The faint songs of early birds served as natureβs natural alarm clock. The rich smell of the sea laced with the Caribbeanβs flavor held a special place in his heart as it meant to him a time to relax. The cool air nipped away at his skin as if conditioning it for harsher treatment when the sun beamed down and tried to burn it. Bruce stood shirtless in front of the mirror as he put his toiletries in his small bag. He combed his beard. It had been too long and he would need to shave soon. His sun-kissed skin showed signs of other lips making acquaintance with him. He grabbed a white t-shirt which would hide most of the hickeys.
Bruce slightly winced while slithering his arms through the sleeves. Another souvenir left from the latina lynx sleeping soundly in his bed. She practically used him as a scratching board last night. Not that he complained. The shirt fit him snuggly as if it were a second skin revealing his broad shoulders and filled out frame. He put on a pair of jeans before glancing over to Alessandra. His ocean eyes could freeze anyone in their tracts like the Arctic Ocean and suck them in before drowning them in a trance like a whirlpool. She was oblivious to the stunning sunset behind her. Or maybe the sunset was stunning because it had her in it. After clasping the belt closed he sauntered over to the bed quietly. He took a seat right next to the fellow secret agent. He raised his hand and gingerly combed her unruly wavy black hair away from her face as to not disturb her slumber. His thumb grazed her newest scar, βLek a tiger earninβ her stripes,β he cooed last night while she laid on his chest.
βAβll be goinβ now, darlin,β he whispered in his thick Scottish accent which only accentuated his sonorous tone. βYe take care now,β he murmured before leaning down and kissing her cheek farewell. Bruce checked his watch and sighed before getting up. The large man hoisted his duffel bag over his shoulders and began exiting the room. He paused for a moment and glanced over his shoulder. Itβll probably be a while till they saw each other again. So he saved this precious moment of peace in his memory.
βοΈ»γβββδΈ
- 24 Hours Later -
Bruceβs foot tapped the floor impatiently. A wretched feeling in his gut was beginning to cultivate. The longer he sat in this plain white room the more he felt like a prisoner. He extended his arm to hike up the sleeve of his blazer to glance at the time. He had landed in London an hour ago so what could be the issue?
Just then the door across from him opened. Saphire optics focused on the newcomer before his brow furrowed, βDirector?β he huffed in a perplexed tone. An older gentleman in a black suit contrasting against Bruceβs own navy blue suit and tie took a seat across from the agent. Bruce was kind of relieved he opted to change sooner than later on the private jet now. The old gray-haired man gave a heavy sigh before dropping some files onto the table, βHello Murdoch,β he curtly greeted the secret agent.
The director fashioned some reading glasses before opening the file. His crows feet crinkled as if hoping he read it wrong and itβll magically change. βWhit is βis all aboot?β Bruce asked in ambivalent tone. Was he being reprimanded for taking an extra day off-so what if he used one of the days to relax? The resort was booked for anyways so it wouldβve gone to waste.
βIβm personally debriefing you, and reprimanding your disobedience of orders,β the director said while not even raising his hazel eyes to look at Bruce. The agent sighed before shaking his head, βYe wanted me tβ follow a route βat wis highly pupulated durinβ vacation seasin?β the Scotsman crossed his arms and furrowed his brow. His sapphire orbs burned bright in stubborn rebellion.
βYou chose lucrative routes you know we couldnβt find you in and miraculously finished your job a day early. Claiming to get the target you were supposed to protect on the train a day ahead of schedule,β the director said while his eyes now glanced up to stare into Bruceβs as if peeking into his soul.
βYe. I know I mek it look easy. βAtβs whit we do ainβt it? Savinβ lives,β he humbly bragged knowing very few could handle the job and even fewer could go off the script and make it work. Thatβs why P.A.T.R.I.O.T (Primary Anti-Terrorist Regional & International Operations Taskforce) couldnβt fire him even if they wanted to. Or at least he thought so.
The director set the files down, βBut there was a life lost,β he said before tapping on the paper. A hologram displayed the deceased target haphazardly stored away in the luggage area of the train. Bruceβs heart dropped. His stubborn and stoic expression faltered as he looked at the lifeless eyes of his target he had sent off alive just 48 hours ago.
The old man combed his grey hair back and clasped his hands together. βYou see. Iβve been after a mole for some time now, Bruce. Someone is spilling secrets and I have managed to whittle it down to a few people. You and agent Martinez were being tested, but only one of you failed your mission,β he said in an eerie calm tone.
Bruce blinked a few times as he digested the facts. It felt as if the walls were slowly closing in on him and he felt it hard to breath. Bruce tugged on his tie and collar, βAy didnβ do it!β he declared the truth. The director waved his hand at the hologram and displayed a gun with a silencer along with a few bullets within Bruceβs bag, βWe found this in a hidden compartment in your bag. Forensics confirmed this is the same gun and rounds that killed your target. Itβs not agency issued because you knew that can be traced back to you. Along with a history of your insubordination and lucrative routes to not only throw off our undercover agents acting as pursuers. You claim to complete the mission while CCTV footage doesnβt even show you bringing your target to the train but does show a hooded figure leaving the luggage cart.β
The director leaned in and gave a firm look to Bruce. βAre you a real patriot, Bruce? Or are you a double agent working for them?β he hissed that last word. He dare not even name the vile sinister organization that stood on the opposite principles of PATRIOT.
Bruce took a deep inhale and slowly exhaled in a shaky breath, βAm beinβ framed,β he stammered. It felt like a Herculean labor just fashioned a seat on his shoulders and the burden was beginning to prove too much to bear. How the hell did the gun get in his bag? Why is there no train CCTV footage of him? Why was his target dead? So many questions-so little time.
The old man clicked a button in his pocket which ushered in two burly agents into the room. Bruce immediately stood up and sized up the men, βDonβt make this anymore complicated than it needs to be Murdoch,β the director sighed with a head shake of disapproval. βIβve been prepping for your arrival and thereβs no escape.β the old timer said before the agents armed themselves with taser batons.
βIf ye know me lonβ enough ye know I donβ roll over so easily,β he growled before squaring up. The director sighed before muttering, βArrest him.β
They came from both sides. The first fellow swung and Bruce could feel his hair standing as the electric rattled just barely missing him. He made the agent pay for his mistake by clocking him the jaw. Unfortunately the second agent took advantage of this and struck Bruce in the back bringing him to his knee. He cried out as the electricity forced involuntary trembling. He balled up his fist and punched the second agentβs knee with all of his might making the man groan in pain and reflexively pull away his weapon from Bruceβs back.
Bruce took quick breaths to briefly recover before he kicked the ankle of the second agentβs other leg. With both pillars of support out of commission the giant man fell to the ground. Bruce grabbed onto his wrist and jumped before wrapping his legs around his shoulder making the agent fall faster face first. With slight push thanks to his leverage he broke the manβs shoulder while poking the baton along the spine.
The first agent got up and readied to swing before Bruce kicked him in the balls from his sitting position stunning the agent enough for Bruce to throw his taser baton at the man. Buying him enough time to get up and trap the agent in a chokehold with the baton daring to press against his chest. The director had gotten up and pointed a gun at Bruce but couldnβt shoot given the hostage Bruce obtained.
βIβm going to count to five,β the director warned while following Bruce who was slowly making his way to the door. βAnβ Am goinβ tae counβt tae tree,β Bruce countered with a heavy breath. His back faced the door now. βWe can talk about this. Donβt do this Bruce,β the Director tried to plead when force didnβt work. Bruce shook his head, βWhit choice dae Ay have?β Bruce retorted before he suddenly struck the light switch with the baton causing the lights to short circuit and go off in the room.
Bruce could briefly be seen as the door opened and let in some light. βBruce!β the Director yelled before rushing toward the door and opening it. He ran in the direction he last saw the Scotsman only to find a discarded tie and blazer. Then suddenly the fire alarm went off. The director grabbed his phone and sped-dialed a number, βI want this airport locked down! All flights are grounded and nobody leaves! NOBODY!β he yelled while water poured down from above.
βοΈ»γβββδΈ
- A Few Hours Later -
Bruce inconspicuously walked along the streets of London. Evening had settled and he hid behind his hoody. He had just raided a backup storage locker of his and had enough to blend in. He needed to hide and get answers unfortunately those two goals conflicted with one another. His next objective would show his location like a beacon. So he chose a busy internet cafe to give him enough time to get what he wanted and disappear again. He paid the cashier before walking up to the old computer in the corner. Away from the lively chattering of other patrons.
He unveiled a USB flash drive which would connect him to PATRIOT headquarters. He could try and get any piece of proof he could find to clear his name before they traced his location. He knew it took longer than a few hours to restrict his access. But he was running out of time.
With one deep breath he braced himself to be quick because once he plugged the drive in, the clock would be ticking. Without hesitation he inserted the drive into the computer.
γ β¦ A L E S S A N D R A - M A R T I N E Z β¦ ]
Another two or three hours or so had passed before Alessandra finally stirred from her deep, restorative slumber. The woman lay splayed out on the bed, her arms wrapped protectively around a pillow as if it was her lifeline. Her wild and untamed curls of dark hair swirled languidly around her shoulders, obscuring her face from view. It had been one of the better sleeps Alessandra had enjoyed in a long time. Her exhausted body had finally found some much needed respite and relaxation, her muscles unclenching as her mind drifted off into a peaceful oblivion of dreams.
But her brief escape from the harsh realities of the waking world was rudely interrupted by the incessant ringing of a phone off in the distance. At first Alessandra tried to ignore the jarring noise, desperately clinging to the remnants of her blissful slumber. But the shrill ringing continued to pierce through the air, growing louder and more demanding with each passing second. Reluctantly, Alessandra felt her eyes fluttering open, her sleep-laden brain slowly coming back online. She reached a hand up to rub at her eyes, yawning widely as she struggled to sit up and regain her bearings. Who could possibly be calling at such an ungodly hour? A sense of unease prickled up Alessandra's spine as she fumbled for her phone, steeling herself for whatever bad news or yet more stress was about to come crashing down upon her.
She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, still trying to fully wake up and adjust to the sudden interruption of her sleep. She had been startled out of a dead sleep, her heart racing as she fumbled to answer the phone. She glanced around the room, taking in the disheveled sheets and the empty space beside her where Bruce would have been sleeping. But he wasn't there, and she sighed heavily as she pressed the phone to her ear.
"Alessandra? Alessandra, are you there?" The voice of Natalie, her contact and fellow agent, came through the phone. She sounded rushed, her fingers no doubt flying over her keyboard as she sent over the details of the new mission.
"What is it, Natalie?" Alessandra asked, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice. She knew that missions couldn't always wait for a convenient time, but she couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment that Bruce wasn't there to share in the burden of whatever was about to come her way.
"A new mission, they're assigning you to immediately," Natalie replied, her tone all business. "The objective needs to be obtained. I'm sending over further instructions and the files now." Alessandra could hear the clicking of keys in the background as Natalie worked to pull up the necessary information. She sighed again, rubbing her temples as she prepared herself for whatever was to come. She only hoped that this mission would be worth the lack of sleep and the empty space in the bed beside her.
As the phone vibrated in her hand, she pulled it away from her ear and began to navigate the screen with her fingers. She used her other hand to adjust the sheet around her naked body, as if to shield herself from an unseen audience. The file she opened on her phone revealed the face
of Bruce Murdoch, and her eyes widened in disbelief. The only word she could muster was a profanity.
"Motherfucker."
TWENTY FOUR HOURS LATERβ¦
The doors to the private plane opened up and Alessandra finally stepped off, breathing in the London air. She was dressed in a pair of black jeans, red tank top, leather jacket and a pair of boots. Anything beats the bare nakedness that she was earlier on. She gripped her bag tightly in her hand and made her way down the stairs, making her way across the lot when she noticed a man with a sign with her name on it standing in front of a black car. She pursed her lips and tossed her bag over her shoulder, headed in his very direction.
"I suppose you're here for me?" She mused with a light smirk. The man only nodded and stepped to the side, opening the door up for her. She slid into it only to see one of her fellow agents; Reginald Jones. He was seated there with papers surrounding him, a computer on his lap. "Did you get in well?" His accent was thick as he looked up at her from his screen.
Alessandra rolled her eyes and tossed her bag into the seat beside her before buckling in. "What's it look like, Reginald? I'm right here aren't I?" She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Now why don't you tell me what this job is about while we head... where exactly are we going?"
βMurdoch is has been seized and held in one of the interrogation rooms by the director himself at our destination.β
Reginald's fingers clacked away at the keyboard as he gave Alessandra the update. Murdoch's capture was a relief, but Alessandra knew there was still much to be done. Her mind wandered to Bruce, and the difficult decision she had just made in order to complete her mission.
She watched the trees and roads whizzing by the window of the car as it started to move, taking her to the final destination. The director would be handling Murdoch's interrogation personally, she had been told. Part of her was glad to be done before the wild goose chase of hunting him down could start.
Reginald continued to type away, updating her on the status of their mission. "An hour or so until we arrive," he stated matter-of-factly. Alessandra nodded silently, her thoughts still with Bruce.
The sudden, grating tone of a phone shattered the tense silence that had settled over the room. Reginald snatched it to his ear, barking into the receiver, "Jones here. Go." The rigid focus etched on his face, the intent behind his every movement as he'd been meticulously studying the files, vanished instantly, replaced by a rising tide of irritation. As the voice on the other end droned on, the irritation curdled into outright rage. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "Yes sir. I'll let Agent Martinez know." He snapped the phone shut, the abrupt click echoing in the room. He looked up, his eyes like chips of ice, meeting Alessandra's questioning gaze. Her eyebrows were raised, an unspoken question hanging in the air, but she knew better than to voice it before he had a chance to unleash the storm brewing within him. Whatever the call had been about, it had clearly changed everything.
βMurdoch escaped. You need to find him and silence him.. permanently.β
"Consider it done," Alessandra said, her voice devoid of emotion. She stared at the seat in front of her, mind already racing with plans and strategies. "I'll check in with you when it's over. One way or another, Murdoch's time is up."
With that vow hanging in the air, Alessandra sat there quietly, ready to set her traps out as soon as she could. Murdoch may have escaped their holding, but he wouldn't escape her. She'd make sure of that.
A FEW HOURS LATERβ¦
Alessandra's brow furrowed in concentration as she scrutinized the laptop screen. A live feed from a traffic camera flickered, replaced moments later by grainy security footage. London was a labyrinth, but she was determined to navigate it. Each click was a desperate attempt to pinpoint Bruce's location, a digital dragnet closing in on her target. The assurance that he was trapped within the city's boundaries fueled her resolve. "Where are you, Bruce?" she breathed, her voice barely audible above the city's hum. Her gaze swept across the dimly lit street, observing each passing figure, searching for a sign, a flicker of recognition, anything that would lead her to him.
The sudden ping from her laptop sliced through the quiet of the afternoon, dragging her attention from the overflowing inbox she was pointedly ignoring. A quick click brought the familiar, intricate map of the PATRIOT system to life on her screen. A pulsating, angry red signal blazed fiercely from a location tantalizingly close. Someone, somewhere, was attempting to breach PATRIOT, and she was the only field agent positioned to respond in a timely fashion. A low sigh escaped her lips, a mixture of annoyance and a grim kind of excitement. "Oh... did you come to play?" she murmured to the glowing screen, a glint of challenge in her eyes. Without hesitation, she keyed the address into her car's GPS, the promise of action overriding her earlier inertia. The engine roared to life, shattering the silence as she headed in that direction.
With a plan in mind, Alessandra stepped out of the car and made her way around the building, keeping to the shadows and avoiding the crowds. She slipped in through the back door, her senses on high alert as she scanned her surroundings. The kitchen was a whirlwind of activity, with chefs and waitstaff rushing back and forth, preparing orders and delivering food to the front of the house.
Alessandra knew she had to act fast. She quickly spotted an office near the back of the kitchen and made her way towards it, hoping to find something she could use to disguise herself. To her relief, she found a clean shirt and an apron hanging on a hook by the door. She tore off her jacket and shoved the shirt and apron on over her tank top, pulling her hair up into a ponytail and topping it off with a hat. The transformation was instantaneous β she now looked like just another waitress, blending in with the rest of the staff.
With her new disguise in place, Alessandra took a deep breath and stepped out of the kitchen, stepping into the crowded space, ready to begin her search for Bruce and complete her mission. Finally, those eyes of hers landed on a figure in the backside of the cafe.
Alessandra crept up behind the hooded figure that is hunched over a computer, her heart pounding in anticipation. She knew it was Bruce without a doubt. The way he carried himself, the intense focus in his body language, the familiar scent of his cologne - it was all so achingly familiar.
She glanced around furtively to make sure no one was looking their way. Then in one swift motion, she pressed the business end of a small pistol into his side, just below his ribs. The metal was cold against the thickness of his hoody.
"Well well, if it isn't Murdoch himself," she purred, her warm breath tickling his ear as she leaned in. "I believe you forgot something rather important when you made your hasty exit from the Caribbean, darling."
βThis disnβ mek any sense,β he hissed his discontent in a hushed whisper laced with his notorious Scottish accent. Saphire orbs studied the unaltered CCTV footage once more. His finger spun the scroll wheel one more time to watch the same footage of him and his target completely missing. His optics would only glance at the entrance as soon as he heard the bell of the door ring. He would need to escape from the back as soon as someone shady walked in.
Then he caught something from the corner of his eyes. It was movement within his peripheral vision.
He hastily locked eyes with it. It was upon him before her even knew it! The evidence he had been looking for. From the corner of the camera was a mirror reflection. His target was entertained by the mirror and so waved at it. You could see Bruce ushering them onward too before disappearing into the passenger cart. Bruce pressed his back against the backrest of his chair and combed his loose strands of dark hair to the back as he let out a soft sigh. Whoever framed him was simultaneously recording the footage and replaced it with a fixed copy. Showing no signs of tampering by deleting and replacing footage. But their software failed to get rid of him and the target in the mirror from the footage.
Bruce jumped back into action. He seized what little time he had left and highlighted the reflection and saved the recording to his personal flash drive.
But the agent was faced with an even more perplexed question. Who did this? Well whoever they are. They did this was purposefully sloppy to make it seem like amateur work. Footage vanished right when βBruceβ wouldβve come back to kill the target. But not when βBruceβ was leaving. He initialized the saving process of this footage for further investigation. As he stared at the screen he couldnβt help but wonder the esoteric conundrum he was framed into. The real mole was using him as a fall guy. He just didnβt know who it was. Not like theyβll come to finish the job.
Suddenly a cool barrel kissed his rib cage and its sensual touch could still be felt from over his clothes. The hair on the back of his head stood while his eyes widened as the assassin appeared from the abyss and had evaded his perceptive eye. His exhale shuttered as he heard the cooing of this little cat catching her prey. He remained still as she kept talking. Bruce tried to pinpoint who she was until she mentioned the Caribbean.
The save was almost complete. He just needed to stall for more precious seconds. A cocksure grin pursed his lips. βFrom whit I remembah, I wis the one doinβ the poking,mi corazon,β he teased the petname she gave him while she used his broad-back as a scratch board. He didnβt waste further time and hastily stood up but weirdly pressed his chest against her gun making sure she didnβt lose sight of him. As if granting her the delusion of control while blocking her view of his saved files from his sheer size.
With his finger he slowly pointed the pistol to his head, βYer chances are much bettah fur ye if ye aim here,β he advised before moving his hands to where she could see them. His overwhelming size advantage was prevalent as he smothered her against the wall. Her advantage, the peacemaker. His advantage, the claustrophobic room the back of this cafe granted him. Less room to watch over when thereβs so little of it. Unfortunately for him he never imagined she would come from the back.
βI love the hair. Easier fur meh to grab,β he continued to toy with Alessandra with a flirting exchange while his eyes briefly glanced to the back to make sure she was alone. βYer outfit is cute. Bit I wis lookinβ forward to coffee anβ yer not the sexy waitress I remember,β he continued to supply her with further flattery as the loading bar behind him continued getting closer to that 100% mark.
Then he finally got serious, βWhy are ye aftah me, Martinez?β he asked in a serious tone with a disgruntled look. βI wis framed,β he added while looking into her eyes. His ocean eyes were like crashing waves at the beach. Rhythmic. Rich. And full of conviction. Then the faint chime on the computer informed him of the saved files onto his personal flash drive.
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