Field Mission Base, Glasgow, Scotland, 08:25
Neither Marty nor Don had ever been fond of Mondays, and with every moment she spent rushing to prepare for their latest meeting, she remembered why. Her alarm clock glared red numbers at her, mocking her for having overslept. That was no surprise, since she hadn’t gone straight to sleep following the return from Northern Ireland -- though she doubted that Don had woken early enough, either.
In case Avery sent them off to another country again, she bundled the usual supplies into her duffel: extra chargers, a change of clothes, dry shampoo, weapons, faerie poisons. And, of course, a book to read instead of talking to her partner. After pushing the entire thing aside, Marty stocked her briefcase with her laptop, pens in a rubber band, a legal pad, and the Ballycastle case file. She should have placed the file inside its own laminated folder, but with less than five minutes to go, stuffed it between the computer and notepad.
Another check of the clock told her just how much time she had, and slinging the briefcase over her shoulder, she called Don on her cell.
He picked up within seconds, sounding just as frustrated as Marty felt. “Yeah, what? Tell me he’s canceled it. Please tell me he’s canceled the damn meeting.”
“No. We’ve got three minutes; are you ready?” Marty swiped her keycard from the dresser, pushed through to the hall, and realized she hadn’t turned off the bathroom lights. She swore under her breath.
“I’m gonna have to be.” There came a zip, then a door creaking open and closed.
“Meet you there in two?”
“Yup.” With that, he hung up, in too much of a hurry to say anything more.
The lift brought Marty to the top floor with perhaps half a minute left, and she walked at a brisk clip toward their conference room; Don had already taken his seat, doodling on a paper scrap, as Avery let the projector whirr to life. She took the next chair over, shaken from almost being late. Little by little, her jangled nerves calmed, and she slid her laptop onto the table, ready to take notes.
“Sir, when do you want our Ballycastle file?” she asked.
“Not necessary. Agent Wheeler has already sent it, and it’s not one we need to revisit.”
She felt Don’s eyes on her, fleetingly, and returned his glance. But neither of them said anything, letting Avery continue.
“You both have shown a high and consistent success rate. Agent Dunn with the Northern Irish branch contacted me last evening and described your conduct as exceptional.”
A lull in his speech allowed Marty a twinge of doubt -- Don? Exceptional?
“Wheeler, O’Flannigan, do you feel that this is accurate?”
The agents exchanged another look, mirroring each other’s confusion. It was no secret to either of them that they were far from the best in their branch.
“Yes, sir,” she said, and could not help but inquire, “Where are we going next?”
“I’m getting to that. If you’ll let me.”
His stare locked on hers, and she wanted to sink into the ground in embarrassment.
“Yes, sir,” she repeated, forcing herself not to mumble.
Avery turned on his heel and clicked the remote. The screen shone blank in a shaft of sunlight; Marty’s shame at pushing her superior vanished. She thought for certain that the device was broken -- until Avery faced them again.
“You two are taking a holiday.”
“What?” they said in unison, Don’s tone one of eager relief, and Marty’s baffled. She grabbed her mouse and her cursor flew to the calendar in the sidebar: they were not scheduled for a holiday.
“Contain your excitement.” Avery addressed Marty more than Don, arms crossed.
She scrambled to correct herself. “Well, it’s just that there are none on our schedule for this month, and we thought we’d have more missions before --”
“I can always rescind the offer.”
Don’s foot bumped against her own, out of Avery’s sight. She drew her legs away.
“I’m sorry, sir. Thank you.”
Raising his hand and not waiting to be called, Don asked a flurry of questions. “When are we leaving? How long do we have? And where are we going?”
Avery, switching off the projector, answered each one in turn. “Today, one week, and anywhere in Ireland or the United Kingdom, with the exception of England.”
Marty’s suspicion flared, and she could tell that Don’s did, too, for his gaze sharpened. He sat silent, drumming his fingers on the tabletop to the rhythm of the American anthem.
At last, he put into words what surely burned in both their minds. “Why not England?”
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“Things are tense between them and Scotland. Anyways, your combined budget --”
“Hey, hold on, now!” Don leaned forward, grasping the arms of his chair. Marty winced from the cold fire in the way Avery watched him. “Since when is COURT involved in politics?”
“Don,” she cautioned, hoping it was too soft for Avery to hear.
Still, Don pressed onward. “Come on, the Irish and North Irish branches will drop everything to help each other! That don’t seem political to me!”
“Agent Wheeler!”
It was Don’s turn to flinch. His finger-drumming sped to a rapid pitch. Not wanting to be there for the fallout, Marty returned her laptop to her briefcase and clicked it closed. She ducked out of the room, and just outside, slumped against the wall.
Muffled shouting, halfway between outrage and real anger, reached through.
“Wheeler, I cannot believe this! I finish praising your conduct, then you turn around and give me that attitude?”
“It don’t make sense -- things are always tense and it’s never prevented the branches from working together before!”
“Doesn’t. It doesn’t make sense. And, rather, it does.”
“No! Even when the English were tearing my country apart, we didn’t cut ties with COURT, did we?”
“Did I request a history lesson? Have you forgotten you are a junior?”
“Have you forgotten you’re supposed to guide us?”
Marty turned out Avery’s next venomous response; there was no point in listening to their yelling match when she could do nothing about it.
She startled when the door creaked open, a dozen excuses for Don’s behavior ready on the tip of her tongue. Her sudden alertness washed away when her partner himself stepped out, wearing the kind of smirk many young people did when covering discomfort. It was crooked and flippant and altogether fake.
“Alright, Marty, I know you’re pissed, but --”
“I’m not.” That was indeed true. In ignoring him and Avery, she’d given herself time to think: this incident was yet another slapped onto the pile of proof that Avery was lying.
“Wait, why not?”
She gestured for Don to follow her, and he did, letting her lead him to the safety of the lift. There, she pressed the buttons for floors three and four.
“Because you’re right. We aren’t allowed to let politics influence our work, unless there’s a literal war. And still, they’d just send senior agents instead.”
“That’s what I mean! ‘Tense’, my ass.”
“He’s making excuse after excuse. Not doing all the follow-up protocol for Ballycastle?” Involuntarily, she hesitated, heaving a sigh. “I doubted your worries and I shouldn’t have.”
“Hey. I get it.” His voice held a rare note of reassurance, and for once, it didn’t give Marty the urge to smack him. “I’d think I’d lost my marbles, too. Dunno where to go from here, though.”
“I might. Come to my room, and bring your stuff. We have to talk.”
❦❦❦
Marty sat cross-legged on her left bed, an ale in hand, laptop open atop an upturned plastic platter to keep its fans cool. Don had claimed her chair, facing the wrong way with his legs around the back cushion. He spun this way and that, fidgeting as she scrolled through pages of train tickets to other cities in Scotland.
“So, you’re on board with me? All the way?” he asked.
She took a swig of her ale, savoring the pleasantly bitter taste. “I never said all the way. We’re not going to lurk in here and hatch some harebrained scheme.”
“And I never said the scheme had to be harebrained. Maybe just a little whacked.”
“Don. Stop fooling around and cooperate.”
“Fine, I’m sorry. What’s going on in that head of yours?”
Marty wedged the bottle between her knee and her thigh, then held her laptop up for Don to see what she had found. “We’re going to do as he says and go to Edinburgh. It’s the best option this site has. If we seem to obey orders, we won’t be in so much trouble.”
He stopped his spinning with an intrigued quirk of a brow. “But?”
“But we’ll just make it look like both of us stayed. Heading to different places could give us a better chance to learn something useful.”
A slow, toothy grin spread across his lips. “You reckon one uf us could sneak into London without getting caught?”
“No way in Hell. Why won’t you stop pestering Avery about London?”
“Because it’s the capital! Go big or go home!”
Marty did not share his exuberance.
Don’s smile faded, and he tucked his chin onto his palm, elbow resting on the chair. “You’re smart; you can figure this out.”
“I’m not getting kicked off the force.”
“You’ll only get kicked if he finds out. Besides, don’t you remember saying we should keep tabs on things in England when we’re off assignment?”
“Really wish you’d forget about it,” she muttered, resuming her search for tickets.
Don twirled a lock of hair around his thumb and began to whistle, appearing lost in thought. Marty even felt somewhat like he’d dropped the subject, but to no avail.
“I’ve got something,” he said.
“What?”
“We’ll use your plan. How’s that sound?”
“Like you’re going to suggest another plan to use along with it. So tell me.”
With pops in quick succession as he cracked his knuckles, Don perched on the edge of the bed beside her. “You keep my credit card. Whenever you buy groceries or booze, put half of it on my card. Half the hotel price, too. Meanwhile, I’ll take the debit card he doesn’t know I have, and get myself a cheap flight to London.”
“You have an unregistered debit!? Are you completely mad?”
“You gotta be nuts to kill faeries for a living.” Laughing, Don patted her on the shoulder; she swatted his hand harder than she’d meant to.
“No. This is the worst idea you’ve ever had.”
“Marty...”
“Get out.” Regret appeared and disappeared in a lightning flash, too fast for her to do anything beyond recognizing that it’d been there.
When he slid off her bed, it returned -- and lingered.
“Don,” she said, eyes glued to her laptop screen, fingers flicking across the keyboard. “There are Glasgow-to-London flights for one hundred and fifty pounds. Set your VPN to Scotland before you leave the airport.”
He stood with one foot in the doorway, and awkwardly, she looked up from her search results. His smile to her was small, but genuine, and he walked away with only a wave. Though Marty could feel no warmth for him, one thing gripped her tight, setting her veins aflame with adrenaline: racing against the clock. Against the rules that bound in place each and every action she took at COURT.
“Game on, Avery,” Marty whispered. “Game on, faerie scum.”