Seventh installment of Out of the Shadows...

John Howle read the update on the case that had consumed most of his career. He wasn’t supposed to have it. Not since he’d been forced off the taskforce dedicated to dismantling the Pantheon. It wasn’t going to stop him from keeping tabs on their struggle against the powerful organization.

Howle’s intense reading was interrupted by an unpleasant buzz on his office phone. Right, the job he’d been given by people trying to pressure him to retire. He hit the speaker button while stowing the file in the safe on the bottom of his drawer. “Go for Howle.”

“Sir, we have a situation.” McDaniels tensely informed him.

“I’ll be right there.” Howle was out of the room in an instant, ignoring the twinge in his side as he moved. McDaniels was a capable young man, the worry in his voice was concerning.

When Howle arrived less than ten seconds later the large base of security was buzzing with controlled chaos. Hands flew over keyboard, choices spoke in hushed but urgent tones into phones, and the cause of it all was framed on the large screen mounted on the other side of the room. It displayed a large black car and the mug shot of an unpleasant looking white man.

“The car was red flagged. It’s been idling there for ten minutes.” McDaniels began to brief his boss without prompting. He fell into step with Howle who was looking at the screen. “Stolen plates, and facial recognition ID-ed the driver as Erik Koenig, former drag racer, current gun for hire. We’ve notified the police, and-”

“Have them fall back.” Howle ordered. The man on the phone with the police instantly relayed his message. Howle set his jaw. Koenig was the wheelman, not the gunman. The gunman must be behind the tinted windows of the backseat. This was sloppy and Koenig was a local hire. That suggested either limited resources or a local matter. “Inform our men that there is likely an armed gunman, probably more skilled than Koenig.” Howle said, causing someone to begin speaking into a radio. “Is there anyone local who might be considered a target arriving today? Politicians, judges, hell even pastors, is there anyone who stands out?”

“The DA is supposed to be giving an introduction for a visiting dignitary.” Jessica Jane reported, her hands moving across the keyboard faster than Howle could unlock his phone.

“Check to see if the DA has any open cases against Koenig’s previous employers.” McDaniels ordered. Howle frowned. He recognized the street this was on. They were directly across the street from Joan’s Joe, which was frankly the best coffee shop in town.

“This might be a long shot, but someone get on the phone to Joan’s.” Howle commanded. “If the DA is like every other layer I’ve met he’ll like his coffee as black as his soul.” Howle got a few strained laughs out of that. One of the newer members called the coffee shop.

“Sir, the DA is starting proceedings against some drug runners that Koenig has had previous dealings with.” Jessica Jane reported. “And his twitter is following Joan’s Joe.”

“Sir, Joan’s isn’t answering.” The man on the phone reported.

“Not surprising, it’s the morning rush.” Howle muttered, then nodded at McDaniels. “Put our people on standby, they need to be ready to move fast.” His order caused a new flurry of activity. They would stop and listen to him if he gave another order, but for now Howle was able to contemplate his next move. He narrowed his eyes at the screen. There didn’t seem to be a way to end this without shots fired. Not unless they could prevent the target from walking down the street. Howle hesitated, then he took out his cell phone. He had one wildcard in his hand.

“How did you get this number?” The voice on the other end could have been joking, but there was an edge of steel underneath it that Howle felt sure that only he and others like him could hear.

“Sally gave it to me. She’s under the impression we are friends.” Howle stated. “There’s a black car across the street from Joan’s. It’s been idling for a while. There is reason to believe that it is individuals who are targeting the DA.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Felicity, someone who Howle was certain was more than a barista, asked.
“I need you to keep him from leaving.” Howle said, half answering her question and half ignoring it. In all honesty, Howle didn’t know how much he could trust her. She wasn’t looking for information, but she was without a doubt tainted with the shadows that he had spent so much of his life weaving in and out of. Felicity was an enigma, but he thought that if she could help him, she would... or she’d at least consider it.

“I’m not at work yet.” Felicity said. “I’m driving. I shouldn’t even be on the phone right no-” There were various cries of shock around the room as a dilapidated green car sped around the corner and swerved right into the waiting hitmen’s vehicle.  “Oh, you are kidding me!” Felicity snapped through the phone. “Howle, I’ve got to go, I just got in an accident.” Howle could almost hear her tear her seatbelt off. “You are so paying for the repairs.” Felicity hung up on him before he could say another word.

On the screen, the woman stumbled out of the car, all apologies and concern. Koenig tried to brush her off, but Felicity was most insistent. She went back into the car to get her insurance information, motioning for them to wait. The black car drove off. No doubt waiting another day to make their attempt on the DA. Laughter and clapping began to spread through out the room.

“We aren’t done yet.” Howle barked. “Someone tell the police what just happened. See if they can pick them up for fleeing the scene of an accident. Gives them probable cause to search the car.” A now grinning agent began to speak into the phone. “McDaniels, send a team over to Joan’s to escort the DA safely into the building. I’m sure he can make his own security arrangements from here.” McDaniels nodded, stepped away to use his radio. “Jess,” Jessica Jane looked up. “Whatever you hacked to get information on the DA, make sure there’s no trace.” Jessica Jane reddened slightly.

“You say that like I’m not careful.” She muttered. She didn’t like how he called attention to how she got information. Though she had to admit that it was nice that he made it clear just how much she contributed. At least the other agents stopped trying to send her on the coffee run.

Howle glanced up at the screen. Felicity had pulled her car to the side of the road and was inspecting the damage with an air of resignation. He might not know what Felicity had been or what she  was doing now, but he was glad to have the wildcard in his hand. It could be explained away, but it more or less confirm his suspicions about her. She knew that it would and she’d done it anyway. As reluctant as he was to admit it. Sally might be right. He and Felicity were probably friends after all.

He had no idea that she was in a semi-retirement of her own.

The woman who was not Edith Chesterfield sat numbly in the drawing room. She shouldn't be feeling this way. She shouldn’t have cried anything but crocodile tears when they put the old woman in the ground. Muriel Chesterfield should not have meant anything to her. Her death, after the second change of the will, should have made the imposter feel victorious, not made her eyes painfully red and raw from tears of grief.

“Well, well, well, the prodigal niece.” A sneering voice spoke. ‘Edith’ slowly opened still watery eyes to her ‘cousin’ Julia. Julia was older, and only spoke to their great-aunt Muriel when she needed something, usually money. The imposter felt her eyes prickle again. Not in front of Julia! She chided herself, attempting to school her features.

“Julia,” The imposter was ashamed to hear her voice crack. “Here for one last handout?” Julia’s face twisted, then it reset itself in a nasty grin.

“No, I’m here for a bit of a show.” She inclined her head. “The handsome gentlemen will be dragging you away.” The woman looked across the room of relatives in far less mourning than she was to see two police officers step into the room. She suppressed her gasp, returning her gaze to Julia, who was grinning triumphantly. “Did you think I couldn’t tell that you weren’t Edith? I haven’t seen her since we were children but I know that brat wouldn’t have moved in with Muriel because she was ‘lonely’.” The false Edith felt a surge of anger as Julia’s voice went up in a mocking falsetto, an inaccurate mimic of the kind Muriel. She glared at the smug woman.

“It would have been harder for me to get in her good graces if you- people would have just spent some time with her.” She spat, turning her gaze at the photo of the sweet old woman. “She deserved better.”

Julia scoffed. “Says the con artist.” They had drawn the attention of the other relatives who had taken a keen interest in the fact that the favored niece wasn’t a niece at all. They could see their portions of the Chesterfield inheritance growing before their eyes. It made the imposter sick. “It just about broke her heart when she found out that Edith died on some silly excursion on Everest and the girl she’s been living with for the past two years was only after her money.” The false niece tore her swollen eyes from the photograph.

“You told her?” She gaped in horror. Her stomach twisted painfully.

Julia laughed. “Why do you think she changed her will again?” The smirk was firm on Julia’s face. Not-Edith had thought it was to decrease Julia’s portion. She looked back at the photograph. If only she’d had a chance to explain.

“If the police would mind waiting,” The lawyer’s voice cut sharply through the tension. “The will does stipulate that the individual known as ‘Edith Chesterfield’ be present during the reading.”

Julia stepped back, her still triumphant grin stretched from ear to ear. “Alright with me, it will be amusing to see her face.”

So this was it. Police officers waiting to cart her away, while grubby relatives waited to tear apart a sweet old woman’s fortune. The imposter’s lips tightened. She didn’t want to cry. She just wanted Muriel alive.

She could almost smell the Earl Grey tea the old woman drank. No, she could smell it. She became aware of something at her elbow. She looked to her right to find the butler extending a cup towards her. Earl Grey… Why was he giving her that? Surely he had heard Julia’s declaration. She took the teacup and he gave her a comforting smile; reminding her why Muriel was so fond of the man.

The lawyer cleared his throat. The room fell silent. He took a sip from his teacup (he was the only other person in the room to receive tea) and began to read. “I, Muriel Chesterfield, being of sound mind and body, do hereby leave the bulk of my estate, with the exception of the sums and items set aside for the staff… and family, to,” He paused for affect. “Nora Miles.” The imposter, Nora, dropped her teacup. Julia froze and confusion broke out around the room. “As I clearly know who she is,” The lawyer continued reading. “She is not guilty of fraud.” Nora’s trembling hands lifted to her mouth. “Nora, dear,” The lawyer swallowed. “I love you.” Nora began to cry again.

I loved you too…

I just couldn't get the idea of a wealthy spinster leaving all her money to a con artist masquerading as family out of my head. And I had to wonder, how would she have ensured that the will wasn't thrown out or keep the con artist from being arrested? By leaving it to her true identity.

If you're interested, while Nora was crying the butler was holding Julia back and calling the police officers over to help him keep her away from Nora. Then Nora ordered all of the family members out of her house, unless they were specifically mentioned in the will, and they were left some things, but Muriel's staff was left significantly more.

Both the butler and the lawyer really cared about Muriel and were aware that Edith was a fake. They also knew that Muriel was leaving everything to Nora (Muriel only found out Nora's name because of Julia, ironically enough).

16 years ago…
 
The Femme Fatale considered her student. The girl was 10 or 11 years old. Her dark hair and eyes could let her pass for three different ethnicities easily and many more with a little make up. It was something the Femme Fatale envied, as she herself was very clearly of Asian descent. (Not that that had hindered her career too much. It just meant she had to work a little harder in certain situations.) The girl was petite but strong. She had been working for the Femme Fatale for the past 8 months. Together they planted bombs, rescued hostages, and carried out assassinations. Yet, the student had never killed someone in front of her. Yes, she poisoned and bombed, but those deaths happened after the girl had left. The Femme Fatale was slightly concerned. Was this girl even capable of true murder? The Femme Fatale frowned. She wasn’t sure. Given who her student’s mother was and how the girl had been raised, she would think so. But she had yet to see the girl kill, and it was worrying.

“Fille,” The Femme Fatale said, her French clipped and professional. It didn’t matter that they were far from France; the Femme Fatale always spoke in French when she was alone with her student. It was a matter of tradition. “Êtes-vous prêt?” Are you ready?

“Oui, ma’am.” Yes, ma’am. The student answered faithfully. Her French wasn’t as good, but she was improving rapidly under the Femme Fatale’s tutelage. She removed the fancy clip from her hair while her teacher discarded the canvas tube she’d been carrying as a blind. People still thought of blueprints as bulky pages rather than a microchip that could easily be hidden in a girl’s barrette.

They had already scouted out the abandoned apartment building and knew their buyer, but it was better safe than sorry. The Femme Fatale taped a gun under the table. She noticed her student sticking a knife to the wall behind the closet door and wanted to smile. The girl was already picking up on the Femme Fatale’s habits: habits that would keep her alive.

The Femme Fatale glanced around the sparse room. The table was the only piece of furniture, it was heavy wood and as dilapidated as the rest of the apartment building. They both wore heavy gloves in case they needed to use the gutter outside to make a fast exit through the window. “Il est ici.” He’s here. The girl said. She had sharp ears. The Femme Fatale stood at the table facing the door, both of her hands resting on the table’s surface. The second the buyer walked in she went for the gun in her holster. She wasn’t fast enough. A shot rang out. The Femme Fatale hissed as the bullet grazed her shoulder.

“Don’t.” The buyer commanded. The Femme Fatale gave him an unamused look. “Raise your ands, Fatale. You’ve always been an excellent acquisitions specialist and I hope that we can continue to do business after this, but I will shoot you if I have to.”

“You’re trying to rip me off.” The Femme Fatale asked flatly. “You?”

“Step away from the table and raise your hands.” The buyer insisted. The Femme Fatale rolled her eyes, but complied with the request. “You, girl.” The buyer looked at her student. The Femme Fatale felt her hackles rise slightly as he addressed the girl. “Slide me the hairpiece.” The buyer ordered. The girl hesitated, then walked to the table. She reached for the hairclip. The crack that broke the tension of the room nearly made the Femme Fatale duck for cover. Instead, it was the buyer who fell to the ground. His face hadn’t changed except for the red circle above his left eye. The Femme Fatale looked at her student. The gun she had hidden beneath the table was raised at her waist. The Femme Fatale watched as the girl walked around the table and looked down at the man she had just killed. The girl seemed perplexed, if anything. Then she looked up at her mentor. She smiled. The Femme Fatale smiled back.

It seemed her student could handle it after all.

 Sorry about the unintentional hiatus. I had an unusually busy few months. But it's a new year, and with it come new stories! I plan on doing another "Story a Day" challenge, and with any luck I'll be getting you something you've all been waiting for far too long! An update for the Princess' Path!

In addition, I am currently working on "Family Values" a continuation of the story of Mina and Kami that started in the Star Trek: Excelsior episode "A Day at the Park". If you haven't heard it, I recommend it, it is really really good, and can be viewed as a stand alone story.

Lastly, I have finished two more stories for Out of the Shadows but I lost one of them! I can't find it, but I know it's around hear somewhere, so that will be posted as soon as possible.

The other thing I am working on is Hel on Earth. But that is a longer term project so updates will be very slow.


A very happy new year to you all!