16 – The Rescue
The mezzanine was mostly empty, so it was easy to find an open table.
Curt sat at one that overlooked the few things left in the display hall and ordered the first two things he saw on the menu, just to fill some time.
He texted Magnolia a screenshot of Bekker’s Mount profile so that the techs could get a start on dissecting it and told her everything else could wait for later.
His food and a pitcher of sparkling tobi juice arrived, and he started to scroll through his own feed on The Mount. It would be nice, casual static while he waited to see if Bekker was sending anyone after him.
A message alert came up, another text from Magnolia. {The wings sold. No name given.}
Disappointing but not surprising. One more mystery without an answer.
He poured himself a glass of juice and tried to count their few wins of the night, though they’d pale to their losses if they failed to secure Callington and the statue.
But it was out of his hands.
There was a cough, and he looked up to see Francis. ‘Do you mind if I join you for a moment, young man?’
He gave a neutral, polite “Recruit Curt” smile. ‘I’m free for the moment.’
Francis sat and ordered a drink from the server that had rushed over. He scratched at his clean-shaven chin, then seemed to deflate a little. ‘I…wanted to apologise, I suppose. I’ve not been taken with someone quite so much in quite a while. I’m usually more circumspect, especially in public, even in Faerie, where the decorum is somewhat different to what I’m used to. I hope in a strange way that you’re flattered. You made me quite forget myself, and few have ever done that.’
‘It is flattering in a way,’ Curt agreed. ‘I’m not used to being- It’s been a while since someone has flirted with me.’
Francis looked across the restaurant, and Curt followed his eye line to see the two women that had spoken to Magpie during dinner. ‘I’m here for them,’ Francis said by way of explanation. ‘They had to check on a few things, so the Queen has all the information before bidding on a few pieces that have caught her eye. But I didn’t want the apology to be meaningless.’ Francis slid a piece of paper to the middle of the table. ‘The name of the agent who had their wings stolen. It will mean something to someone, so it’s your information to barter along.’ Francis bowed his head for a moment, finished his drink, and then left the table.
Curt grabbed the note and unfolded it. In elegant, looping handwriting was the name “Sanders”, one of the agents from their list.
It wasn’t confirmation, but it may as well have been, and it would be closure for at least one family.
In a way, it was life taking with one hand and giving with the other. Callington had been presumed dead, and his reappearance was a miracle. Now Sanders, long missing but of unknown status, was moving to Callington’s “presumed dead” spot.
He ate the food slowly and finished the juice even slower. The statue would take a long time to get to and there wasn’t much else for him to do until he knew if they won the bid for Callington or not.
Below him, workers continued slowly removing objects from the display and taking them towards the auction. Stripped the room to nothing but empty cases and a few guests simply using the space to talk.
After the server had brought him a small cake and a tall glass of ice water, his Genie phone buzzed. He opened the message from Carmichel – a slightly askew photo of the auction tablet – indicating they’d successfully purchased lot sixty-four.
A text from Magnolia followed almost immediately.
{Get back to the room. Prepare the gear.}
Curt rose from the table, nodded his thanks at the staff, and then headed back toward the side-by-side rooms.
All of the Jones-approved equipment had been stashed in Magnolia’s rooms, but seeing as the bedroom on his side was still in pristine condition. Rather than a tangle of hastily shoved aside sheets and pillows, it would probably be better to welcome Callington back to the Agency in a room that hadn’t recently been fucked in.
He carried the duffle to his bedroom, then laid out the contents of the smaller bag on the dining room table, which had been cleaned whilst they’d been at the auction.
They weren’t doctors, and they weren’t techs. Callington would have to undergo a battery of physical, technical, magical and psychological tests once he was back in System territory. Still, they did have to act like the first line of defence.
Knowing that the agent they had just rescued didn’t have his chest cavity filled with C4 was just a good idea. And know of any other apparent dangers he might pose.
There was also a basic questionnaire that Jones had furnished them with. Similar to how he’d approached Bekker, there were a couple of big questions that would determine exactly how they moved forward.
He heard Magnolia’s door open, looked through to see her stripping out of her ball gown, and quickly averted his eyes. A minute or so later, she walked through the connecting door, dressed in black cargo pants and the black cami she’d been wearing earlier.
‘He’ll be,’ her mouth twisted in distaste, ‘delivered shortly.’
He nodded and showed off how he’d set everything up, to which she simply nodded, then sat in one of the dining chairs and started to lace up her combat boots.
After a long few minutes, there was a knock at the door.
Magnolia nodded to him, and he opened it, trying to keep his face neutral as a hotel staffer asked him to sign that he’d received his package. Callington stood there, wearing a control collar, staring empty eyes down at the plush carpet.
Paperwork dealt with, she took the small remote for the collar from the porter and ushered Callington inside.
Whatever urge to run, fight, and rebel against his circumstances seemed long gone from Callington.
The Agency could fuck with memories, and sometimes it was a blessing. Farnshaw had done it for him, which was probably the only reason he could still function. Surely there’d be something like that they could do for one of their own.
‘Agent Callington?’ Magnolia said.
Callington had no reaction to his name.
Magnolia touched his arm and nodded her head towards where the gear was set up in the bedroom; then, she stepped forward, unlocked the collar, and dropped it to the ground.
‘This way, Agent,’ she said and guided him through, her hand only making the briefest contact with Callington’s arm. ‘I’m Aide Magnolia Hammond,’ she said as she led Callington to sit at the end of the large bed. ‘And this is Recruit Curt O’Connor. Our ID and credentials are to your left if you want to verify us.’
Callington’s dark blue eyes didn’t even flicker in the direction Magnolia had indicated.
‘I need to ask you something,’ she said, sitting on one of the dining chairs he’d pulled into the bedroom. ‘In a world of oranges, why is the sky tinted?’
‘Matchboxes,’ Callington said immediately, the right answer to the absurd non-question.
The fact that he’d reacted seemed to surprise Callington himself, and some movement came back into his face, one blink, then two, then the slightest look to his left towards where their ID was laid out.
‘We were sent in to retrieve you,’ Magnolia said. ‘We have a colleague bidding on a few more lots, and then we’ll be heading straight back to System territory.’
‘If I get up and walk out that door,’ Callington said, no emotion in his voice, ‘would you stop me?’
‘Yes,’ Mags said without hesitation. ‘I can understand why you would ask, but I hope you understand my answer.’
‘I have no reason to believe you are who you say you are. ID is faked easily enough. Names, faces, voices, it’s all done in a click. I am too sedated to- I can’t fight you. But I also can’t believe you.’
‘I can help with part of that.’ Magnolia stood and opened the medical bag. ‘We’ve got some stuff here that will help clear your mind. Probably not fix everything, since we don’t know what exactly was used, but- Consider it a gesture of good faith?’ She pointed to the sideboard. ‘We’ve also got you a change of clothes if that would make you feel more comfortable.’
Callington stood and began to strip out his simple grey clothes. Curt turned away, giving the man the privacy he likely hadn’t had in years, but not before his eyes caught some of the bruises and scars over Callington’s back.
He kept his body on such an angle that it would allow him to see any potential attack Callington might make whilst giving the agent all reasonable freedom of movement.
Magnolia stepped up next to him and tapped her index finger on his forearm three times. ‘That means “I trust you”,’ she said, ‘do you know what the other lots are? We came here with a specific purpose.’
Gentle touch and polite words translated into “why the fuck did you alter the plan?”. It was a reasonable guess, with how Carmichel had his primary mission to impress the Agency and land more favours for a well-executed job. It only made sense that, through the process of elimination, he was the only one who could have called an audible.
He gently returned the three taps, drew an X over his lips and hoped she’d understand. Black eyes narrowed, and then she gave a small, weirdly-Taylor-like grunt of acknowledgement.
Curt turned to the bedroom as he heard a case unzip and found Callington standing over the medical supplies. Hands seeming the work automatically, he took a few of the over-the-counter fae meds that would help sober up someone from basic kinds of intoxication and overdoses.
All well-known brands, all in original packaging. Far from impossible to fake, but hopefully, something Callington would perceive as more trustworthy, rather than the various bottles and pills that had clearly come from the Agency.
After he swallowed a few more pills, he sat back down and stared at the wall.
‘Whatever I ask for,’ he said after long minutes of silence, ‘you’ll tell me to wait, right? Wait till we’re back in System territory?’
‘It depends on what exactly you ask for, Agent,’ Mags said. ‘We have some supplies with us, but otherwise, we’re relatively limited in what we can procure.’
‘Contact,’ he said, ‘with someone from my Agency.’ He folded his hands in his lap. ‘It could be faked, of course, a mask, a doll, it’s easy to do. I was never important, but that has never stopped people from taking the time to be cruel.’
Mags searched through a bag and pulled out an envelope closed with a wax seal. ‘We’re under orders not to facilitate a phone call. Your liaison and debrief team will arrange for that when we get you home, but it was anticipated that contact would be one of the things you’d ask for. Your director supplied us with this.’ She extended her hand, and waited as he first looked at it, then her, and then finally snatched it from her hand.
Callington carefully peeled the wax seal off and laid the letter on the bed beside him.
Curt turned his attention to follow the agent’s movements. It wasn’t what he’d expected – you received a letter, you read the letter – you didn’t pay attention to the seal or the stamp unless you had reason to.
Callington cracked the seal in two and lifted the wax to his nose.
The change started in his face, then flowed to the rest of his body. The stiff expression of a tortured prisoner softened somewhat, and his body slumped, seeming to no longer have the energy or will to hold itself taut.
‘Sea moss,’ Callington said as he cradled the seal pieces in his hand. ‘Eric. My director. He would enclose scents in his seals. A fully parallel-processing doll could- I’m choosing to believe you, recruits. Can I read my letter in peace?’
‘We’ll be nearby,’ Mags said as they retreated to the dining room.