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The hazard of upstate New York, during certain times of the year, was the propensity for the Great Lakes to randomly douse the area in heavy flurries of snow from lake effect. Despite this, Abbie and Ichabod managed to track the would be assassin through the woods, to a small cabin.
Abbie, for one, was more than willing to walk right into her potential death as long as she got to experience warmth again. The bedsheet and Ichabod's suit coat had been fine until the snow started. She could only imagine how cold Ichabod was in just his trousers. "Hey Ichabod," Abbie started, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. "If you have that gun in your briefcase, where do you keep the packages you deliver?"
"I have two briefcases," he replied. "They look almost exactly alike. One goes with me and the other stays in my overnight bag. I swap them out when necessary."
"How do you tell them apart?"
"I have to remember which one is where."
They eased up the steps of the cabin. She glared at Crane when he stumbled up the last step and nearly dropped his gun. God. She remembered being in his shoes, long ago, when she first started with Sleepy Hollow Sheriff's Department. Sure she had training but she was still inexperienced and blundered it numerous times.
Abbie put a finger to her lips as she eased up to the window to peer through a small opening in the curtains. From what she could see, there was a fire lit in the one room cabin, roaring away in the fireplace. It was all fairly basic but no sign of the shooter. She pointed between herself and Crane, then at the door.
Crane pointed at her then his own eyes. Abbie shook her head. He jutted a thumb upwards. Abbie knelt down enough that she could get a good look at the ceiling. She shook her head again, he frowned. Abbie pointed to the doorknob and nodded towards the inside of the cabin.
Ichabod twisted the knob and pushed the door open and waited for it to smack against the wall before taking the first, tentative glance inside. Ichabod rushed in, gun at the ready. Suddenly he barked, “Don’t move!”
Abbie ran in behind him, her gun also ready. Tucked in the corner, near the wood burning stove, a figure clad in all back was sitting at a small wooden table. The figure was in the middle of disassembling a rifle and tucking it away in a case. The figure looked at them for a moment before finishing their task.
Something about this wasn’t right, Abbie couldn’t help but think.
“Close the door,” the figure said, their voice sounded robotic. “You’re letting the heat out.”
Abbie kept her gun trained on the figure but nudged the door closed with her foot. “Alright Boba Fett… Who the hell are you and why are you trying to kill me?” Abbie asked.
The figure closed their case, latched it, then turned in their seat to face them. “I am... Agent 13.”
Ichabod’s gun lowered slightly. Abbie shared a look with him. They both seemed to recognize the title, Abbie noted. Abbie had heard of Agent 13. They were the biggest urban legend in the spy game. Abbie could remember her mama telling her stories about a woman spy called Agent 13 that no one had ever seen their face but everyone knew her stories. All they knew was that she was a woman. Mama swore that most of the James Bond stories were based off of Agent 13’s missions.
Ichabod raised his gun again. “Agent 13 is a myth. Who are you?”
“I am Agent 13. My deeds are mythological in nature. But I assure you, I exist.”
“Why are you trying to kill my partner?” Ichabod asked.
“If I wanted her dead, she would be,” Agent 13 said. “I was saying hello. From one agent to another.” They looked at Ichabod. “Lower your weapon unless you intend to use it.”
Ichabod kept his gun drawn and ready. Abbie, however, chose to trust her gut and lowered her gun. She could see how Ichabod would think they were in full ski gear. It was an easy mistake to make. But Abbie knew a tactical thermal suit when she saw one. Hell, she had worn a suit similar to the one Agent 13 wore when she, herself, had to go on wintery excursions.
Agent 13 continued to stare at Ichabod. “Lower your weapon,” they stated a little more sternly.
“No,” Ichabod growled and Abbie felt a shiver coarse through her veins. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had been so sure in making sure she was protected.
Agent 13 sighed and reached up to their neck to unfasten some buckles. Abbie felt a knot in her gut. Having heard the tales growing up, she knew that anyone that looked upon the face of Agent 13 never lived to tell it. However, Agent 13 took off her headgear.
Abbie was surprised to see it was an older woman with grey streaked, dark blonde hair up in a messy bun. Despite having been wearing a mask, her makeup was impeccably done. Much to Abbie’s surprise, Ichabod lowered his gun as his jaw dropped. There was a trace of him recognizing the face that was staring right at him.
Agent 13’s pale blue eyes gazed sternly at Ichabod. “Ichabod, I said lower your weapon,” she said firmly. “Lest you’re willing to shoot your own mother.”
There was silence in the cabin as Abbie looked at Ichabod and he just stared at Agent 13-- his mother in complete disbelief. Suddenly Ichabod jumped and cringed. “God dammit, Zoe, some warning! A small light blip in the corner of my eye. A message. Anything other than scaring the daylights out of me!”
Abbie tried to hold it in, she honestly did. But the giggle slipped out anyway.
Ichabod paced away, ranting at his handler. Abbie looked back at the woman. The woman smiled politely. “Pleasure to finally meet you, Agent Nightingale,” she said plaintively. “I have heard wonderful things about you and have been eager to meet you.”
“But?” Abbie asked. “I sense a ‘but’...”
Agent 13 smiled slightly. “But I would like to know who that gentleman you met over lunch the other day. You seemed entirely too familiar. I would very much dislike having to kill a woman of your talents for playing my son for a fool.”
Abbie thought for a moment. “White man with blondish hair? On Tuesday?” Agent 13 nodded. “That’s Joe. My handler and my sister’s fiance. Good friend of Ichabod’s too.”
“You may call me Mrs. Crane, darling, you will have to do so anyway, after today,” Agent 13 said dryly. “I may or may not approve of you calling me Felicity in the future. But for now I insist upon Mrs. Crane.”
Abbie looked over her shoulder at Ichabod and tried to figure out how such an emotional person managed to come from the woman before her. “What do you mean, after today?”
“I’m to be joining you and Ichabod on sorting out this mission so he can come home,” Mrs. Crane said. “Where he belongs.” She daintily crossed her ankles. “My cover is to be inspecting the company’s security protocols. Which means I will be joining you and Ichabod on your excursions.”
The smile that had been ghosting Abbie’s lips disappeared.
Shit