NUMBER THREE

CODENAME: ORION

STATUS: ACTIVE, OFF DUTY

LOCATION: BRISTOL

I wasn’t working. I’d had to take some personal leave. You all remember the boss’s old PA, Monica? We had a bit of a thing a while back. It never came to anything because it never fucking does when you date from the office but we’re still friends.

And no. I’m not the reason she left. This was two, maybe three years ago. She left because her fiancé failed the deep background check. It was either leave him or leave the service and she chose him. But, like I said, we’re still friends so I gave her my personal number just in case she needed someone she could talk to about old times.

A couple of weeks ago she called, and not for a chat. The fiancé did a runner with less than a month to go to the wedding. Emptied the joint bank account. Tried to sell the house out from under her but it was in her name. Did sell a lot of the furniture and both cars. It turned out none of the wedding deposits had been paid either.

She was devastated, more about him disappearing than about the money. She asked me to track him down and find out if he was in danger, or if there was another woman, or if he was on the run from the police, or if he was just scum.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

I tracked him down to exotic Bristol. He wanted to run to somewhere hot and foreign but when he failed the deep background check he failed it hard. His next passport renewal did not go well.

It was 2 in the morning and we were on the Clifton Suspension Bridge. Well, I was on the bridge. He was hanging over the side by his ankles and telling me all about his gambling addiction and how he owes money to some bad men.

He begged me to help him hide.

I said, 'You know gambling is legal, right? You can go completely broke without any fear of getting your knees broken. No need to bother organised crime.'

He said, 'Yeah, not if you’re betting on dog fights.' The prick.

I had my phone out, making a note of the password and the number of the secret bank account where he’d stashed the remaining money when it beeped in my hand and there was the message.

#

'So you dropped him then?' said Seven.

'Of course I fucking did. Dog fights for fuck’s sake.' Three finished his drink. There was a wet glint in his eyes that might be mistaken for tears.

Number Four held out a glass for Three to fill and said, 'I was working. I was undercover.'

'Alone?' said Seven, trying to keep the horror out of his voice. He was simultaneously appalled at the idea of Four going undercover without proper back up and angry at himself for suggesting that she needed special treatment.

In theory none of them should ever be undercover without backup of some kind. In practice that back up was often half an hour and a phone call away. Given the nature of Four’s speciality he did not like to think of her ever having to wait half an hour for backup.