Chapter Text
One rapped his knuckles across the tabletop, drawing the other five members’ attention as he held up the new file. This would be their sixth mission, not-counting the mini-mission to get the eyeball in Rome, or another mini-mission One had taken with Seven and Three to steal a small submarine they needed.
“Alright ladies, and Four, here’s our next target. Memorize his face better than you knew your own mother’s, alright. He’s a kidnap victim so our window for grabbing him up will be very small. Tiny. Minuscule.”
Two threw a pink eraser at him.
“Why was he kidnapped? And why do we care?”, Four asked.
“Damn, doesn’t anyone read the file before they come in here?”, One groused.
Two looked bored, while Four and Three both acted so innocent it was clear neither of them ever read shit before they came in. Five and Seven both pointed to where they had each made notes in their respective copies of the file.
“Oh good, two over-achievers and Two, who probably memorized the damn thing.”
She shot him a cold, smug smile. The woman still creeped him out.
“Alright, Tarek Assaud, Canadian citizen through his mother and American by virtue of being born in a New York City hospital about an hour after his mother got off the plane from this lovely little country right here.”, he gestured to a bright red boundary line on an otherwise black and white map.
“Tiny country, no one outside the African continent, has ever heard of. It’s one of those questions on JEOPARDY designed to make everyone lose that round. Anywho, Tarek’s biological father is a warlord, war monger, whatever you wanna call it. Bad guy. Killer. Horrible fashion sense. He put a bun in Amanda Assaud’s easy-bake and she delivered it in New York nine months later, having fled when she was nearly killed by one of his rivals. She returned to Canada, married an architect and raised little Tarek, until he went off to Paris for his PhD studies. He wants to be a physicist. Two days ago, coming out of a class, three men in nice suits scooped him up, knocked him out with a tranq dart, and now this man,” he stopped to show a picture of a blond, tall man, “a British citizen named Nigel, has Tarek and is auctioning him off to rivals of Tarek’s father, each of them having ideas of ransoming him to his papa, trying to hold the Canadian government over a barrel, or just killing the kid and delivering his head to daddy all gift wrapped in a blue bow.”
Two rolled her eyes as she let out a long sigh.
“We’re going to scoop up Tarek on the eave of this auction, and spirit him back to Canada. Bonus points if we kill some bad guys involved. We also need to look into dismantling things with Nigel, or he may just go after Tarek again – or do something similarly dastardly.”
Everyone continued with the meeting, occasionally asking a question here and there, with One answering with his usual snark. Two enjoyed, to a degree, watching the team interacting over a battle plan at the big table in the common room. The War Room, as One and Four enjoyed calling it. She had already memorized the file before she came to the meeting, so she did not need to do much except listen for anyone asking for her input.
“Alright, so two days from now, we’ll be wheels down in Paris, to scout and recon, before we scoop up young Assaud, in order to bring him back to his mommy. Good plan. Get some sleep.”
Their leader walked off, Four shrugging and heading off to his trailer without another word. Seven moved closer to where Five had been seated the whole meeting, his one finger trailing over the bare skin of her shoulder in her tank top. The two exchanged a look, then smiled. Camille knew what was going on there – a blossoming romance.
Once their other teammates had all left, Two turned to watch Three. He was smiling at her, a dopey, happy look to him. It still struck her how wrong it was for a former hitman to be so remarkably adorable. Or for an assassin like her to love that about him.
“Wanna go for a walk?”, she asked, mostly intending to just get out of the stifling humid trailer.
“Sure.”, he said before getting up and offering his hand.
Before coming to join this team, she hadn’t had anyone ever offer her their hand. Her father had been tough, unyielding, and completely averse to showing any tenderness or sweetness towards Camille. He wished to ensure she was tough enough to handle her own life and not need her daddy to come rescue her from every little bump in the road.
The men, and women, she had worked with had been much the same as her. Tough, cold, disciplined, untouchable. Some found relief in a quick tryst with a coworker, boss, informant, or some random person at a hotel they stayed in during a stakeout. Others turned to cigarettes, booze, or worse. One, she remembered, had a gambling habit when he was away from work and it cost him an otherwise stable marriage.
Then she met Three. He was affectionate, sweet, kind, attentive, open, and patient with her. Everything her father, former lovers, and work-partners had never been. It had been a tidal wave to her. Scary, unfamiliar, and powerful – so she had avoided it for a while, then tried to convince herself, and Javier to a lesser degree, that it was Just Sex. No feelings.
Javier had waited her out, never more than a shout away. Even then, the tender way he held her hand in his larger one, was enough to shake her. It was such a little thing to him. He reached and held her hand because he wanted to. For her, it was a public display, opening himself up for a potential attack from her. There was no tactical advantage for him in holding her non-dominant hand, he did it because he wanted to.
“Where are you?”
She looked up, narrowing her eyes a him for a moment. He smiled a small, amused grin.
“You looked a 1,000 miles away.”
She shrugged her right shoulder.
“The mission and some plans. Nothing major. I ought to be thinking about how great that dinner you cooked, was.”
He beamed. Possibly even glowed. The man was very proud of his skills in the kitchen.
“You’re allowed to plan on a full stomach. Plan better that way.”
She smiled up at him. Sometimes she was convinced that she would never fully comprehend how someone as… cuddly, as Javier was, could ever have been recruited for violent work. Then they would get into an argument like when he didn’t understand Coup d’état and got frustrated with her and she had still been trying to convince herself that she didn’t care about Javier.
In truth, she sometimes thought he might have been one of the smartest people she knew. He might not have been the tech genius One was or the tactician Blaine was. He picked up conversational amounts of languages with seemingly very little effort, he could read people faster than anyone she had known in her adult life, he always seemed to know when to give people space or just to be close enough that they didn’t feel alone, and she swore he remembered everything- how she took her coffee, where the scar on Amelia’s wrist came from, what had been on Billy’s 15th birthday cake, how Blaine preferred his shooting next, or even One’s preferred brand of noodles for pasta.
She felt Javier gently tugging on her hand a little. Looking, she found him looking over at her as they headed back to his trailer.
“You were gone again, carino.”
She shook her head, as if that would dispel her current thoughtful mood.
“Sorry. I think I’m getting domesticated.”
He stopped, looking at her in concern and not a little confusion. Camille could tell he was worried he had overstepped or somehow done something wrong. She was aware he had more trouble reading her than he did with most people. Even she had trouble reading herself.
“Is this because you’ve been staying over more?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. I’ve just been… Despite what One says, this team, we matter to each other. We’ve become emotionally attached and invested in one another. Amelia and Blaine definitely seem pretty invested in each other, even if they haven’t quite figured it out yet. We all think of Billy like a kid brother, One is that annoying elder brother we all hated if we had one before. I haven’t…. I haven’t had that in a long time.”
Javier smiled softly at her.
“It is good to have, no?”
She just couldn’t stop smiling with him.
“It is. Scary, but good.”
“Why scary? None of us would hurt you, carino.”
Camille nodded.
“I know that. But I could lose any of you. We lost Six straight out of the gate. Nearly lost Four, One, Five, and… you… on a couple of occasions. It hurt a lot less nearly-losing someone when I was with the CIA, cause we didn’t matter to each other outside of forfilling a function on the team. We lost our informant, we were set back and would need to go find and turn another one. We lost a sniper, then we would have to wait till another could be assigned to us. If one of us has a close call…”, she trailed off, not needing to explain any further to Javier.
Javier reached with his free hand, tugging her close to his chest. Camille let him tuck her into him, his arms wrapping securely around her without squeezing her. If pressed or tortured, she would claim she was doing this because it was easier than fighting him. In truth, she loved the feeling of being cherished and cared for that Javier so warmly offered her.
“I’m getting soft.”
She felt his chuckle more than she heard it. Javier pressed a kiss to the top of her head as if to stifle his chuckle.
“Don’t worry, it will be our secret.”
“Good. Cause I know all your weak spots.”
Javier smiled. He would never tell her, waiting for her to figure it out. She was his weak spot. He would have done anything for her, all she had to do was ask.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Situated in their respective stations, everyone awaited the signal. They were in a glittering hotel in Paris. Hardly the place most civilians would think arms dealers would handle kidnapping victims to hand them off to their buyers. Camille knew better. The nicer the box, the uglier the contents.
The plan was simple. Nigel Haslow’s three goons would take Tarek Assaud across the back lobby where a car would be waiting. The car would have whichever one of three different clients Nigel had opted to sell Tarek to. One was a warlord in direct opposition to Tarek’s biological father, the second was some sort of military leader from the same area who meant to use Tarek as a bargaining chip against Tarek’s father, and the third was a schmuck of a villain who wanted Tarek’s father to have to work with him.
One and Four were up high, pretending to be a couple art dealers and with Four’s knowledge of such expensive stuff, no one was having trouble believing their cover. They had to be ready for when the team stole Tarek. Amelia was in the main lobby, keeping track of security and with a canister of laughing gas at the ready, a mask in her carry-on style bag at her ankle while she pretended to read a guidebook as she played the part of lone-tourist.
Seven was stationed next door, in a hotel balcony. He was going to let them know which of the three won the prize so they knew who they were dealing with. Three and Two were pretending to be a couple at the little private bar area that had a perfect view of the lobby Tarek would be dragged through shortly. Their job was to keep an eye and let One and Four know when to step in and Five to back them up, as Two covered Three and Three would be primarily in charge of getting Tarek away from the three goons.
Once they had Tarek, Three and Two were supposed to get him to a waiting car. Four and One would be in another car, following them to keep them covered. Five would walk out the front door, call the valet but end up having Seven come get her with a wink like she was getting picked up by a good-looking stranger. They would all rendezvous at a tour boat that would take them around to the hotel they would walk through and hand off Tarek to One and Seven, Two and Five walking off with some of the gear, and Three and Four heading off a different way with the rest of the gear, only for One to fly them out with a course to Pittsburg, Pennsylvania. Simple.
As Two sat in her fashionable jumpsuit and heels, sipping a flute of something delicious, she watched. Three was mostly sitting with his back to the room, using the mirror behind the bar to keep track of things. The two of them spoke in hushed tones, Three’s hand occasionally straying to run a finger over her knee to draw nonsense patterns. They looked a wealthy, long-term couple.
Two was about to let One know she had seen Tarek with the three goons, which had somehow become five goons instead of the three they had expected, when she spotted trouble. Agent Etienne Robicheaux, French Intelligence.
“One, we’ve got a wrinkle.”
“Oh, you mean the two extra guys on Tarek, or the four goons with guns out back that we didn’t count on?”
“French Intelligence is here, and one of their best operatives is in the lobby, heading towards the hand-off.”
“Shit.”
“Yes.”, she deadpanned as she watched Agent Robicheaux.
“Three?”, she whispered.
He leaned in, still keeping the movement to look as if he intended to whisper sweet nothings.
“The guy in the nice gray suit, looks like he’s in his late 50s?”
He nodded subtly.
“I’ll need to avoid him. He knows my face.”
Three nodded, pretending to kiss her neck and also effectively shielding her from the view.
“Do we need to switch? I knocked out the guards, you take Tarek?”
They heard Four cutting in on the comm.
“I can handle the French spook.”
One rearranged.
“Four, you’ve got Agent Spooky. Two- you’ve got the goons with Tarek. Three- you get Tarek. Seven, you’ve got the four extra armed goons in back, do what you can with the cars. Five, be ready to pull a fire alarm. I’m coming down to help keep Nigel’s reinforcements from getting where we don’t want’em.”
Everyone, knowing the new plan, began moving. Two and Three walked, her hand in the crook of his elbow, towards the back entrance of the hotel while she could clock Four heading down towards Agent Robicheaux- who had two other obvious agents next to him that Four would likely have spotted by now. Five got her bag and moved closer to where the phones and fire alarm were, her book still in hand as if she were still perusing it. Two couldn’t find One or Seven, nor did she expect to.
When she and Three got too close for comfort, the goons started pushing back, most having British accents as they groused at the drunk couple for getting in their way. Three stepped in the way, allowing him to get closer to Tarek. Two realized the kid looked scared out of his mind. She stepped over to the side, as if trying to see around her husband until one of the men laid a hand on Three.
Two stepped on the goon’s instep with her chunky high heel, backhanding him across the neck, then stepping forward to throat-punch a second goons with her solid handbag. Three got Tarek’s forearms and yanked the kid forward, then punched the third goon to get him to back off Tarek.
“What are you?”, the kid shouted.
“Here to rescue you. Come! Run!”, Three ordered as Two took the feet out from under a fourth goon, then spun backward to elbow the fifth goon in the abdomen before grabbing his head and pulling it down as she brought her knee up. He dropped like a weight. The first goon moved on the ground, going for his gun. Two kicked him in the face hard enough to do a footballer proud.
“Camille?”
She froze for a fraction of a second. She did not turn. She didn’t need to. That voice had haunted her nightmares nearly all her life and second-guessed her every move in the field since she was put to work as a top assassin and spook.
She heard Four tackle the man as she walked away, heading towards where she knew Three was waiting for her, with Tarek in the boot of the car with a blanket over him that would keep him from showing up on heat-sensors and most X-ray scans. One left little to chance.
Sure enough, Three was waiting in the driver’s seat of a sleek black car, a worried expression on his face. Two shot him a smile that, if anyone else saw it, would read as a simple, polite greeting one might offer their spouse at a distance. Three knew it meant they were good to go once she got in the car and he went ahead and slipped it into gear. Two hopped in, shooting him a smile.
“Let’s roll.”
He drove off, careful to keep to the posted speed as they moved, ensuring he brought no unwanted attention to their car. Not for the first time, Camille caught herself watching his hands on the steering wheel and the gearshift. He actually knew how to drive a manual so well that it was smooth as an automatic transmission. Granted, he had told her that in Mexico it was not so uncommon as it was in France and England, for people to know how to drive stick.
“Want to talk about how you knew that Spook? He one of the agents who trained you and that’s why he’d know your face?”
She shrugged.
“Something like that. Tell you later.”
He nodded. Both of them knew they needed to keep quiet so they could hear their comms, in case One had to change the plan again. They didn’t have to wait long.
“Tarek out, Seven and Five are en route to the rendezvous, Four stole a bike and is shadowing them, and I’ll be right behind you all in the car.”
“See you then, boss.”, Four teased over the radio.
Two shook her head with a bemused smile.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Tarek was sound asleep in the back, with Amelia having checked on him every few minutes as if he really were a kid. Camille couldn’t fault her. He was only 22, yet he looked 16 or 17 at best with fuller cheeks and wide dark eyes, and he had been so spooked when they arrived at the hanger. And, Amelia hadn’t become a doctor cause she hated people and could walk away from sad puppies.
Blaine and Billy were also asleep in the chairs back with Tarek, with Billy having shoved his jacket into the corner between the wall and his chair, and gone straight to sleep. He always did that when they were on planes. Blaine had just nodded off since they had leveled out in the air.
Camille watched her team. Amelia, once she had checked on Tarek for the umpteenth time, finally settled back into her seat across from Billy. Blaine kept his gun across from him- Camille supposed keeping track of his gear that way was ingrained habit.
Three still hated flying, and was all jittery in his seat with his back to the cockpit and Camille sitting in the seat across the isle, facing Javier and her back to the cabin. No matter how much she tried to tell him to just look at her, to just breathe like she did, to just focus on anything except his fear of flying. It never worked.
“Javier, I could give you a tranquilizer?”, Amelia offered from her seat.
“Just do what Camille says.”, Blaine groused.
Camille didn’t bother listening to the argument and moved up into the cockpit. Sooner or later, One would demand she tell him about Agent Robicheaux and she would just assume get it overwith. And in private.
Stepping into the cockpit, she took up the co-pilot seat without a word. One was aware, in a pinch, Camille could fly and had once had a pilot’s license for small planes. It had been one of the few things she ever did for herself and not because the job required it. Or her father.
“I assume you’re up here to tell me about Agent Robicheaux.”
She nodded.
“Your father.”
She nodded. One had all their files. Knew intimate details of their lives before they became ghosts.
“He see you?
“Yes.”
“Recognize you?”
“Yes.”
One let loose with a cursing streak.
“I already erased the footage on all the security cameras in the area and even sent out a localized virus, of sorts, to take care of cell phone footage and anything uploaded to the cloud. He won’t have any photos of you or other proof you were there. I’ve erased all our files and replaced them with bogus finger prints, DNA scans, facial rec, and otherwise fixed it so no one could prove it was Camille Robicheaux who had been to any of the places we’ve been cause nothing about you now would match any records of who you were.”
“I know.”
“But your own father claiming he saw you, in the field, doing something that would have been right up your alley to do… that’ll hold more weight than if an ex-boyfriend thought he saw you in a restaurant in Paris.”
“No it won’t.”
“Explain.”
“They’ll say he’s emotionally compromised. Chasing ghosts. He didn’t fully believe I died when you killed me off, One. Everyone will think the grieving father and widower, finally cracked.”
“So everyone will write him off?”
“Everyone who counts.”
One nodded.
“Do you think he’ll try to find you?”
“Possibly. He rather liked the Heroic Dead medal he got when I died, in recognition for my service, so he won’t want to risk losing that because he brings into question if I really died. He also won’t want those higher ups to think he’s cracked- he’s at that age where he could easily get retired from service whether he wants to be or not. This will be all back channels, secret whisper kind of searching. Nothing too loud, nothing too obvious. He knows how I work, so he’ll know what to look for to find me. Except I don’t make our plans, so I won’t pop up for him the way I would if I were in charge of this team.”
“In other words, he has profiled you and knows what brand of liquer you buy, hotels you prefer, and where you shop- but since I buy the drinks, pick the hotels, and grab most of our gear, I won’t be a ping on his radar?”
“Yes.”
“This mean I don’t need to worry too much about Etienne Robicheaux becoming a problem?”
“Unless he keeps tracking Tarek.”
One nodded.
“Great. Guess we’ll have to be a little stealthier about how we handle getting him back to his mom and his uncle.”
“I’d offer suggestions, but Robicheaux knows all my plays.”
“True. Seven and I can go over it when we touch down.”
Camille nodded, then got up and headed back to her former seat. Javier was still fidgeting, Billy was still sleeping as was Tarek, and Blaine seemed to be contentedly watching Amelia as she did puzzles in a paper book she had picked up somewhere. All was well with her team.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
They had touched down hours later in Pittsburg and moved out. Amelia, One, and Blaine had Tarek and were heading to a suite at a local hotel so One could stay in a room with Tarek with Blaine and Amelia on the other side of a wall. Billy went with Camille and Javier to check in, staying in three rooms that allowed them to ensure no one could get to Tarek without a fight.
Camille had barely gotten out of the shower when she heard a knock at her door. She swore under her breath as she shoved the hotel robe on over her damp towel. If Three had come over when he was supposed to be bunking solo on the other end of the hall, she was going to break two of his bones.
Checking with a mirror in the peep hole, she saw a hotel bellhop. She waited a beat and sure enough, he felt the need to knock and identify himself and his purpose again.
“Ma’am, it’s Nick from room service. I’ve got your dinner you ordered.”
She hadn’t ordered room service. Never did. It was one more place her voice might get recorded, one more opportunity for someone to get inside, one more chance to get poisoned, bugged, or drugged.
Carefully, Two tucked her gun so it wasn’t easy to see as she cracked the door open, leaving the nearly-worthless chain in place. She knew the little rubber wedges she had tucked into place would do more to keep the door from getting slammed back against her and allow someone inside.
Outside, Nick stood. He had braces and looked like a tall 12-year-old. Then again, most innocent civilians looked like kids to her until they were over 40. He had the hotel’s uniform of a red vest over a white shirt, black tie and slacks, shined black shoes, and an ill-fitting red jacket. His cart held enough for her to guess a salad, main course, tea, water, and dessert.
“I had forgotten I ordered.”, she said with a polite smile.
“That’s alright, ma’am. Jet lag can be a real memory killer. Do you want me to bring it in, or leave it out here?”
She arched an eyebrow in question. He smiled a bit nervously, then leaned a bit to speak quietly.
“Some lone female guests prefer we don’t come into their room and ask us, especially the male staff, to just leave the cart. Manager knows and doesn’t get mad about it.”
She nodded. Carefully, she reached into the jacket she left by the door and pulled out a little cash, holding it out to him so he would have to do most of the reaching to get it.
“Leave the cart, please?”
He nodded, taking the tip and slipping it into his jacket pocket.
“Thank you, ma’am. Enjoy your dinner. Just call service at the front desk when you want the cart picked up.”
She nodded, then waited till he was in the elevator and gone for ten seconds, before she chanced coming out. She checked the hall, then tugged the cart back into her room and locked her door. Two was going to go over this cart with a fine toothed comb. At least she was, before her phone rang. Her team phone with the number 5 flashing as the caller ID.
“What’s wrong?”, she asked as she flipped the phone open.
“Wanted to make sure you got your cart.”
“Oh, so you ordered my room service.”, she said in a near-growl, “I almost shot the bellhop.”
“Not surprising. You didn’t eat when we touched down or on the plane, and I overheard One. Robicheaux was your father and he saw you. I figured you would be stressed, so I ordered you that steak dish you like, plus a big salad so you can’t say the steak isn’t healthy and toss half of it, plus they had a nice sounding tart, and a pot of tea for when you’re sitting up keeping an eye on the hall.”
“One know you did this?”
“He will when he gets the bill.”
Two grinned.
“Thank you, but next time- warn me.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I forget you and Blaine are bad-asses sometimes.”
“Thank you for taking care of me, Five.”
“Welcome. Now eat!”
“Yes, mother.”
Camille clipped the phone shut, then looked at the food. Really looked rather than trying to find the poison or the place where a bug was planted. It was a full meal, mostly nutritious, with a very delicious looking raspberry, dark chocolate tart for dessert. And she had it all to herself.
“Bon apetit a moi.”, she said as she moved to put the food on the table while double-checking the hall again.