Deadly Associates (Alpha and PixieDust)

Somewhere in the middle east

He pushed his way through the crowded market, baseball cap pulled low, jacket hood pulled up. It made him stand out, having a hooded jacket in blistering afternoon heat, but it kept his face concealed, meaning no one would be able to ID random white guy in a crowd of Arabs.

"Overwatch to Phantom Three. Target is One Hundred Meters directly ahead of you, red shirt," his ear piece crackled.

Grey eyes quickly surveyed the crowd from behind a pair of mirrored aviators, "Phantom Three to Overwatch. I have eyes on target and am moving to engage." he whispered into the mic on collar.

The current of people pushed against as he fought his way towards his target. The man in the red shirt glanced back quickly then ducked down a side street.

"Overwatch to Phantom Three. I have lost visual."

"Don't worry. I got him."

He side stepped quickly into a door way and peered out, watching his quary approach a door at the end of the street and knock a rythem on it before the door swung open and he disappeared inside.

"I've found the drop site. I'm going in."

"Phantom Three that is negative. We have no information on site. Strike will be onsite in ten minutes."

His hand went to the .45 compact holstered at the small of his back and tugged it loose, slowly approaching the door, "No can do Overwatch. Deal could be done by then and these guys would be in the wind. I need to act now."

"Max, this is a direct order. Do NOT engage. I repeat DO NOT....."

He pulled his ear piece out and dropped it into his coat pocket before thumbing the safety off and knocking out the same rythem he had heard from the man in the red shirt.


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One Week Later
The British Virgin Islands

Max Archer leaned against the railing of his suite balcony looking out across luxurious island resort, a cigarette teetering on the edge of his lip.

This whole thing was so strange to him. His assignments had taken him all over the world, he been in every major city across Europe, Asia and South America, anywhere threats cropped up he was there to hunt them down and terminate them. He had stayed in run down safe houses, slept in jungles where poisonous snakes and spiders lurked, hunted his prey wherever they went. But this,a private suite at a five star hotel on cluster of privately owned islands, this was entirely new ground for him.

A week ago he had been sent to break up an arms deal, it ended in a firefight with ten dead hostiles and new intel that pointed towards another much bigger deal going down at the resort. Quickly Max was fitted for several expensive suits and outfitted with a fancy new wardrobe before being loaded onto a private jet and flown off to the Virgin Islands.

He took a final drag off his cigarette and snuffed it out in the crystal ashtray the the room had come with before heading back inside. The linen shirt he wore hung well off his broad shoulders. His dark hair, normally a scruffy mess had been cut short and combed back and his beard had been shaved right off, making him look like a far different man then the one who had been in the middle east a week earlier.

He picked up the tan jacket from where he had tossed it over the back of the couch and went to shrug it on, pausing for a moment to eye the shoulder holster sitting on the coffee table where his .45 was neteled and decided he didn't need it. All he needed to do now was meet his contact. A British agent he was supposed to be working along side for the operation.

He rode the elevator up to the roof top bar, the place he was set to meet his contact and ordered himself a drink before taking a seat at a table overlooking the bay below with its clear blue waters, and fired himself a cigarette. His contact was supposed to approach and ask him for matches to which he'd only offer his lighter.

Location: Bordeaux of France, behind a gated estate
Time: Evening 19:51

A quiet breath was exhaled before a sleek figure in black leather, head to toe, slipped past a door. With the heels of her leather boots extending to thighs made with composite rubber there was no mistake, this woman’s priority was stealth. That was until hair tied up in a long, dark, high ponytail cascaded down. In a small utility closet located within a vast mansion a silky sparkling red dress was slipped on to a one hundred and fifty-eight centimeters tall figure framing it to perfection. A moment later, red lips that naturally held a pout formed into a smirk.

Through the loud din of noise below guests at the ball congregated with long flutes of champaign. “Par ici, s'il vous plait.” A voice sweet yet authoritative was raised to a bow tied attendant who passed her a flute. “As you say then,” Eliza turned her attention to the couple and two other gentlemen dressed in black tie. The petite figure with model-like proportions sipped from her glass, “We must enjoy tonight. However, if the government of Bordeaux do not act as required there will be repercussions.”

As a ringing of silver on crystal sounded, the crowd quieted where Eliza smiled and passed her glass to one of the gentlemen wearing a royal blue satin sash from shoulder to waist. She lowered to adjust her heel’s strap with the announcement and speech commencing. Raised again, her fingers gestured to take her glass though the gesture was for the other flute. As the speech played off in her mind with each memorized word, the timing was unrivaled; down to the second.

An uproar of elated guests sounded with a raised glass from the presenter. All drank, and as flutes of champaign were lowered, the woman in red vanished into the crowd.


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3 Days later
The British Virgin Islands

“I did hear. The ferret was terminated.” The ash blond woman spoke into her mobile casually recalling her target in royal blue sash. Sitting in front of a full length mirror her image reflected back: a toned female in a white tank top with gauzy matching skirt of double side slits, light brown three inch high sandals, and a single diamond drop pendant on a delicate long gold strand about her graceful neck.

“What is this incredible shite that you’ve done with my hair?” In the swank boutique parlor she accused the effeminate beautician behind her chair messing about with her long now light colored hair. Standing, Eliza Talbot grabbed her wide brimmed straw hat and with a few extra fingers the leather brown clutch purse storming out. “I can’t believe my queen and country want me to look like a white clown. I bet it's an attempt at payback from 'J'. Anyway, I need to dash. Speak soon.”

In the elevator she stood strait pulling her height higher atop three inch heels. If anything, the woman hated her short stature but heels always took care of it. Taking a deep breath to exhale slowly she steps out into the busy rooftop bar. Spotting a man with dark hair combed back handsomely and smoking, a slow sly smile crept onto her features.

Eliza shouldered past people until the table was reached with her standing in front of the clear blue view below. Blue eyes full of mischief would make contact with grey. “I need matches. ’Tis a bad day when you walk into a bathroom and find it torched with stink.” Max would see an unnaturally fair woman with almond shaped eyes, dark lashes, and glossed lips that crossed between smirk and challenge. Above all, he might recognize a British accent as she stood holding a brown clutch and straw hat between hands.

Max sipped slowly at his drink, enjoying the view. It was rare for him to take the time and indulge in something as simple as taking in the view, but it was hard not to admire the cluster of man made islands that made up the resort with their lush green vegetation and clear blue waters. It was so very different then the places he was used to operating. Sprawling urban city scapes, war torn village and sweltering jungles.

The accent was a give away that it wasn't just some random person asking him for a light, or at least he was going to assume it wasn't random. They where in the British Virgin Islands after all, he assumed plenty of Brits vacationed here. He glanced up at the speaker, taken back for a moment and unsure wheather to properly respond. He held up the battered brass Zippo that had had been all over the world with him and shook it slightly, "Sorry, don't use matches. Just the lighter."

Eliza was in her element as perfumed and expensively heeled guests of the island resort passed by mingling. The general holiday attitude around was infectious and it was with this that she regarded the clean shaven man with dark hair in front of her. Of noble birth, the woman wore it without thought and used its intricacies daily in the maneuverings of her work. As he hesitated before speaking she smiled enigmatically, “Ah, one of these gentlemen.”

Produced with the brass Zippo lighter, Eliza’s hand elegantly swept out, palm up, to receive it. Leaned in with fingers closing around the object, Max might notice the scent of sandalwood before she straightened. “Indeed. I suppose that’ll do then.” She examined the lighter for brief moments before a sly smile appeared; contact had been made with the American agent.

“Enjoy the view.” With that, the woman turned on her heels with long hair at her back silkily following and threw over her shoulder before leaving, “Eliza Talbot, if you wish to find your lighter.” If Max did not react quickly Eliza would mingle with the holidaying guests to disappear.