"The Archer" – Excerpt

by Abigail Roux

Three days after their initial meeting, Carl Travers thought he might like to kill each one of these blokes in their sleep while on watch and slink away into the horizon. He’d be done with this whole disaster waiting to happen, and no one would ever be the wiser.

It was an idle thought, though, caused by the fact that they were all going a little stir crazy. The safe house Remy Bergeron mentioned upon their first meeting was simply a small cabin in the middle of nowhere. There were four bedrooms, each roughly the size of a matchbox, each with submarine-style bunks. They’d drawn straws for their beds.  Carl had wound up sharing a room with Bergeron, the crazy Cajun who talked too fast.

Being cooped up with five other very active trained agents was not helping Carl’s sanity. He was pretty sure he wasn’t the only one.

That big Australian bastard with the explosives wouldn’t stop blowing up the tree stumps behind the cabin or anything else he could get a hold of, for that matter. Carl was fairly certain it wasn’t the captivity driving Brandt Everett insane, though. He seemed generally unstable regardless of the circumstances.

For the past two mornings, Carl woke to the sounds of small explosions followed by maniacal laughter and whoops of delight. Carl would jump up, gun at the ready, and hit his head on the top bunk without fail. It was a bit disconcerting, to say the least. And painful.

Carl was also slightly befuddled by the general tone of the group. He’d expected an atmosphere of reticence and suspicion, something befitting some of the most highly trained black ops agents in the world. But this had to be the most open, trusting, ridiculously good-natured group of spooks in the history of covert operations. With the possible exception of Thiago, who was still slightly suspicious of everyone and generally grouchy, they seemed to be trying to accept they were on the same side of this particular fight and become chummy.

Carl had never been chummy with anyone. He hadn’t personally given a flying pigmy fuck about any of these blokes at first, either; he hadn’t expected this assignment to last long enough to need to care. Now it was three days later, and he found himself not only wanting to kill each of them, but actually enjoying their company at the same time. It was an odd mixture of feelings, and Carl wasn’t accustomed to the latter, but he didn’t really care about that. What he did care about was the fact that not a fucking thing had been done yet, and despite his notorious sniper’s patience, he was ready to get started. You couldn’t finish something until you got started.

 He allowed himself to grumble this particular observation as he prowled back and forth in front of the fireplace, thinking he would simply implode if he didn’t start to feel useful soon. The others sat in various stages of relaxation, ranging from Everett leaning forward on the edge of his seat looking ready to set fire to anything that moved to Bergeron sprawled along the sofa with his eyes closed. Carl glared at the younger man as he made a pass by the stone fireplace and snorted like a bull preparing to charge.

“Calm down, lad,” Bennett said in his soothingly gruff voice.

“Don’t ‘lad’ me,” Carl grumbled testily. “What are we waiting for?” he demanded

“Weapons. Communications. Mobility. Intelligence – ”

“Remy.”

Bennett’s stern admonition cut off Bergeron’s droning monologue. The younger man never even opened his eyes as he spoke, simply ticking off his words with long, slender fingers as he reclined.

Shawn Bennett’s piercing green eyes pinned Carl with a hard stare, and Carl stopped his pacing short as Bennett began to speak calmly. “We don’t know one another, Mr. Travers,” he said in a low, soothing voice, the type usually reserved for small children and irate animals. “We have no idea how we’ll operate as a team or even if we’ll operate as a team. We have very little information to go on at the moment regarding our target, and even if we knew exactly where he was or what he was doing, going after him in the state of disarray in which we find ourselves at the moment would be suicidal.”

Bennett looked at them each carefully as he spoke, as if he were making sure that his words were sinking in, and Carl’s ire began to noticeably ebb. His shoulders slumped, and he sat down heavily on the hearth as Bennett continued speaking.

“The next two weeks should be considered a crash course for us all in how to work as a team. I know the other Classes are more accustomed to working in groups, Mr. Travers, but I for one have never done something even remotely similar to this mission.”

“Is that why we were told to meet way the fuck out here?” Everett asked curiously.

“If by ‘here’ you mean in the middle of North Dakota where no one can hear you and your explosives,” Bennett drawled with a smirk, “then yes, I would assume so. We’re free to train out here without much chance of showing up on anyone’s radar.”

“How much more do you know about this situation than the rest of us do?” Thiago asked, leaning forward and unconsciously mimicking Everett’s stance. Bennett looked at him blankly for several tense moments before responding.

“Well, that’s difficult to say, isn’t it?” he finally answered with infuriating calm.

Thiago harrumphed unhappily and leaned back into his chair. Bennett looked back up at Carl and continued as if he had never been interrupted.

“Now this Archer bloke isn’t going anywhere in two weeks, and in all honesty, we all know whatever damage he can do has long since been under way. And all that’s not to mention the fact that our mobile hub isn’t even up yet.”

“Uhhh …”

All eyes turned to settle on the German, Nikolaus Faust, who shifted uncomfortably under their collective gaze and cleared his throat. “The hub is up, actually,” he said in clipped, precise tones. “Prepared for a test run whenever you are all ready.”

Bergeron sat up suddenly and looked at the smaller man with interest. Carl watched him curiously and alarm bells began to sound in his head. Why, he wasn’t quite sure yet.  Something about the meerkat-like way the man moved. “What sort of test?” Bergeron asked with what Carl thought was undue enthusiasm.

Carl had always heard Class One agents were generally fucked in the head. Whether this condition was due to the stress of their job or to a trait with which most of them were born, Carl didn’t know, but he hoped the rumors were exaggerated. He’d never had to deal with any of them for any extended period of time. Only one or two hour stints in the past, and then he’d been concentrating on his job, not his companions. If these three turned out to be half as mad as they were rumored to be, Carl could see himself having a hard time of it. Not to mention that Remy Bergeron seemed to be a bit of a livewire and Thiago the mysterious Argentinean was a sulky bastard. He had yet to find a fault with Shawn Bennett, unless you considered the ability to intimidate five men – all of whom were either bigger, younger, or both – a fault.

“Well, the easiest thing to do would be to take the radios out into the woods and … you know … test them,” Faust said in response to Bergeron’s query with apparent discomfort. Carl snorted in amusement. Of course it was that simple. Just … test them.

“That’s it? Like they’re fucking walkie talkies or some shit?” Everett asked incredulously.

“High tech doesn’t always mean complicated,” Faust replied defensively.

“Well, it’s something,” Carl said in exasperation. “Let’s get to it.”

“Now?” Faust asked in surprise.

“Why not? Have we got anything better to do?” Carl asked snappishly.

“Well,” the German responded uncertainly, looking at Bennett first as if for permission to answer. “No, I suppose not.”

“Good,” Bergeron said as he unfolded himself gracefully from the couch and stood, stretching his arms to the ceiling. “This couch is chafing my ass end.”

He winked at Carl as if to say he understood the need to get up and do something, anything, and Carl found himself reconsidering his opinion of the younger man. Being a livewire wasn’t always a bad thing, especially if you could contain it well.

If the young Cajun felt half as antsy as Carl did, then he had an impressive amount of self-control. Perhaps that was why the kid was a field operative and Carl was a weapons specialist. In the field, they had to remain calm under any circumstances. Carl’s duties allowed a little more temper to enter the picture. A flash of memory involving beating on a land-to-air missile launcher with an oversized monkey wrench accompanied Carl’s thoughts, and he had to bite his lip to keep from grinning as the little group disbanded to gather equipment.

After almost an hour of what Carl thought was entirely too much discussion on the subject, they finally geared up for a little nature hike.

“We’ll go in pairs,” Bennett said as he tied a knife to his thigh. Carl listened to his orders respectfully, thinking it did the man credit that a group of headstrong warriors such as they were automatically accepted him as their leader. Even Thiago, who seemed a bit reluctant to head blindly into much of anything, hadn’t questioned Shawn Bennett’s authority.

Carl wanted to question that authority now, though, because Bennett had just told him to partner up with Everett and head off into the wild unknown. Carl gave the Australian a wary glance and a nod. The big man returned Carl’s nod with a slightly snaggletoothed grin that made his eyes sparkle mischievously, and Carl wondered if it were too late to become a religious man.

In Carl’s experience, some people were crazy, and you weren’t aware of it until they opened their mouths to speak or tried to kill you. But some people were crazy and you could tell just by looking in their eyes. Brandt Everett’s eyes fairly gleamed. Whether it was madness or something else, Carl wasn’t yet certain. He almost hoped that it was madness, plain and simple. Madness he thought he could deal with.

“Nikolaus, you’ll go with Remy,” Bennett said. The two young men gave each other unreadable glances, and then Bergeron looked back at Bennett with a look that could only be described as familiar. Carl found himself wondering yet again about their relationship. He’d never heard of two Class One operatives being acquaintances, much less friends.

It was obvious just from the sour look on his face that Thiago wondered the same thing and didn’t like the situation one bit. But Carl reckoned it was none of his affair until his life was on the line. Even if these two blokes shagged each other senseless every chance they got, he didn’t see how that really affected him.

Carl shrugged into his coat and took the earpiece Faust offered him. “We’re on one,” the smaller man said as he turned each receiver to the correct frequency and handed them out. “On we go then,” he said, placing his own piece in his ear and heading for the door. Carl watched the smaller man with interest. He seemed nervous and a little shifty most of the time, but at other times he seemed cool and confident. It was a strange thing to observe.

Carl didn’t know much about the different Classes of agent, but he knew each and every one of them had to pass rigorous tests, both physical and mental, every three months. Nikolaus Faust may be a glorified computer tech in many respects, but he was still a trained agent, Carl reminded himself.

Their plan was simple enough; just a little hike through the woods to make sure the comms worked. Regardless of simplicity, each of them went out armed. Carl and Everett were ordered to go west, Bergeron and Faust were ordered to go east, and Bennett and Thiago set out to the north.

“Go one kilometer,” Bennett ordered as they stood in what Carl had come to think of as the courtyard, the area in front of the porch trampled to mere dirt. “Don’t shut off unless you give us some forewarning.” They all acknowledged the order and set off walking in their various directions.

“If you see dinner, don’t be afraid to bring it back with you.” Thiago added quietly, speaking through the comm unit.

“Dinner?” Carl heard Faust murmur questioningly.

“This should be interesting,” Carl muttered to Everett as he tapped his earpiece and they headed west together.

“I think he means small, innocent, fuzzy creatures,” Bergeron’s voice supplied gleefully in Carl’s ear. “Leave dem bunnies alone, couyon.” the Cajun chastised, his accent deepening as he allowed himself to grow comfortable in the outdoors. It was apparently his natural habitat. “Go for them mean critters,” Bergeron advised. “My maw maw used to walk into the bayou, whack a caimon with a wooden spoon, and make us skin him for dinner.”

“Caimon?” Faust echoed questioningly, his voice tinged with dread as if he thought he didn’t want to know the answer.

“Alligator,” Bennett voice supplied with amusement. Carl idly wondered why Bennett would know that so readily.

“Gator’s mighty tasty, couyon,” Bergeron crooned.

“Stick with the bunny, lad, they don’t bite as hard.  You like bunny, young Nikolaus?” Bennett’s gruff voice questioned teasingly.

Carl and Everett shared a look and kept walking, trying to drown out the other two conversations and concentrate on getting to know one another as they walked. They spoke idly about their own specialties for roughly half a kilometer, and Carl began to genuinely worry about Brandt Everett’s sanity as the man joyously recounted many of the various things he’d blown up in the past.

At least he enjoyed his work.

As a Class Four operative, Carl Travers’s job was to provide and operate the various armaments available, either for a group operation or working on his own. While all operatives were entirely capable of handling weapons of any sort, Carl was more than merely competent. He knew almost everything there was to know about almost every weapon ever created. He could just as easily work a medieval catapult as he could Darth Vader’s Death Ray, if the occasion called for it.

As a Class Seven operative, Brandt Everett served much the same purpose. But instead of wielding guns or knives or whatnot, Everett blew shit up. Carl knew the basics about explosives. Carl had limited experience with C4 and nitroglycerine and dynamite, but Everett could probably blow up their cabin with a coffee mug and a pinch of salt if he felt so inclined.

Just the thought of what Everett may or may not be inclined to blow up made Carl shiver as they walked. They came to a stop as the path they followed forked, and they stood in the middle of the path listening to the chatter of the other four men. Bergeron and Faust were arguing over whether the tree they were walking past was an oak, and Thiago seemed to be trying to coax Bennett into telling him more about how he’d met the young Cajun. Carl blinked at the two paths and looked at Everett as the man began to hum slightly.

“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,” Everett murmured to himself. Carl cocked his head at him in concern, and Everett glanced over at him. Carl had to force himself not to retreat under the gleam in the large man’s black eyes. He watched Everett’s gaze slowly return to the fork in the road with growing concern. “And I,” the Australian continued in a theatrical voice. “I took the one less traveled by … and I blew the other one all to Hell.”

Carl heard the other two conversations grind to a halt, and the silence in his ears was tense and expectant as Everett looked at him again. He could just imagine the other four men standing frozen in the middle of the woods, listening intently for an explosion.

“Robert Frost,” Everett offered before setting out once more and veering off toward the tree line. He stooped to pick up a pinecone as Carl took a cautious step forward.

“I’m not sure that’s exactly how it goes,” Carl offered carefully. Everett responded with a joyous laugh.

“It’s how it goes in my world,” he called over his shoulder. He tossed the pinecone in the air and caught it again. Carl followed him slowly, wondering just how far gone this bloke really was. Everett turned suddenly, and Carl tensed, expecting a blow. “Did you know that pinecones are explosive?”

“What?” Carl asked warily, not sure he’d heard correctly and almost hoping he hadn’t.

“Yep,” Everett went on, oblivious to the discomfort he was causing his companion. “You have to get them before they seed, of course,” he said, holding up the sticky cone as an example. Carl could see that it had yet to open up and was covered in goo. “The pitch is flammable, you see. Add a little flame and bam!” Everett informed him with a delighted flurry of hand movements.

Carl knew he was gaping at the other man, but he simply couldn’t help it. In his ear he heard Thiago asking Bennett if he was hearing correctly, as well as an amusing dialogue between Faust and Bergeron.

“Did he say pinecones?” Faust asked.

“I think so,” Bergeron answered. “Seems like I heard about that before … never had need of using it, though. Thank God. Fucking pyromaniac. Crazier’n a male crab, that one.”

Carl wondered briefly how long the young man had been in the business and what the hell a male crab had to do with anything, but he didn’t have long to ponder the questions before Everett withdrew a silver cigarette lighter from his pocket and flicked it open. Carl’s eyes widened and he took a step forward, then retreated again indecisively.

“Uhh …”

Before Carl could get another sound out of his mouth Everett put flame to pinecone and tossed it into the path on the right of the fork where a smattering of other pinecones littered the way. Carl watched the flaming projectile in morbid fascination as it arced gracefully through the air. Surely it couldn’t make that big of an explosion … could it?

“Cover!” Everett shouted gleefully, and he tackled Carl to the ground. They landed with a pair of grunts and a cloud of dirt and pine needles. Carl was a little surprised to discover that Everett covered his body protectively with his own. His big hands shielded his own head as well as Carl’s as he pressed his body down and his face into Carl’s neck. Carl squeezed his eyes closed and tensed, waiting for the inevitable ‘bam.’

III.

The explosion was by no means earth shattering, but the sound of it both coming through the earpiece and echoing distantly through the forest caused adrenaline to rush through Shawn Bennett’s body at warp speed all the same.

“Mierda! What the fuck did he blow up this time?” Thiago questioned in exasperation, not sounding all too concerned but obviously ruffled enough to slip back into his native accent.

“Hope it wasn’t Carl,” Shawn responded flatly as he unconsciously lifted his chin and sniffed at the air. It smelled like snow. He could hear Remy and Nikolaus Faust jibbering in his ear, and Thiago was saying something about Brandt Everett being mentally unstable. But Shawn watched the birds fly over the trees and tried to figure out where the explosion had originated. He turned to look in the direction from which the birds flew and pressed the earpiece further into his ear. “Travers? Everett?”

There was an uneasy silence as they waited for an answer, and finally there was a cough and a muffled curse.

“Carl?  Lads?”

More curses and sounds of a scuffle ensued. Shawn exhaled in relief and let his tense muscles relax.

“Hope Travers kicks his ass,” Thiago muttered as he shielded his eyes against the setting sun. “Boludo loco.”

Shawn gave Thiago a worried glance, telling himself he probably didn’t want to know what that meant, but from the tone he had to admit he was probably thinking close to the same thing. That big bastard was going to blow them all to Hell before this assignment was over.

The sounds of struggle died out, and Shawn could imagine the two men lying on the ground, staring blankly at the sky and breathing heavily. He could hear them breathing, anyway, and it was enough to feed the visual.

“If these things will stand up to a blast and a tussle in the dirt then they’re okay with me,” Shawn said happily, tapping his ear to let Thiago know he was talking about the earpieces and not their two companions. Thiago nodded solemnly and watched the squawking flock of birds soar overhead. Shawn thought about reminding him to close his mouth, but then decided the serious Argentinean wouldn’t think it was funny. “What do we think then, lads?” he finally asked of the rest of them. “Continue walking or trust that these gadgets work and go home before Brandt sets the whole of North Dakota on fire?”

Shawn expected a chorus of responses, but all he got was silence. He turned to look curiously at Thiago, who simply shrugged in answer.

“You’re the boss, right?” the man asked, pulling at his ear in apparent agitation and almost dislodging his earpiece in the process.

“What?” Shawn asked, hoping he’d misunderstood the tone Thiago had used.

Thiago simply raised his eyebrows as if to say ‘you heard me.’

“Shawn?”

Shawn pressed the piece closer to his ear in order to better hear Remy’s voice. It seemed that the things weren’t working so well after all. He could barely hear the younger man say his name, and now there was nothing.

“Copy,” Shawn said after a long silence. He waited for Remy to say more, but when nothing came he looked at Thiago in concern. “Can you hear anything?”

“Nothing,” Thiago said in a low voice.

“Problem?” asked Everett’s voice nonchalantly.

“Damn, we were hoping Travers had put you out of our misery, Everett,” Shawn said with a grin.

“Just cause I’m here doesn’t mean he didn’t try,” came Everett’s voice again.

“I did try. He threatened to stick a pinecone up my – ”

“SHAWN!”

Shawn barely restrained himself from jumping out of his skin when Remy shouted at him through his earpiece.

“Christ, lad! I copy!”

“Oh. Sorry.” There was a short silence during which Shawn swore Remy was groaning, and he began to grow a bit more concerned. “Ouch. Dammit. I think Nikki and I have stumbled into a valley. We aren’t receiving a fucking thing down here.”

Nikki? Shawn smiled wryly to himself. He loved to watch his young associate win others over so quickly. It made him feel like less of a sap for being befriended so easily by the same man who’d repeatedly tried to kill him on their first meeting.

“I think … triangulate … then it’ll … oh, for fuck’s sake,” came Nikolaus Faust’s garbled voice, sounding much farther away than Remy’s had moments ago.

“Have you two separated?” Shawn demanded almost angrily.

“No. I climbed a tree for high ground,” Remy said testily. Thiago snorted before he could stop himself, and Shawn rolled his eyes.

“Watch out for the pinecones,” Travers deadpanned.

“It’s an evergreen. No pinecones,” Remy responded with a little more heat than was strictly necessary, in Shawn’s opinion. The attitude was explained though, when Faust’s voice filtered through to them all.

“It’s … fucking … pine … blödes arschloch!”

“It’s an evergreen!” Remy shot back, seemingly unfazed by the use of a language Shawn knew he didn’t understand.

“Evergreens have pinecones,” Travers supplied, though he didn’t sound very certain.

“No, they bloody well don’t,” Everett responded as Shawn watched Thiago close his eyes and shake his head tiredly. “That’s why they’re called bloody pinecones. Cause they come from bloody pines!”

“Isn’t a pine a type of evergreen?” Shawn asked, unable to keep himself out of the discussion regardless of how much he hated to encourage it.

“Evergreen! Maudit!” came Remy’s irritated voice in response to a comment that apparently only he had heard. Shawn loved to hear him get riled; it accentuated his unusual accent and made him sound like he’d just crawled out of the bayou.

Shawn watched Thiago carefully during the exchange of insults between Travers and Everett that followed the pinecone comments. The man didn’t seem overjoyed about the prospect of working with them all for an extended period of time, but then who would after listening to this insanity? Shawn sure as fuck hadn’t liked the idea at first. But when he’d seen that Remy would be with him to keep him sane, he’d warmed to the idea, actually looked forward to it, and now that he was getting to know the others, he felt even more comfortable. If anything, Shawn appreciated a good sense of invincibility, which was precisely what they all displayed. Thiago, on the other hand, seemed just as uptight and unyielding as he had the first day. Shawn wondered if it was a cultural thing or Thiago’s personality.

Either way, he had to loosen Thiago up, and fast. If you couldn’t smile while in the middle of the wilderness as you listened to two rather large, frightening men threaten one another with sticking various bits of shrubbery up one another’s orifices, then you hadn’t been in this business long enough. Shawn idly wondered how long Thiago had been at it. That had to be a question they were all asking themselves, in fact, and Shawn thought it would be a good idea to see to it that they all sat down, tonight preferably, and gathered a little background on each other.

They had to trust each other with their lives. That would start with learning something about each other.

Shawn was rather amused to hear Remy repeatedly insult the heredity of the unfortunate tree he’d chosen to climb as he attempted his descent. His young friend was a unique individual to be sure. Not many people were as secure with their position in life as Remy. Remy bordered on being oblivious to his own mortality.

Perhaps that had something to do with Thiago’s discomfort. Perhaps the easygoing attitude of the rest of them made him more uptight rather than less so. Perhaps he read it as making them unprofessional or even incapable.

“Thiago,” Shawn said quietly, getting Thiago’s attention and nodding toward the way they’d come. “What do you reckon? Keep going or head back?”

Thiago stood stock still for a moment, returning Shawn’s gaze unerringly. Shawn wondered once more what the Argentinean agent was thinking and why he always seemed to view the situation as a threat.

“Let’s head back,” Thiago decided finally. “Sounds like the others are getting their fill of the wilderness, and we’re losing the light.”

“Good man,” Shawn said approvingly. “Me feet are killing me,” he joked, offering a friendly smile as they turned around and headed back in the direction of the cabin.

Thiago simply nodded and marched along in silence. Shawn eyed him suspiciously. Surely they would have run strenuous screenings on this group. They were a highly specialized, highly covert team formed for a very specific purpose. They were to track down a dangerous operative who’d been recruiting and turning agents for almost six months now. It certainly wouldn’t do to have a turncoat in their midst on such a mission. Could that be the cause of Thiago’s reticence? Could he be working for the Archer, simply unable to hide his discomfort with the cover 24/7?

Shawn pressed his earpiece closer and listened in on the other two conversations as he and Thiago walked on in silence. Perhaps he’d watch Thiago closer than he’d at first thought.

Shawn shook his head in immediate disagreement with himself. He wouldn’t have to watch Thiago. The man was already tense enough as it was, if Shawn went about observing him closely it would cause him even more discomfort and possibly turn him dangerous. Perhaps it was a job more suited to his talented young friend.

If anyone could smoke Thiago out, it would be Remy.

‘Yes,’ Shawn thought to himself contentedly. Remy would be quite useful in that respect. And knowing the young Cajun as Shawn did, Remy would thoroughly enjoy the psychological warfare.

One potential problem solved, Shawn turned his thoughts to the other most obvious problem they faced. Brandt Everett was certifiably crazy so far as Shawn was concerned, and to keep him under control they had to find something the man liked more than blowing shit up.

Shawn’s senses zeroed in on the soft crunching of dry leaves beneath their feet and the vague chatter from the other two groups as he mulled over the problems. It was a pleasant feeling, he realized suddenly, one that was all too unfamiliar. He felt almost at ease here in the middle of nowhere.

Thiago cleared his throat restlessly, and Shawn glanced at him curiously. The Argentinean walked with his head down and his eyes darting from side to side. He positively looked about to spring.

“Remy? Carl?” Shawn queried suddenly, making a decision he hoped he wouldn’t regret. “We’re going silent,” he continued before either man he’d spoken to could respond. Thiago stopped walking and looked at him warily. Shawn could see the beginnings of alarm spreading over the man’s face as he turned his own earpiece off. He nodded for Thiago to do the same.

“What are you doing?” Thiago asked suspiciously.

“I want to speak with you privately. Turn your unit off.”

Thiago stared at him, obviously weighing his options. Shawn could hear the small voices asking what the hell was going on coming through Thiago’s earpiece, and he prayed that Thiago would trust him. After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, Thiago raised his hand slowly and clicked the earpiece off. Shawn released a relieved breath and gave his companion a wry smile.

“Well?” Thiago asked impatiently.

“You don’t trust us,” Shawn said bluntly. The only sign of surprise from Thiago was a quick succession of blinks. “I don’t much blame you. I can’t say that I trust you entirely, either. And God knows we aren’t the most stable bunch of blokes I’ve ever dealt with. But we have to start somewhere, Mr. Thiago. We’re on the same side of this.”

Shawn watched Thiago’s reaction closely for any sign that he was getting through, but the man was a rock. His expression never changed, and he didn’t even shift his weight. Finally Thiago’s piercing blue eyes flicked to the horizon before settling back on Shawn with determination.

“How do you know Bergeron?” he asked challengingly.

It was Shawn’s turn to blink in surprise, and he had to force himself not to lose eye contact with the other man. The slightest move could be misconstrued as guilt, and that would ruin any chance of building trust with the suspicious agent. Was that what was causing the problems, the manner of his relationship with Remy? Shawn had thought it was the bigger group issue.

“We’ve told you,” he responded evenly. “We tried to kill one another. Several times, actually.”

“What else?” Thiago demanded.

“There’s nothing else.”

“Bullshit,” Thiago spat out angrily. “You talk about trust while you stand there lying to me. What – ”

“I’m not lying to you,” Shawn interrupted calmly.

“Omitting the truth is the same as lying when my life depends on it,” Thiago stated in a low voice. Shawn had to concede that point, but Thiago went on before Shawn could respond. “What is there about any of you to trust? I don’t know you. I’ve never worked with any of you. For all I fucking know you’re all working together and –”

“I understand being cautious,” Shawn interrupted in a soothing voice. “But I think you’re being a bit –”

“Cautious? Ha! What the fuck do you know about caution? I haven’t seen an ounce of caution from you! What the fuck kind of a shoddy covert are you, anyway? You blindly trust anyone you’re thrust into close quarters with just because we’re supposedly on the same side?”

“Just a minute,” Shawn warned in a low voice. He didn’t mind the other man being pissy, but he drew the line at being insulted needlessly.

“Well? Can you honestly tell me that you don’t lie awake at night wondering if Everett is going to blow us all to Hell just to see if he can? Travers is a little too eager to get the show on the road, if you ask me, and Faust is a shifty little German bastard. Not to mention how fucking suspicious it is to find two Class One agents who not only know each other, but actually have some sort of … I don’t even know what you call it, relationship? But I’ve never met another agent I would trust my life with so easily. There has to be something more to you two, and I want to know what it is.”

“You’re right,” Shawn said quietly before Thiago could go on with his rant. Thiago’s mouth snapped shut and he stared at Shawn, waiting for him to elaborate. “You’re right,” Shawn repeated, more to himself than to Thiago. Shawn took a deep breath and wondered how much to tell the man. “I trust Remy for many reasons, some of which are professional, some of which are personal.” He looked at Thiago carefully and saw the man returning the look intensely. “What say we save this conversation so everyone can hear?” he asked.

“Okay,” Thiago said with a nod after a few moments consideration.

“Right, then.”

“You can call me Thio,” Thiago said abruptly, “not Mr. Thiago or … whatever.” Shawn looked at him curiously and simply nodded. He knew what a concession that must be for the other man.

“In all honesty, Thio, techs are almost always shifty, as are Germans. Travers has got every right to be antsy. And I’m terrified of Everett,” Shawn mumbled as he lifted his hand to his ear to switch his earpiece back on. Thiago watched him suspiciously. “We’ll have to deal with him. Soon,” Shawn added. Thiago nodded and frowned slightly. “Lads,” Shawn said as he switched his earpiece back on and began to walk again. “Double time it. I want everyone in before the sun sets.”

“What’s the problem?” Remy asked as soon as the last word had left Shawn’s mouth. Shawn knew him well enough to be able to hear the concern underneath the casual query. He smiled suddenly, overjoyed at the mere thought of working so closely with the man once again after months of going solo.

“No problem here,” he responded with a grin. “Not yet, anyway.”

 “Ah, the promises you make, my little crouton,” Remy sighed into all their ears, causing outright laughter from several of them. Shawn looked over at Thiago again to see the man smiling slightly. Feeling eyes on him, Thiago turned to look questioningly at Shawn, the smile fading.

“You speak French, Thiago?” Shawn asked in amusement. Thiago shook his head in answer. “Don’t worry. Neither does Remy,” Shawn snickered. Thiago actually fully smiled at him then, and Shawn marveled at how much the wide grin changed the man’s appearance. He looked almost relaxed.

“I heard that, couyon!” came Remy’s voice one last time.

“That was the point, dear.”

IV.

 Nikolaus Faust hadn’t been too keen on getting involved in this mission when he’d first been given his orders. But he hadn’t really had much of a say in the matter. When the higher ups said ‘jump,’ Nikolaus didn’t even stop to ask how high.

As a Class Ten operative, Nikolaus didn’t often put his actual life on the line. Only in missions like this that required a mobile communications unit did he actually leave the sterile gray room full of expensive equipment that field operatives affectionately referred to as ‘the Cellar.’. This was only Nikolaus’s second mobile mission, but true mobile operations were few and far between, and there weren’t many Class Ten agents who had more field experience than Nikolaus. He also knew just as well as his handlers that he was the best at what he did.

Still. He didn’t like the idea of Invisible Ops, as Brandt Everett called it. The mere thought made him nervous.

Nikolaus didn’t mind putting his life in danger; that’s what they’d all signed up for. What scared him to no end was that these other five men also appeared to be the best at what they did, and that meant the Archer was a serious threat. A very serious threat. What could the man possibly be up to that would warrant a crack team like this? Nikolaus was almost afraid to find out. He was even more afraid of their mission failing. God only knew what would happen if they weren’t able to stop him.

Despite these worries, or perhaps because of them, Nikolaus found himself walking through the forests of North Dakota with five of the most peculiar, unstable men he’d ever encountered. And enjoying himself to no end. He could get used to the mobile life. As long as he didn’t get himself killed.

“So, Nikki,” Remy Bergeron said as they wove their way uphill through the dense undergrowth of the forest. “Do you mind my calling you that?”

“It’s uh … not a problem,” Nikolaus replied as he stumbled over a log and reached out to steady himself. He was a little surprised to find Bergeron beside him and holding his elbow to keep him from falling. Nikolaus had never seen anyone move so quickly over such treacherous ground. He was impressed.

“It’s just easier to say than Nikolaus,” Bergeron went on almost apologetically, seemingly unaware that he’d ever moved. “That’s a lovely name. You’d be surprised how many Joe’s and Bob’s you come across in this business.”

“My friends call me Niko sometimes,” Nikolaus offered as he looked upward at the fading light and then down at Bergeron’s hand still on his arm.

“I even worked with a Joe Bob last year. In Hawaii.  Niko, you say?  I like that too.  D’you mind my using that?”

“Uhh … that’s … yeah, no,” Nikolaus responded uncertainly as Bergeron released him and pulled ahead once more, seemingly oblivious to just how unusual his thought processes were. Bergeron seemed genuinely pleased at the concession, though, and Nikolaus wondered how effective a covert the Cajun actually was. He appeared to wear his emotions on his sleeve, and he wasn’t half as solemn or reticent as the other field agents seemed to be. Nikolaus wondered how long the man had been doing this. He seemed so open and ingenuous, he couldn’t have been in the business for long, Nikolaus decided.

“I’ve been called so many names during missions I’ve lost track of them all,” Bergeron continued in the same rambling tone. “Lots of ‘hey yous’ and ‘dammits’ mostly. Shawn’s always called me Remy when he’s not calling me an idiot or … anyway, you’re welcome to do the same if you like. Call me Remy, that is.”

Despite the cavalier way in which the invitation was extended, with Bergeron losing his train of thought periodically and not even paying attention to what he was saying, Nikolaus found himself touched by the offer. In his world of cold technology and shady colleagues, what Remy said felt like an offer of camaraderie and trust. Nikolaus was more than happy to accept. He also accepted the opportunity Remy’s statement gave him to broach a subject he was extremely curious about.

“So what um … what is the situation with the two of you?” he asked, hoping he sounded nonchalant  and glancing at Remy out of the corner of his eye. He heard the other two conversations come to a halt and was comforted by the fact that he wasn’t the only one curious about the association between the two men.

“Hmm? Oh. Shawn, you mean? He tried to kill me,” Remy answered matter-of-factly. “Several times. In the most unimaginative ways, I might add.”

“Yeah, you said,” Nikolaus said after hearing an irritated snort he assumed came from Shawn Bennett.

“I mean, using a gun to kill someone … how very unoriginal,” Remy said with a little smirk and a wink at Nikolaus.

“Your problem is that you think you’re bullet proof,” Bennett’s voice said caustically in response to Remy’s jab. “It was no mere gun, lad. That rifle was a work of art. A classic. A beautiful – ”

“Mm hmm,” Remy said in a bored voice. “Hey, Brandt. You work much with plastique?”

Nikolaus heard what sounded suspiciously like an affirmative purr coming through his earpiece, and he shivered involuntarily.

“I had his rifle rigged. One pull of the trigger and …”

“Bam,” Brandt’s voice finished in a frighteningly pleasure-laden tone.

“That’s right. Heureusement, fortunately, it did not come to that.”

“That’s when you received the message?” Nikolaus asked, trying to get Remy to continue. Remy simply nodded and squinted into the distance. Nikolaus let the offer to continue hang in the air for a few moments, but Remy walked on, oblivious to all but his immediate surroundings as they picked their way through the thick undergrowth. After a while, the other two conversations quietly resumed, and Nikolaus thought they could try to whittle more information from the two cagey men later.

“Do you remember the way being this rough on the way down?” Remy finally asked in concern as he pulled up short and looked around. Nikolaus surveyed his surroundings in alarm as the steady droning in his ear ceased once more.

“You two have a problem?” asked Shawn Bennett’s gruff voice.

“Not yet, my little onion,” Remy responded in a voice close to irritation.

Nikolaus lifted an eyebrow to express his doubt in the other man’s assessment of their situation, but he remained silent. Being in the middle of a dense forest with sketchy communications and unstable companions was bad enough, but not having a clear idea of where you were going in said forest? That was really high on Nikolaus’s Oh Shit List. What was even higher, though, was pissing off one of those aforementioned unstable companions by questioning his judgment. So Nikolaus stayed silent.

“Yet?” Bennett asked without much concern.

“God, I hate being lost.” Remy murmured.

“Lost? I thought you said we didn’t have a problem,” Nikolaus blurted worriedly.

“Au contraire,” Remy said sagely. “Being lost is not always a problem. We have at least a week before we starve.” He stopped and sniffed at the air. “Smells like snow, though. That may be a problem. I don’t do cold well.”

“Believe me, young Nikolaus,” Bennett said with amusement. “When Remy gets well and truly lost, you will certainly know it. Watch your back though, he’d just as soon cook and eat you as he would some furry little woodland creature.”

“Mind your own business, Beignet,” Remy said in what appeared to be an automatic response to Shawn’s teasing as he searched the trees for their location. “Don’t go forewarning the prey.”

“Did he just call you Beignet?” Thiago’s voice inquired incredulously.

“It’s a type of doughnut,” Shawn muttered in answer. “It’s a long story,” he added.  After a brief silence he blurted, “Remy really enjoys food, okay?”

Nikolaus tried not to snort in amusement as he watched Remy warily. He wondered about the man’s competency once more and hoped his supposed super-spy skills would kick in or something and turn the homing beacon back on. He chastised himself for not having paid more attention to where they were going and mused about how long it would take Everett and his exploding pinecones to clear the area of all the trees in order to find them.

“Ah! Got it!” Remy exclaimed suddenly, pointing at the trunk of a tree some ten meters away. Nikolaus squinted in the half-light and could just barely see a pale, thin gash across the bark. He sighed in relief. “Just veered off course a bit is all,” Remy continued as they walked toward the marker. Nikolaus hadn’t even noticed Remy making the marks as they walked, and for the fourth time in ten minutes he found himself re-evaluating his opinion of Remy’s abilities.

By the time Nikolaus and Remy made it back to the cabin the sun was beyond setting, and Nikolaus cringed at the thought that Bennett might be angry with them for being late. He really needn’t have worried. It seemed that Shawn Bennett wasn’t so much the bastard that Nikolaus pictured him to be, and he genuinely liked the man whenever he was around him. It was just when they were separate that the unwarranted image of the ill-tempered, nasty veteran spook haunted Nikolaus’s imagination. Nikolaus knew that it was a stereotype; a preconceived notion of what their leader would be like. But he was having difficulty shaking it.

He thought it rather ironic that as he had these thoughts Thiago came out onto the porch to light a cigarette. Now there was the cranky covert Nikolaus had imagined.

“You’re late,” Thiago said in a flat voice. Nikolaus opened his mouth to apologize, but Remy smiled cheekily and shocked Nikolaus by wrapping his arm around him and pulling him closer as if they’d been friends all of their lives.

“I was teaching Niko the proper technique for getting lost in the woods,” Remy claimed seriously. “He took to the lesson real well.”

Coming Soon!

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