Chapter 1: The Proposal
Chapter 1: The Proposal
Beta-ed by Trumpet-Geek! :)
A/N: Wooohooo! Secret agents for the win! :D For those who read American Trains, yep, I actually did plan on doing this and chose secret agents over pirates. I really hope ya guys like it! It's got me pretty excited! :D
What should happen when the CIA and SIS(MI6) agree to pair up two of their agents on a test run for a new international cooperation attempt to snuff out some nasty criminal organization? And if those two agents happen to be Alfred f. Jones, one of CIA's most valued assets and top shots and Arthur Kirkland, the SIS's youngest, most successful agent to bust an international crime ring, what then? When the simple trial case spins out of control, how will these two cope with their own differences and hidden secrets and more importantly, how will they catch the bad guys?
Also for those familiar with American Trains and how I try to write... This fic could end up being inaccurate. Really, this will be more Hollywood because obviously with these agencies there is never complete information readily available to civilians. Really, what kind of agencies would they be if there was? I can only go based on what Hollywood and what very few reports are available. Sorry! If it's any comfort, you probably won't be able to tell unless you've clearance above the rest of us mere mortals! Lol
Lame summary is lame. However, I hope you enjoy the 1st chapter and hopefully more to come! :D
As the watery afternoon sunlight filtered in through the tinted windows of the MI6 building, Arthur Kirkland, ranking officer in the Secret Intelligence Service of the UK, sat at his desk, shuffling through report papers. He looked them over with a bored expression while twirling one of his many pens in his hand.
The day had been long, drab and all around boring. He'd spent the majority of it holed up in his office going through these report papers and various others scattered hazardously in marked folders around the room. Some lay on the floor, some on his desk, others stacked on his computer monitor.
With an exasperated sigh he tucked the papers back into the open folder and shoved it away, causing a stack of others to come tumbling down in an explosive shower of papers fluttering about the room.
"Bloody fucking Hell!" The man swore and rose from his chair. He walked around the outside of his desk and knelt to pick up his mess when a knock sounded on his office door. He didn't bother to look before calling out:
"Enter!" He started to shuffle the topmost papers into the first folder, only glancing at the door once he'd gotten the first folder in order.
"Afternoon, Mr. Kirkland," said the dark-skinned woman who had just entered. She shut the door quietly behind her.
"Yes, same to you, Mrs. Wister," Arthur huffed in return, once more trying to collect the scattered papers.
"You seem upset, Mr. Kirkland. Having a poor a day, I see?" She said with a chuckle and moved to lean against Arthur's desk.
"You could say that," he returned, and set one of the overstuffed folders back on his desk, which knocked over the container of pens at the edge, scattering the writing utensils on the floor. They went rolling across the short gray carpet.
"Fuck!" Arthur exclaimed and leered at the pens.
"Temper, temper, Arthur," the woman, called Mrs. Wister, said with an amused giggle.
The blond sat back, leaning against the base of his desk and sighed. He'd pick it all up later.
"Now I know you didn't come in here just to watch me fight my office supplies."
"You're absolutely right. I have some very interesting news."
"I'm sure I'll hear about it in another batch of these blasted reports!" The man growled and kicked one of the spilled folders near his leg.
"Well, I figured you'd like to hear it without the threat of paper cuts and frustration, but if you're going to sit down there and sulk, I can-"
"No! I mean, no, please, do go on, Mrs. Wister," Arthur responded and looked up at the dark-skinned woman with his curious toxic green gaze.
She smiled, flashing her pearly white teeth in triumph.
"That's what I thought, Mr. Kirkland." She settled a ruffle in her knee-length black skirt and continued.
"You recall that meeting we had with the CIA a few months ago?"
"And the proposal?"
"Yes. Get on with it!" Arthur ordered, starting to collect the pens in his lap.
"Well, it was finalized and has been executed."
"Wonderful, but what's got to do with you personally informing me?" Arthur asked in suspicion. Something was off, as Mrs. Wister was grinning mischievously. She pulled a dark blue folder from under her arm and handed it to Arthur.
"Congratulations, Mr. Kirkland. You've been delegated to handle the proposal."
"WHAT!" Arthur roared and scrambled to his feet. He slammed the folder down and opened it, furiously flipping through the pages detailing the official proposal, planned meetings, ideas and details. He stopped when he came to a very specific page.
"You've got to be-" He looked up to Mrs. Wister, who was smirking at him.
"The higher-ups knew you wouldn't be pleased about this, and so that is why I was delegated to gently break the news to you."
The blond scoffed.
"You call this gently?"
"I could have left it on your desk while you were out to lunch and you probably wouldn't have found it until it was too late."
"You are a cruel woman, Mrs. Wister."
"I'm just the messenger, Arthur. If you want to take this with the higher-ups, then Evie is in her office," Mrs. Wister said with a smile and patted the blond man's shoulder.
He watched her leave and hung his head to stare down at the open blue folder. He glared at it before shrugging his shoulders, shutting the folder, tucking it under his arm and exiting his office.
Oh yes, he'd take this up with higher-ups. He'd let them know just how much he didn't like this and he'd tell them just where to shove this proposal!
He walked out on to the floor, passing Mrs. Wister's secretary desk outside his office, then through the maze of cubicles until he reached the closed door of his and this floor's supervisor. The wooden door with its glass panel read the name of its owner, Evie Ashdown.
He drew in a settling breath, squared his shoulders and did his best to look like the professional his boss expected. He knocked and a stern, shrill voice answer.
"You may enter!"
Arthur did so and shut the door quietly behind. He looked up to meet the piercing, gray-blue eyes of his middle aged, well-endowed boss. She smiled at him, though it reminded Arthur more of a wolf's smile than that of small-statured older woman.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Kirkland?" She inquired, folding her hands in her lap.
The blond scoffed before tossing the blue folder down on Evie's desk.
"For starters, you can take that and burn it," he sneered. The older woman sighed.
"I had a feeling that's what your unannounced visit would be about. I take it you are unhappy?"
"Oh yes. I'm livid, Evie! This is nothing but a dodgy attempt to pawn off responsibility on to me!"
"Agent Kirkland, might I remind you that we are still under hours of operation in this fine building. As such, you will address me properly."
The man groaned.
"Very well, Mrs. Ashdown."
"Excellent. Now then, just what do you think I can do about this?" She inquired, tossing her short salt and pepper hair and fingering the edge of the folder.
"I told you; burn it."
"You know I can't do that, Agent Kirkland. Any other brilliant suggestions?"
"Give it to someone else. I don't want anything to do with it," Arthur growled back and turned to leave.
"Wait a moment," Evie said and pulled the folder closer, flipping it open. She quietly skimmed through the pages.
"Just what do you not find suitable about the assignment?" She inquired, not bothering to look up.
"Everything," he said and set his hand on the door handle.
"I thought we were under hours of operation?" He retorted spitefully. Evie narrowed her eyes and turned another page.
"I believe I've found the issue."
"You've been flipping through it this whole time."
Evie smiled around a bit soft laughter. She flipped the folder to face Arthur and tapped the very page that Arthur had been glaring at in his office.
"We've gone over this, Mr. Kirkland," she said, and her voice turned low and serious. "Every time it's the same issue."
"Perhaps it's because I never started liking my issues."
"You're going to have to move on, Arthur."
"Bugger off, Evie," he sneered back.
"Are you just not a personable fellow?" Evie asked and looked up to meet Arthur's green eyes.
"Then what is it? You're refusing a perfect mission to boost your career but you'll do it because of this?" She said, tapping the open page. Arthur scowled down at the offending information.
"That's precisely it."
"Why does this happen every time I try to assign you a partner?"
"Because you assign me fucking gits!"
"Language, Agent Kirkland."
"I don't give a damn!"
"Arthur. Let me be frank. We've sealed this deal with the CIA. We can't back out now. In fact, he's already on a plane over the pond. He'll be arriving in-" Evie glanced at the time on her computer monitor "-approximately two hours. You'll be picking him up at Heathrow. The terminal and pick-up information are clipped in the folder, but I doubt you looked at them."
Arthur white knuckled the door handle in a vice grip.
"I said I'm not doing it."
"Please don't make me pull rank on you, Mr. Kirkland. You will take this assignment, and that's final," Evie said sternly and Arthur sighed.
"You'll owe me for this, Evie. I can't believe you'd do this, and to me of all people."
"I know you don't like having a partner; however, this one might be different, Arthur. I think he'll be better than the others," she said with a smile.
The blond turned and picked up the folder.
"He's some bloody American CIA prick. I doubt it, Mrs. Ashdown," Arthur retorted solemnly and exited the office. He returned to his own, glaring at Mrs. Wister as he passed. She in turn smiled in good nature to the man.
He locked the office door behind him and sat down at his messy desk. Opening the folder again, he flipped back to that page and read aloud from his new partner's biography file.
"Alfred F. Jones, CIA senior special agent. Date of birth: July 4th, 1983. Age twenty-eight, no immediate other." The blond man sighed and slumped down on his desk. He absolutely dreaded their upcoming meeting in less than two measly hours.
Props to whoever recognized the tile, by the way! It is actually one of the short stories published by Ian Fleming, who is the author of the novels the James Bond films are based on. I just liked the name, the plot of Risico really has nothing to do with this story.