelligence agents working for the United Nations will start tomorrow. This is the headquarters in which will be our base of operations. I am the Director of the Agency. This here," he said gesturing to an individual, "Is the Deputy Director. And this, is the Executive Director of the Agency. And lastly, but equally important," the man snarked with a wide grin on his face, "Is the Inspector General. Our offices are on the second floor if you need our assistance."
"Without further ado, enjoy yourselves. Don't get too drunk, I expect to see you all here by 7 am." With those words, the Director merged back into the crowd and Alphonse pursed his lips. Well, that was interesting. Sitting up straight, he looked to the individual on his right and flashed them a smile.
"A pleasure to meet you," he said, extending a hand.
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