During the next few days, life went on as normal. I knew that the Cullens would still like to know about my letter, but they had not pestered me about it. My work was at complete standstill as I could not do a thing about Thomas Wilkinson with Edward and the rest of the Cullens constantly around.
School went on as usual and I often sound myself day dreaming in classes about going to Port Angeles and beating the crap out of the drug dealer. Also I couldn't help but to think that there was something that MI6 had not told me and Neal about my mission. It didn't really make sense to hire an agent like me to deal with a drug dealer. Usually they just follow the dealer around to find out how, where and who does he work with, and then, when they have gathered enough evidence against the guy, they just arrest him. Hiring a secret agent to do a job like that seems a bit extreme.
Neal had rented a house near my school to be closer to me and we kept constant contact. My car along with the rest of my gear and the files were also at his place so there was not any danger of Edward finding my stuff. Neal had gone to Port Angeles to snoop around and had managed to put a tracking device on Wilkinson's car, so now we know where does he work and we also know the places he visits the most. One of those places turned out to be an old warehouse outside the city and Neal and I were pretty sure that the warehouse might be imprtant. Neal had offered to look around the place alone, but I had turned that idea down as quickly as possible, claiming that it was too dangerous for him to go there alone. Another reason was that I did not want to be left out of the loop as he had already done everything necessary so far and it was actually supposed to be my mission. I admit that I was eager to get back to work.
It was a sunny Wednesday, which was pretty rare for Forks and once again I had to go to school without the Cullens by my side. My last class of the day, P.E., where I had to pretend to be awfully clumsy while playing volley-ball, had just ended and I was heading for my truck in the parking lot, when I heard Neal's familiar voice calling for me. He was standing next to his black Ferrari, which had caught the attention of many students. I made my way over the parking lot and noticed the sour look on his face.
"What's wrong?" I asked immediately, dropping all the pleasantries. Something bad must have happened.
"We are running out of time," he said with a significant look, leaving me confused.
"What are you talking about? We still have three weeks left." I exclaimed rather loudly catching the attention of those still admiring Neal's car. I lowered my voice and continued "Has something bad happened?"
"I don't know why, but MI6 has brought up the deadline," he whispered, making sure that we were not overheard. "Wilkinson has to be killed or caught before the end of the next week."
"But that leaves us only a bit over a week. We do not have enough time. We do not know whether the warehouse is even important!" I whispered quite angrily.
"That's exactly why we are going to check that place now. You said in the morning that your boyfriend is away with his family for the day, so you do not have to worry about him anymore. And you can easily tell Charlie the truth when we get back." Neal reasoned.
I knew that Neal was right and considering the fact that we now had less than two weeks to do the job we really had to get to work. We got in the car and Neal drove to his place – rather recklessly, I might add, completely ignoring all the speed limits and red lights.
When we got to his place I saw a beautiful two-storey white house with a rather big backyard and flowerbeds in front of the house and looking at it, you could never tell that the insides of the house were less than innocent. We had turned the basement into an armoury. There were weapons starting from small handguns and ending with bombs powerful enough to destroy a small skyscraper.
The garage was expanded underground and could now easily fit three to six cars, depending on their size. We parked Neal's Ferrari there and we were going to check out the warehouse with my car, meaning that I could drive. I could tell that Neal was not very happy about it as he knew that I was even more reckless driver than him.
I went upstairs to the guest bedroom, which was filled with my stuff. There were my favourite clothes to wear during a mission and also my gadgets and couple of guns with ammo. I decided to wear a black one-piece, which was so tight that it was more like a second skin to me. I had to admit that I rather liked the effect it had on my body as it bought out my curves and immediately brought the attention to my cleavage. I strapped gun holsters around both of my thighs and loaded my guns. I also braided my hair so that they would not get in my way in case we got in a fight and decided to wear black sunglasses just for the fun of it. I probably won't need them to protect my eyes against the sun, because according to the weather forecast, it was a cloudy day in Port Angeles, but the glasses were not that ordinary as one might think. Behind my left ear, there was a small button and by pushing it, I could take a photo of the scene I'm currently looking at. It might prove to be useful, when we see someone working for or with Wilkinson. That way we can give MI6 evidence to arrest Wilkinson's accomplice.
I took a final glance in the mirror and when I was sure that I had not left anything behind, made my way downstairs to the living-room, where I found Neal sitting on the couch waiting for me. He, too, had decided to wear black for the trip and he was carrying a medium sized bag, probably to carry all the gadgets necessary for the job.
"Ready to go?" he asked and I could hear from his voice that he was just as excited and eager to get to work than I was.
"Yep. Let's get going." I said and we went to the garage to get my car. Neal dropped the bag on his lap as he sat to the passenger seat, put on his seatbelt mumbling something about 'reckless driving' and 'is going to crash into a tree'. I couldn't stop smirking as I drove out of the driveway into the street and sped down the road.
The drive to Port Angeles went by quickly and Neal let me know everything he had noticed about the warehouse and gave me a brief lecture about the warehouse's entrances and blueprints.
The drive, filled with Neal's constant talking, took about 45 minutes and by the time we got to the warehouse, I had developed a rather strong headache. I had forgotten how much Neal loved to talk.
I parked the car couple hundred meters away from the warehouse, so that it was hidden behind trees and bushes and stepped out of the car.
The warehouse was huge, made of metal and extremely creepy-looking. Judging by the few places the metal hadn't worn off yet, you could see that the building used to be a light shade of grey, lighter than the metal itself. It seemed that the town's young artist had discovered the place some time ago, as parts of the walls were covered with graffiti; with both pictures and profanities. The few windows in the upper part of the warehouse were sealed off with wooden panels. All that made the abandoned warehouse look rather ominous.
There were very few people in the world, who knew that the graffiti-covered house was not that abandoned at all and two of those people were nearing it. Bella and Neal were walking towards the warehouse, on guard and ready to attack and also defend themselves on a moment's notice. They neared the huge metal door and discovered it locked with metals chains and padlock.
"Great! Now how are we going to get in?" asked Bella.
"I'll go check around the warehouse whether there is someone here. If not, we can shoot the lock open," said Neal and ran off to check the other side of the building. He was back in less than a minute, slightly out of breath from running and said the coast was clear. Bella took her gun Colt 1991 Commander out of its holster and after two shots the padlock was open and Bella ripped the chains off. Neal opened the door making the metal creak and they entered.
Inside the warehouse didn't look any better, although instead of graffiti you could see possibly hundreds of boxes piled on top of each other. Bella and Neal exchanged a glance, both knowing that Thomas Wilkinson was no ordinary drug dealer, but involved in something much bigger.
Neal used a hand sign to let Bella know that they should split up and search the building. Bella nodded to let him know she agreed and headed left leaving the right side to Neal.
Aside from the hundreds of boxes and dust, the warehouse was empty. Bella went to one of the boxes and took out her pocket knife, cut the duck-tape and opened the box. What Bella saw inside made her gasp and she reached for another box; another and another. After opening six boxes she realised that the content of all the boxes was probably the same. She ran back to the door and passed it, trying to find Neal. Luckily it took he less time than she had predicted half-yelled and half-whispered to her partner, who was also examining the insides of one of the boxes:
"Did you see? They are all filled with guns!"
"Not just guns, bells," Neal answered "Bombs as well." He tilted the box so that Bella could see inside. It looked like MI6 hadn't mentioned that besides dealing with drugs, Wilkinson was also an arms dealer.
"Oh shit," was all that Bella could say to describe the situation they were in. "What on earth is he doing with all of these?"
"Sell them?" guessed Neal, my oh-so-clever brother in arms.
"Not sure, but I'm sure the buyer is up to no good."
Before I could form my sarcastic comment about people with guns and explosives doing good, I heard a sound that chilled the blood in my veins. It was a quiet hum of an engine, so quiet that only vampires could hear it. While neither Neal nor I was a vampire, we had been trained to hear the quietest of sounds and now I thanked the gods that I had honed that skill to perfection.
From the look on Neal's face I understood that he had heard the purr of engine as well. From Neal's lap around the warehouse and from our explorations inside I knew there was only one entrance and exit and that one was out the question.
"Hide! Now!" I whisper-yelled to Neal and pulled him with me. Through the maze of boxes I managed to reach the corner of the warehouse. Neal quietly pulled a pile of boxes in front of us, so that we were hidden directly from view. However if somebody started to search properly, they would probably find us.
Frome the voices outside and the sound of footsteps there were probably 4 to 6 people coming towards the building. The steps were quite heavy so I concluded that they were all men. The creak of the metal door and then the sound of the footsteps echoed around us. They were inside.
"How many did he want, sir?" asked a deep baritone.
"30. It should be six boxes. Take them to the car. You, David, help him. And make it quick. Mr. Winston doesn't like to be kept waiting," ordered another man.
"Yes, boss," answered the same deep voice.
Boss? Thomas Wilkinson, maybe? I shot a glance at Neal to see that he was one the same wavelength as me.
There was a scuffle of footsteps, sound of boxes being picked up and some more footsteps. I wished I could see what was going on and that I could take photos of the men working for Wilkinson. I knew that Neal had also packed his camera, which looked like a long pencil. I could raise it above my head and film over the boxes and the men probably wouldn't notice it, but one glance at Neal told me he had left his bag in the car. Car! OH MY GOD! What if the men noticed it and realised somebody was here!
My fears were confirmed.
"Boss, check this out!"
"What is it, Tony?" asked the man I thought to be Wilkinson.
The man, Tony, answered: "There are two duck shots by the door."
I gasped, receiving a slight jab by the elbow beneath my ribs. I had totally forgotten to pick those up after I shot the padlock.
At once Thomas Wilkinson was on guard and giving orders: "Close the door and search the place. You two scan the area. The owner of the car might still be here."
Neal and I were as quiet as possible as we listened to footsteps, which eventually neared our hiding place. One of the men, bald and dark-skinned, neared us, but luckily didn't notice us. Just as he was about to leave and had already turned his back to us, Neal revealed himself as he jumped out of our hiding place. He grabbed the man from behind and covered his mouth with his hand, threw the man's gun to me and pushed him to the ground. Neal cut of his air supply by grabbing his throat, intending to choke him to death.
"It's all clear here!"
"Same here, sir! Came voices from the other side of the warehouse.
"There is no-one outside."
"Report, Tony!" ordered Wilkinson.
"Anthony?" "Tony!" echoed voices, but the man – Tony – under Neal was unable to respond. He tried to pry Neal's fingers away from his throat, but his hands were too weak due to the lack of oxygen. Final effort to save his life, one last twitch of his legs and he was still. He was dead. One down, at least five to go.
I checked and saw that Anthony-the-Dead-Man's gun was fully loaded and luckily it also had a silencer. Bingo!
Neal and I made our way towards the men. We saw Thomas Wilkinson heading towards the door and I knew that we couldn't let him leave. So I threw all caution to the wind and opened fire. The first bullet missed his head by an inch and I had revealed my location for nothing. The sound of gunfire put all men an alert and after seeing us, they opened fire. Neal and I found cover behind the boxes and while Neal tried to bring down the other man, I aimed for the Big Guy. After my first missed Thomas, he, too, took out his gun and after trying to bring me down unsuccessfully, he tried to escape. Coward, I thought.
"Cover for me!" I yelled to Neal through the gunfire and after receiving a nod in return, I left the cover of boxes and ran off after Wilkinson. By that time Neal with his superb shooting skills and aim had managed to take down 3 of the men and I heard the 4th scream out in pain as the bullet hit him, when I was already at the door.
The first thing I saw was Wilkinson's black van. He was sitting next to the driver, who was a rather bulky man, and I managed to lip-read that he was telling the driver to hurry up. I ran toward the car while shooting at the front glass. Unfortunately, it turned out to be bulletproof (should have thought of that) and I had wasted all the bullets. I threw down Anthony's gun and just as I was about to take my own gun out of its holster, I felt a burning pain in my abdomen. I looked down and saw a small hole in my black one-piece. The area around the hole was steadily getting wetter and darker. I instinctively put my hand to it and saw that my hand was covered in red fluid. Blood. The bastard shot me!
"Bella!" I heard Neal's voice behind me and then felt his arms around my waist, supporting my weight. He had probably run out soon after me. I looked up and saw the van driving away, Wilkinson smirking at me from the side-view mirror, memorizing my face.
"Oh Jesus, Bella," said Neal. "We have to get you to the hospital. You are losing far too much blood."
"No. No hospital," I told him resolutely.
"Definitely not. I can't have my name along with a bullet wound in my hospital record. Someone could find out. You do it. Take the bullet out and stitch me back together." I knew he couldn't argue with my reasoning.
"Are you sure?" After receiving a nod in response, he sighed and asked: "Can you walk?"
Not trusting my voice, I nodded again. Truth be told, I was in tremendous pain. With Neal's help and support we slowly walked back to the car. I lied down onto the back seat while Neal looked for a first aid kit from his bag. He helped me take off the one-piece from my upper body and left it hanging at my hips, revealing my black lacy bag. Now was no time to be modest and he had seen me in my underwear before. Besides I knew I had nothing to ashamed of.
He carefully cleaned the wound and told me to prepare myself. I shut my eyes and clenched my fists tightly, my nails leaving half-moon imprints into the flesh. He took out the bullet with a pair of tweezers, making me gasp out in pain. Luckily now the worst part was over and I barely felt when he stitched me up.
"Wow, you are rather brave," he complimented me. "Grown men have yelled out in pain, when they have to go through that without an anaesthetic."
"Not brave, just used to it. I've always had a high tolerance of pain," I replied quietly, not quite trusting my voice yet not to crack. Thinking back to the reasons why the pain didn't bother me that much brought back some bad memories.
While I was pulling myself together on the back seat, Neal called MI6 and let them know what had happened and to send someone to pick up the bodies. He then packed the first aid kit and sat in the driver's seat, saying that I was in no condition to drive. I had to agree with him and after getting in the front seat, we were off, heading back to Forks,
"Well, at least one good thing came from all of this," I said.
"Yeah, the 4 dead guys," came Neal's answer from his now smiling mouth.
"Besides that," I said chuckling and stopping quickly because of the pain. Neal noticed my grimace and told me to get a painkiller from the glove compartment. After swallowing 2 dry, I continued: "We got ourselves a name. Some guy called Mr. Winston."
"I'll see what I kind find out about him," promised Neal.
As I watched the green trees passing by, I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore and fell asleep; I knew Neal would wake me up before we reached the house he had bought. Right now Thomas Wilkinson getting away didn't matter, nor did the fact that I had to come up with a story to tell Edward about where I had been for the last six hours. All that mattered was getting the utter exhaustion out of my body.
What a Wednesday!