Chapter 27

James and Agent Black arrived in New York City on Christmas Eve, though the holiday spirit was glaringly absent as they descended the stairs of their jet onto the tarmac of LaGuardia Airport. Two Lincoln Town Cars pulled around a nearby hangar, they were both black with simple chrome rims and tinted windows. James didn’t need to see the government plates to know they were from a federal motor pool, but it helped.

“Agent Carter, sir,” the first driver spoke as he stood up out of the car on the left. James looked over at Agent Black, hoping for some indication of what he was expected to do, but the older man didn’t return the glance. He simply strolled over to the second car and allowed the driver to open the door for him.

“That’s me.” James finally answered the man. He quickly opened the back door for James and gestured for him to get in.

“Please sir, have a seat. I’ll get your bags.” James did as he was asked. The back of the car was much more spacious than the Mercedes their European counterparts had. He sank into the leather seat, which wasn’t quite as welcoming as the one he’d sat in on the plane, but came close, and watched his driver meet one of the flight attendants at the bottom of the stairs and then struggle to carry his bags back to the car. He looked back up just in time to see the other Town Car pull away. Not much for goodbyes, he mused to himself about Agent Black.

“I have instructions to bring you to the Ritz-Carlton, sir.” The driver informed James of their destination, which meant, James assumed, that he was probably aware of how confused James was. It didn’t much matter at this point; James was growing accustomed to playing this game. He leaned his head back onto the headrest and wondered about Agent Black. Who was he, anyway? Everybody has a story, James knew, so what kind of history could that man have? He also wondered why he didn’t have any luggage. It was hard for him to picture a man like Black washing and matching his socks, maybe he just bought new clothes when he arrived in new places. Somehow, he struggled to picture that either.

As hard as it was for James to believe, his new room at the Ritz was even nicer than his last. He stripped down to his underwear and placed his suit, as well as a few other garments that needed cleaning, into the dry cleaning bag the hotel had provided and called room service to have them picked up. As he waited in the hotel robe, he made a mental note to himself to buy some more clothes. He needed something to wear when he wasn’t in a suit. He removed his laptop from one of the bags and laid it across his lap. The wireless internet was slow to connect, but James assumed everyone currently in residence at a hotel that can cost upwards of a thousand dollars a night probably needed access to it in order to maintain their fortunes, so it came as no surprise. When his e-mail finally opened, he clicked on the draft folder and closed his eyes. His heart started beating faster in anticipation of a message from the woman he loved, though part of him hoped one wouldn’t be there. James knew it would be better for her if she had just forgotten about him, no matter how impossible it seemed to be for him to forget about her. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. A knock at the door broke the silence as his vision settled onto three small words: “one new draft.”

He gave the hotel employee his bag and hurriedly shut and locked the door again behind him. His heart was racing like it hadn’t since those first nights with Eve back in Honduras, or maybe since he was in sixth grade and a cute brunette named Krissy had passed him a love note at lunch. A toxic mix of excitement and all the stowed passion he’d shelved since leaving her behind made his stomach churn and his face burn red. James sat back down on his bed with the laptop in front of him and clicked on the mail icon. Eve’s message took a painful second to open and load.

Jimmy,

I’m sorry it took so long to get your messages… I hope you haven’t forgotten about me. I’m back home, but staying with friends… I told Matt about us. My parents are going to help me move my things out this weekend. When will you be in New York?! I’ll come right away. I can’t wait to see you. I can’t wait to kiss you again.

I love you,

-E

James ran his eyes over the words again, as if to make sure they were all real and not some kind of hallucination he’d conjured with his broken heart. Eve hadn’t moved on, she hadn’t given up, she hadn’t forgotten. There was a life for James beyond all of this and even though he couldn’t for the life of him think of what that life could be, he knew it would revolve around this woman. He smiled for what felt like the first time in years and opened a new draft.

Eve,

I just arrived in New York. I’m not sure when we can meet, but it will be soon. I can’t wait to see you again. I’ll send another message as soon as I know more.

Love,

James

He closed the laptop and stuffed it back into his bag. His chest filled with anxiety and apprehension as he worried about how he’d manage to find time to meet Eve without the agency knowing, but he knew he had to. He needed a reminder of what he was fighting for… he’d come so far so fast that he was beginning to feel like he’d lost sight of it. He didn’t want to see himself the way Black did, a fighter that fights because it’s all he knows. No, James wasn’t the hammer he’d been equated to. James was a man that could love and be loved, and that’s exactly what he intended to be.

James looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand next to the bed. It was already early afternoon; he wondered what time the meet was supposed to happen in the subway and who would be coming to get him. He decided it was best to get cleaned up and wait for his ride to arrive so he stripped the remainder of his clothes off and hopped into a hot shower without considering the scrapes and bruises all over his body from last night’s scuffle. He was provided a prompt reminder as the stinging of hot water on his injuries attacked his thoughts and made it impossible for him to think of anything else. He worked fast to get clean, scrubbing some dried blood out of his hair from yet another small wound he must have missed in his brief shower that morning. He walked out of the bathroom just in time to hear a casual knock on his door. James was wearing only a towel, but couldn’t find it in himself to be concerned with nudity or vanity. He pulled his pistol from the holster on the bed and approached the door, careful to stand sideways and outside the swing of the door in case whoever was knocking decided just to kick it in, his pistol high in his swollen right hand. He leaned forward to look through the peephole and nearly shouted at what he saw.

“The bar was closed so I figured your room was the best place to find a drink,” a familiar voice from James’ past called through the door. James wondered if the man knew he was looking at him through the peephole. Instead of answering through the door, James stepped aside and threw the door open, his arms outspread and ready to hug his old friend, despite wearing only a towel and a gun.

Jack's face had aged since James had last seen him. He still had the boyish good looks that had served him so well while he and James had been in uniform together, but the simultaneous depth and hollowness of his eyes betrayed the toll paid to the things he'd seen over the past few years. Secretly, James was both jealous and grateful that his world had not been so turbulent.

"Did you know I was coming or do you make a habit of answering the door naked when you hear a man's voice on the other side?" He smiled.

"I dunno, it certainly didn't sound like a man's voice..." James replied with the same smile creeping across his face. The two paused for a moment, exchanging looks and testing the air before giving up the ruse all at once and hugging like the old friends they were.

"How've you been man? It's been years!" Jack announced as they released each other.

"Yeah it has, brother... What have they been having you do? You look like shit." James was brutally honest, as they always were with one another.

"Anti-terrorism task force. It's great bro... Not much sleep, but plenty of action," his response was layered. Being two former Marines, they were required to reduce everything to the lowest common denominator when talking like this. No one had feelings, everyone thrived on action. James knew, however, what Jack meant. He felt like he was making a difference.

"That's good shit man. I've been on manning the bottom of the globe in Honduras," James began, for a moment forgetting the tragic events of the past few weeks.

"Oh man," Jack’s face contorted into something similar to sympathy, "heard about that..." He trailed of. James wondered what he'd heard and if it had anything to do with a distracted agent on the scene.

"So you're probably here for the same reason I am then," James opted to leave well enough alone.

"You know it, my team already brought the subway guy in. They've got him in interrogation as we speak." Jack seemed to welcome to transition to business over personal topics of conversation.

"You guys work fast," James was honestly a bit surprised. He assumed Jack was there to bring him to the subway to try to hunt down the next part of this unraveling mystery. Unlike the James Bond movies, it wasn't up to any single man to prevent the next attack, it seemed.

"Not fast enough," Jack stepped past James' semi-nude body and it's the hotel room, "we've got some high grade explosives missing from an army garrison in Kabul. High tech stuff, extremely difficult to detect." He sat down at the small table in the portion of the large open room he understood to be the living room.

"And you think they brought it here?" James was following.

"I'd bet my good looks on it." Jack was joking, but it was clear he was serious.

"So what's next?" James was relieved to be dealing with someone he was comfortable with for a change.

"We've got men searching the suspect's apartment now. Hopefully we'll find some intel about the target location," Jack began.

"And get some bodies out there sweeping for explosives," James continued. Jack smiled slightly and nodded. James decided it was well past time to get dressed, there was clearly work to be done. He walked over to his luggage and made a bit of a show of removing a pair of slacks and matching sport coat from them. Jack got the point.

"Pick you up downstairs in ten?" He spoke up as he headed back for the door.

"Sounds good," James looked up from his gear. Jack nodded once more and closed the door behind him. James paused for a minute, thinking about how different his assignment had been from Jack's and how far he'd come. James wondered just how well he still knew his old friend, but brushed away his concerns in favor of the attention required to dress himself while simultaneously mixing another drink. Ten minutes was plenty of time.

James arrived in the lobby a few minutes later in one of his two remaining suits. It hung well on him despite the rushed tailoring and James was reminded once more how good it felt to be dressed in clothes he couldn't afford. Jack was at the bar adjacent to the front desk; his broad shoulders topped with a stubble covered, brown and bald head stuck out in contrast to the disheveled business men and professionally dressed women. James wondered if his military background was always as apparent, but doubted it. Jack's position in anti-terrorism didn't seem to involve maintaining a cover. While James had found ways to blend in, Jack had been hitting the gym and perfecting the science of being intimidating to terrorism suspects.

"Figured you could use a drink," Jack spoke as James approached him, "or maybe that I could."

"We've got an international plot to attack Americans at home... We've got missing explosives that are all but undetectable and no idea where the target is..." James spoke as he sat, "if that's not a good reason for a drink, I don't know what is."

"Haven't changed a bit," Jack smiled and raised his half empty glass. James looked at him and for a second, they locked eyes. Each man was surprised by the darkness they saw in one another. Jack, James realized now, had seen his fair share of death and destruction.

"Well, at least some things never change." James addressed their unspoken understanding. They were both hurting; two men with the best training the world had to offer, struggling under the weight of the things they'd seen, just doing their best.

"Scotch, neat." James wanted something he could drink quickly. Jack finished his glass and slapped it onto the bar, indicating with his hand he wanted a refill.

"Any particular brand?" The well-dressed bartender asked James.

"Something old enough to date." Jack answered for him. The bartender nodded and turned back to the bottles on the wall. Jack checked his cell phone.

"Our ride'll be here in five, so drink quick." He said as the bartender placed their glasses in front of them. Jack put a fifty dollar bill down on the table he'd removed loose from his pocket.

"Come on," James tossed the two fingers of scotch back in one motion and placed the glass gently back down onto the bar, "I hope you haven't forgotten how to drink."

"Forgotten?" Jack followed suit, drinking his glass completely and placing it back down onto the dark wood, "I've been practicing." The two men shared a laugh and for a split second, it felt like it had once, a long time ago. James looked down at his empty glass, some things never do change. Jack's phone beeped at him, presumably indicating that their car had arrived, and both men stood up and thanked the bartender.

"Time to get to work." Jack straightened his black tie and slid the sport coat he'd hung from the back of the stool over himself. James nodded and followed him through the lobby and out the door. Outside, they found another black Lincoln Town Car waiting for them. Jack got in the backseat, leaving the front open for James. The windows were tinted, preventing James from seeing who was inside. It wasn't the fear of who it could be, so much as the return to the constant state of nervous confusion he'd enjoyed a brief hiatus from that gave him pause. He sighed lightly to himself and opened the door, but was surprised to see a familiar, if not mysterious, face in the driver's seat.

"Get in, we've got a lot to talk about." Agent Black said to him as though he should have expected that he would be driving. James promptly sat down in the passenger seat.

"You know this guy?" Jack asked from the backseat, "I wasn't even sure he was real."

"Then how do you know it's me?" Agent Black intercepted the question.

"I never saw you and I don't know who you are." Jack quickly announced, sitting back in his seat and buckling his seat belt. James looked at Black quizzically. Agent Black didn't acknowledge either man. They rode in silence until Agent Black brought the car to a stop on the side of the road in as suburban a neighborhood as one could find in the city. James guesses the apartments in these closely laid buildings were roughly ten times the price of his place in Honduras, but probably about the same size.

"According to our source, this is where we'll find Laal." Agent Black said, pointing at the townhouse across the street and down the road a few houses.

"So why aren't we kicking in the door already?" Jack unbuckled his seat belt, indicating how happy he'd be to lead the charge.

"We need confirmation that the explosives are on the premises and ID on anyone working with him. We can't afford to blow our load early on this." Black's tone was grave. James understood it to mean they were close.

"We can't get any intel on accomplices from the suspect we brought in?" Jack seemed disappointed at Agent Black's assessment.

"He can't tell us anything more." Agent Black pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and removed one.

"This can't be all he knows though..." Jack countered.

"He can't share any more information with us." Agent Black looked back at Jack for the first time. Jack looked down at his lap as soon as he saw his face turning toward him.

"Where'd they end up taking him?" James tried to change the subject.

"Nowhere. He's in the trunk." Black answered casually. There were no thumping or shouts for help. James knew that meant he was dead. Jack didn't speak again.

"So what now then?" James continued his line of questioning.

"Now it's time for a good old fashioned stakeout. We wait, we watch, we take notes, and we stay invisible. Got it?" Agent Black directed his words to both of them.

"Invisible? This car might as well have "FEDS" spray painted on the hood." James said. As he spoke, a dark red Chevrolet Cobalt pulled up behind them and into the driveway of the house they were parked in front of. What looked like a teenage man stepped out of it wearing a hooded sweatshirt and baggy jeans. He walked to the passenger side of the Lincoln and opened the door to the back seat.

"Gentlemen." He spoke as he sat down next to Jack, whom James recognized as only about a second away from drawing his weapon.

"Agent White, you have the first shift." Agent Black looked at James. Jack's eyes widened as he spoke, "this house is empty but we don't have access to it yet. In the meantime, you will carry out your surveillance from there." He pointed at the Cobalt.

"Roger that. When and who is my relief?" James asked. Agent Black twisted in his seat to look at Jack.

"You'll relieve him in six hours. We'll have more bodies for the rotation by then," Jack nodded, "Take these." He spoke once more to James as he passed him a radio and an iPhone. James tucked the radio onto the side of his belt where his coat would hide it as he walked to the car, then placed the iPhone inside his jacket pocket.

"Plug my number into the phone," Jack suggested, passing James a sheet of paper from a small notebook he'd had in his pocket. James realized he probably should have brought something similar.

"Hook me up with the notepad too, will ya?" James asked and Jack obliged, passing it up between the seats, "see you at ten." James got out of the car and walked over to the Cobalt. Dark tinted windows would prevent people from knowing he was inside as long as he kept the windshield pointed toward the house, but it was going to be uncomfortable watching the place through his rear view mirror for six hours. He didn't take time to worry about it though as he climbed in.

Inside, James was surprised to find only two seats, the driver's seat facing forward and the passenger seat facing the back, where the backseat had been removed and a bench like table had replaced it. James rearranged himself into the rear-facing seat and placed the phone, radio, and gun on the table in front of him. It was time to get comfortable.

Four hours later, James had seen one pizza guy deliver a pizza to the building in question, thirteen cars of various makes and models (most of which he'd made notes of along with license plates) had come down the street without stopping and one good looking jogger with breasts too large for the sports bra she'd stuffed them into. He was growing restless, but this was the first time his new job paralleled his old, and the first time he actually felt like he knew what he was doing. Boredom, being cramped, and his aching injuries notwithstanding, James was happy to be where he was in a way. From his position in that little car, he was the one line of defense between the bad guys and the good guys. Getting to do that with from the seated position is about as good as the job can get, he supposed. If he didn't pee soon though, James was probably going to start tasting it.

As he killed time, he typed Jack's number into his new phone and sent him a text: "bring a piss jar for your shift." A few minutes later he received Jack's response, "piss jar? I'm bringing forty gigs of porn and a pizza." Some things really do never change, James thought to himself as he leaned back into his seat and made a note of a green (or so it seemed in the dark) Hyundai rolling slowly down the street. A middle aged woman behind the wheel seemed like she was looking for something. James jotted down the license plate number. The moon wasn't quite full, but it was close, and as James peered down the street at the front door of what could be the most dangerous man in the world, he emptied his bladder into a mostly empty Gatorade that had been on the floor when he got in. Espionage, James thought, was sexy work.