Evenfall (17 page)

"I was," Boyd had to acknowledge.

"Was the reason for the recommendation not in case of a gunfight?"

"It was," Boyd replied tonelessly.

He watched her with no particular expression even though he had to wonder how she knew all this. Then again, she'd probably found out through checking the artillery records and, if they had it, surveillance.

"And was a gunfight not what caused this catastrophic failure?"

"It was," Boyd replied, and forged ahead before she could say anything else. "However, it should be noted that even if I'd been armed with a gun I still would have been forced to retreat without backup. I was vastly outnumbered."

"Ineptitude is not an acceptable excuse," she said shortly. She turned to him, her hand moving away from the keyboard to rest on the desk. "What was the nature of your incident prior to the mission?"

Boyd's heart jolted and his stomach clenched with dread. There it was; the question he'd been fearing. His expression remained closed off, although tension moved into his back. "I don't--"

"What could possibly have upset you to the point of causing a distraction?" she continued sharply.

He watched her evenly, not knowing what to say. If she knew about the incident she probably knew what it had been about. Still, he wondered how she knew. Sin obviously hadn't written a report and he hadn't said anything about it in his own.

She gave him an unimpressed look. "All Agency vehicles are equipped with surveillance. There is always a thorough investigation following a failed mission, in part because agents have been known to lie to obscure their own mistakes." The last part was said pointedly.

Boyd's jaw twitched but he couldn't say anything in response to that. Sin never had to write it in a report; Boyd damned himself by just being in the car. No doubt if they had surveillance they also had GPS. There was no point in trying to pretend that the incident had happened anywhere other than by First Bank.

She waited a heartbeat for him to respond with excuses that never came. Disappointment and distaste were clear in her eyes and she leaned back in her chair. "I was under the impression that you were past that. Are you so pathetic that you are incapable of ignoring something so irrelevant to the present? Must you continuously be so weak as to cause embarrassments?"

"I apologize, Inspector," he said tonelessly, his stomach clenching at her words. "It will not happen again."

"Are you so certain?" she asked coldly, arching her eyebrows. She leaned forward, her attention zeroing in on him intimidatingly. "I have my doubts that you are trustworthy in that regard. You have already proven yourself weak and susceptible in the past. I nominated you based upon the impression that you were suitably emotionless, yet you have proven already that you are incapable of success. It lends the question of what I should do with you."

The words caused a spike of distress from deep down inside him; a guttural reaction that he couldn't quite stop from making to his face. His skin paled and his eyebrows twitched down. He suspected a flash of fear made it to his eyes and the way her eyes narrowed told him it had.

"There are options available. We have facilities that would be ideal to give you an opportunity to recover from your lapse. Time need not be a factor. Is that what you wish?"

His breath caught briefly as he automatically thought back despite himself. Expanding darkness and eyes glinting in the corner. Wounded ghosts hovering over him and chafing pain. Screaming until the metallic taste of blood was familiar in this throat.

"No," he said quietly.

"Then I suggest you put more effort into this or I will enact a solution that you will find to be very undesirable," she said coolly. She arched an eyebrow. "Is that understood?"

"Yes, Inspector."

"I am watching you," she said, her tone only turning colder. "I will be quite disappointed if you continue to embarrass me. My reputation in part will be affected by your performance. If you are incompetent, it reflects poorly on me. I have worked too hard in this organization to have a child bring me disgrace simply because he is unwilling to function as expected. Do not make me regret the nomination."

"I won't, Inspector," he said more quietly. He wanted to look away from her but he didn't; her ice blue eyes seemed to suck him in. Or maybe it was simply that she had looked at him so infrequently in his life that he felt unwilling to look away first on the few times when she did.

She stared hard at him, scrutinizing every bit of him. His eyes, his expression, his body language, his posture... As if she were assessing him for some sort of test in which he didn't know the criteria for passing. It was disconcerting.

At length, she leaned back and looked away from him, focusing on her laptop again.

"Dismissed," she said curtly.

He left, a non-expression on his face even as he felt dread gnawing at him nauseatingly. He didn't want her to have to follow through with the threat. He only hoped that it wasn't tied in solely to failing missions but rather making certain he didn't let his own weakness be the reason for the failure.

Even though he had to acknowledge that much of the failure of this mission was his own fault, he still felt somewhat angry with Sin. Although it was true he should have brought a gun, in truth it wouldn't have mattered. There was no way he could have finished the mission on his own without any sort of distraction or backup. He'd been training for a few months to be an agent but a few months couldn't create miracles.

It wasn't surprising to have failed the first mission. In fact, David had told him the vast majority of people did. It was not uncommon at all and yet Boyd was the sole person being blamed.

How was it all his fault?

The brief moment of fear on Dauphin Street hadn't carried over into the mission. He'd put it behind him so it shouldn't have been used against him. It was frustrating. He had to acknowledge that some of his anger was tied into the fact that because of this, he could be sent to a fate he wanted to avoid at all costs.

His eyes narrowed faintly and as he strode out of the Tower, he made a vow to himself not to make a similar mistake again.

Chapter 6

Boyd fell, the cement hard and cold against his knees. He let his hair cover his face, keeping his expression carefully blank despite the way the handcuffs were making his arm muscles seize up after staying in the same position for too long. A door slammed shut behind him and there was the very decisive echo of a lock falling in place.

He sat back on his feet, shifting so he could sit against the wall and lean his head back. His fingers dug into his back but he ignored it as he stared blankly at the ceiling, considering his options.

Although Sin had accompanied him on the mission, he knew not to expect any reinforcement.

Even after a month, he didn't trust Sin.

He was still completely unable to figure anything out about the man. He'd concluded that a great amount of the attitude Sin displayed was an act, but exactly to what extent was still murky.

He didn't like that he couldn't understand what Sin was thinking because it took away some of his own power from the situation. Without Sin's motivations being clear, he would always have the potential to be unpredictable which meant he couldn't be trusted. If or when Sin may determine that his interest in this entire partnership had waned he could abruptly decide to end it on his own terms.

There was nothing at the moment to imply that was necessarily going to happen. Sin was as uncooperative as ever but over the last month there had been minor shifts. Lately it seemed to intrigue or at least amuse Sin to follow Boyd's progress.
Boyd shifted and stretched his legs in front of him. At least the missions had been going a little more smoothly, in that he had been succeeding more than he'd been failing. A lot of that had to do with the nature of the missions in General Carhart's unit. Much of it so far centered around stealth, undercover work or
Intel
gathering; all things Boyd excelled at. The first time they were assigned to storm a base, his luck would run out. Until then, he had vowed to do his best and since his mother had not brought him in for another lecture, it seemed to be working. As long as he could continue down this path until the inevitable day he died, that was all he could hope for.

Still, this mission especially was one he didn't want to fail. It was a follow-up, making up for his abysmal failure of a first mission. The small offshoot of faction 53 had relocated to a larger base in an abandoned recreation center in the middle of a park in Carson, the next city over. The goal of the mission remained the same: retrieve information with the intent of locating the main base. The difference was there were at least twice as many people here and they were more actively recruiting. And it was harder to infiltrate; a fact he'd known from the start but had been thoroughly underscored once he'd gotten captured.
The concrete was cold even through his clothing and he wondered how long it would be until they came to interrogate him. No doubt they expected him to be terrified by now. He was wary and uncertain more than anything, although there was a tinge of fear involved in the unknown.
His weapons were all taken from him and although he would be able to get free of the handcuffs, he wasn't versed in fighting multiple hostiles at once. He could probably handle two to three people at most if they came at him and were not extremely adept. But most of his training had been one-on-one combat and most of the missions so far had ended with him having to only sporadically engage in combat, primarily on his way out.

He hadn't been captured before and he didn't know what to expect. Would they attempt to torture him? Would they simply kill him outright? What were their plans? How much did they know? Did any of them recognize him from the first botched mission?
He hadn't seen anyone he recognized but then he'd barely seen anyone on that first mission since he'd spent most of the time ducking and dodging. They, on the other hand, would have had a better chance to see him as he ran away.

Even if he got his hands free, what could he do if several of them came at him at once? What if they discovered he was free and just bound him again; better this time?

This situation created doubt in the back of his mind. It made him wonder if he was potentially in over his head, and whether this would end up failing. And what, exactly, the Agency would do if he failed two missions with the same goal. Would his mother follow through with her threat?

His eyes narrowed and he looked away, tension strong in his shoulders.

He needed a plan.

If they were going to appear in the doorway with machine guns they leveled at him, for instance, it would be nice if he were no longer in the cell. Although he wore a bullet-resistant bodysuit beneath his clothing, it didn't make him impervious to rapid and repeated fire. Especially not at unprotected areas like his feet and head.

Disguising it as rolling the kinks out of his neck, Boyd carefully looked around the room for any surveillance equipment. The room had probably once been a storage room of some sort since it wasn't insulated. Faction 53 appeared to have retrofitted it so it would work better as a jail.

Unless faction 53 discovered how to hide cameras in a smooth concrete floor, metal door, or a single old pipe run across the ceiling near the door and brick walls, then he was currently not enough of a threat level to warrant supervision.

That was good. They distrusted him but, like most people who judged him based on his looks, they underestimated him. Since that worked to his advantage, it never bothered him when people did that.

Even knowing that he was unwatched, Boyd shifted his weight against the wall and still held some pretense in case he was simply unaware of it. The hostiles had removed his weapons, but what they didn't realize was that Boyd held such blatant weapons as a gun and tonfa in a normal place like a belt holster for a reason. It deluded people into thinking that it was all he had. If he hid things, they would be more likely to do a thorough search, expecting him to be devious.

For instance, they left the safety pin inserted beneath the belt on the back of his coat, as well as the one behind a button at the top. And, secure in his seeming lack of strength and the fact they were throwing him into a cell, they'd used single-locked peerless handcuffs. It took a little maneuvering to remove the safety pin from the belt, but he managed it after a few seconds of fumbling. He popped it open unseeingly, all the while watching the door for any sign of movement.

Finding the little hole near the lock on the handcuffs took some maneuvering, since he couldn't see what he was doing. Eventually, he felt the pin give way and slide into the mechanism, between the cuff and the teeth. He shoved it in with his other thumb and, with more fumbling and shifting of the pin, the handcuff clicked open. He let that cuff hang open on his wrist and, being sure to keep his back against the wall to hide the movement, he popped open the other cuff the same way.

Sliding the safety pin back onto the inner part of his coat's belt, he heard movement echoing down the hallway outside the room. He made sure the handcuffs were unlocked but still loose around his wrists so it wouldn't be obvious he'd freed himself.

The door opened, a man standing in the doorway with two hostiles backing him up. They were fanned behind the man for cover and they had their guns drawn. As soon as they saw Boyd sitting calmly against the far wall, arms behind his back and seemingly still under their control, they lowered their guns.

The man in front looked to be in his mid-forties, with dark brown hair and eyes that matched. He didn't look away from Boyd from the moment the door opened. His eyebrows rose a hint, his lips lifting on the edges.

He strode into the room and stopped in front of Boyd, staring down at him while Boyd simply stared up in return. The two guards left the door open but they didn't move, watching with sharp eyes. Boyd determined he would do best to bide his time for the moment.

"Stand up," the man ordered.

Boyd didn't move and the man didn't seem surprised. Without warning, he kicked Boyd violently in the stomach, causing Boyd to release a pained hiss and slouch forward. Fingers grabbed a chunk of his hair and he was dragged to a stand.

He'd barely straightened before the hand switched to holding his throat and shoving him against the wall. A fist slammed into his stomach where he'd been kicked. Boyd grit his teeth and let out a pained moan; partially because it hurt but mostly because he knew the man expected it. He would do best to appear weak and nonthreatening.

"I told you to stand up," the man growled near Boyd's ear when Boyd slouched forward.

The man hit Boyd again a few times in quick succession, apparently intent on exerting his domination of the situation right away. Boyd took the punches with pained gasps and made sure to slump in the man's hold. At length, the man unceremoniously dropped him to the floor. Boyd hit the cement with a groan and made sure to keep his hands tilted toward the wall.

He heard movement and slit his eyes in the direction of the door, watching through a messy fall of long blond hair. One of the hostiles was looking at his watch with a frown and then peered down the hallway. A quiet and quick conversation passed between the guards and one of them started to pivot as if to leave.

"You gonna be okay, John?" the guard asked and the man in the cell nodded, looking down at Boyd.

"No problem. Shouldn't take me too long with this one."

The guard nodded and left. The one who stayed behind started to shut the door. "I'll be out here, then. Let me know when you're done."

John chuckled darkly and glanced over his shoulder. "What's wrong? I thought you were over being squeamish."

The guard just grimaced.

John smirked and turned back to Boyd while the door swung shut behind him. He didn't seem concerned with the idea of being stuck in a cell with Boyd. It didn't take a lot of courage to be unafraid of a man half his weight, seemingly shackled and weaponless, Boyd thought darkly.

"So," John said with quirked eyebrows, looming over Boyd curled on his side. "Who are you?"

Boyd didn't answer and John kicked him so hard in the stomach that his body hit the wall. Pain exploded across his torso and arms and Boyd coughed when he fell to the floor again.

"I said, who are you?" he repeated dangerously.

"James," Boyd wheezed, grimacing and using that to cover that he was watching John through his eyelashes, determining when he should strike. He thought it would be best to wait since the guard outside was mostly likely going to listen for trouble at first and, hearing none, would eventually relax.

"See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" John stepped closer, pushing Boyd onto his back and pressing one heavy, booted foot on his stomach. The pressure was in the area he'd been punched and kicked; his bruised muscles ached sharply with the weight.

"But it wasn't what I meant. What are you doing here?" he continued, staring down at Boyd darkly.

Boyd shook his head and didn't answer.

John lifted his foot and slammed his heel down into Boyd's stomach. Boyd gasped in pain.

"Are you going to make me repeat myself every time?"

Boyd grit his teeth and shook his head again, although he made it unclear as to whether he was responding to John's question or just trying to deny the situation.

John smirked, seemingly pleased by Boyd's lack of cooperation.

"What's your affiliation?" John demanded, punctuating his questions with quick kicks that didn't let Boyd catch his breath in between. "Who sent you? What are you doing here?"

When John paused, Boyd coughed violently. Pain was sharp and distracting but he ignored it. He let himself fall on his side in a position that gave him some leverage. He calculated that enough time had probably passed. When he looked at John through his hair he judged by the man's body language and expression that he felt fully in control and didn't expect Boyd to fight back.

Boyd struck before John even knew what hit him. Bracing partially against the wall, Boyd suddenly snapped his foot out, knocking John's legs out from beneath him. The larger man let out a startled noise and started to topple, and Boyd was on him immediately. He flicked the handcuffs off his wrists and dropped on top of John, smothering John's mouth with one hand so he couldn't cry out.

John's eyes widened for a fraction of a second but he immediately started to fight back, trying to throw Boyd off him. Boyd braced himself against the floor, flipping John over onto his stomach and cinching the handcuffs tightly around his wrists. He didn't bother asking John any questions because he knew the other man wouldn't answer. It would only give John clues as to his whereabouts once he left the room.

Instead, he grabbed John by the back of the head and slammed his face straight into the floor. There was a cracking sound and blood spurted out, combined with John's growled, "Fuck!" Boyd guessed he'd broken John's nose.

Without giving the man a chance to regain control of the situation by using his heavier weight, Boyd jerked John up and braced himself against the floor again, this time holding John up just enough for a choke hold.
John jerked and struggled, trying to roll or buck Boyd off, but Boyd compensated for the movements and only dug his arm harder into John's windpipe. It wasn't long until John's struggling became more sluggish and, ultimately, he slumped in Boyd's hands.

Boyd let him drop to the floor unconscious and then rolled him onto his side so he wouldn't drown in his own blood. He searched the man's body for anything of use. He grabbed some keys, a radio, and the red band on his upper arm that identified him as a faction 53 member. He took a moment to tie the band around his own arm and then walked to the door and knocked.