How I Met Your Mother Ch. 08

"I need to re-arrange my flight details..."

****

"I still don't understand why you need me." It was the third time she'd asked this question and as of yet Leah still hadn't received a satisfactory answer.

There was always something about Elliot Spencer that made Leah feel uneasy around him. Whether it was the half-hearted yet predictably laughable attempts to charm her into his bed, the obscenely expensive suits he had a liking for or the fact that he seemed to have an inverted Midas touch when it came to matters of intelligence, she wasn't sure -- however her only extensive dealings with him had invariably resulted in people ending up dead.

Somehow -- perhaps in spite of his apparent incompetence -- this man was now the East Coast director for the NSA's counter-terrorism operations. After nearly a decade of screwing up operations within the CIA and costing at least a dozen agents their lives -- none of which could be directly connected to Spencer's inept organisation skills -- Leah marvelled at how he had also developed a clearly Teflon-like coating to his career in recent years.

Sitting in the passenger seat of a black Cadillac that was absorbed by the shadows of a small alley in a back street of a particularly run down area of Brooklyn, Leah found herself listening to Elliot's explanation as to what it was they were doing there.

"I need to maintain an air of plausible deniability about what's going on here; specifically as to what's going on in apartment 6C on the third floor of that building across the street." He gestured towards one of the Brownstone buildings opposite them. Compared to many of its companions it was still in serviceable condition, albeit it had seen better days. "We received intelligence that the occupants of the apartment are working on building some liquid explosive devices for some sort of airplane hijacking plot."

"You think it's an Al-Khayal cell up there?" Leah asked. Elliot shrugged his shoulders.

"Either them or some dissident East European group looking to re-ignite the Cold War." He paused for a moment to light a cigarette. "Does it matter which of them it is?"

"Not really." Leah sighed as she grasped the handle of the passenger door. "I just like to have an idea as to what sort of a hornet's nest I might be walking into." Getting out of the car and making her way across the street, she instinctively clung to the shadows between the pools of light created by the streetlights. Trying to shake the malaise she felt from earlier in the evening, Leah subconsciously moved her hand to the holster located on the back of her belt, taking comfort from the butt of the Glock that nestled there.

By the time she had reached the third floor apartment, her sense of unease had grown. The first and second floors had contained the usual sort of human flotsam and jetsam that she had anticipated with this type of run down urban environment; clear indications of local gang affiliations and open evidence of the sale and use of illegal narcotics; yet by the time she had ventured onto the third floor everything felt different.

The atmosphere of the floor was unusually quiet compared to that of the others -- the tone seems hushed, reverent even, almost as if everyone was waiting for the coming storm to erupt with baited breath. Standing at the edge of the door of apartment 6C, Leah braced herself for a moment before realising that the handle had been crudely damaged and the door was actually open.

Carefully pushing the door open and stepping inside the poorly lit room with her pistol pushed out ahead of her, Leah found herself confronted with the sight of two bodies in the centre of the living space. Noting the blood as it pooled out from under them -- courtesy of several large calibre gunshot wounds in each of them -- she heard something at the periphery of her hearing that caused her to turn to her right.

Even before she had consciously registered what was happening a black clad figure lurched out at her from the doorway to the kitchen. A foot kicked out, sending Leah's Glock spiralling away from her and a moment later a small fist struck her in the jaw. Spinning away from the blow as best as possible, Leah tried to focus on her attacker as she felt the blood flow from her lip. The swirling figure -- which Leah realised was unmistakeably female in an all in one black body suit with just green visors covering the eyes -- almost looked like it was dancing as it moved towards her.

A powerful kick struck her in the chest; Leah could feel something inside her chest tear, possibly muscle or sinew perhaps; maybe a cracked rib she thought as she ducked beneath another leg arcing through the space her head had just occupied. Dodging the flailing legs and fists of her masked opponent for as long as she could and trying to take up as best a defensive position as she could muster, Leah managed to catch one of her legs for just long enough to allow her to drive her knee into the woman's stomach. Doubled over, Leah then gripped the back of the woman's mask -- the material felt smooth, almost slippery to the touch -- to enable her to hold her head in place as she steadied herself to power her knee into her assailants face.

The sound of bone and plastic breaking was mixed with the muffed cry of pain from the body-suited individual. She reared backwards, just in time to place herself in the perfect position for Leah as she spun around on her heels, kicking her foe in the face. As she slammed up against a mirror adorning the far wall of the cramped apartment, Leah swept in for the kill; driving the stiffened fingers of her right hand into the woman's throat in a beak-like shape, her opponent's bloodied eyes went wide with fear. Her body then slumped to the floor, twitching several times before becoming still.

Leah took a moment to compose herself. After she wiped the blood from her lip she scouted around the apartment. Fifteen nearly fruitless minutes later she found what she was looking for -- a small metal briefcase stashed in the back of a cupboard of cleaning products in the kitchen. Smiling grimly as she made to leave the apartment, she stopped to pick up her pistol before leaving the room and securing the door as best as she could.

****

The look of surprised on Elliot Spencer's face was timeless as the drivers door of the Cadillac opened and a metal briefcase was dropped onto his lap. His mouth opened and closed like a fish for a minute before Leah got in the other side.

"I don't know about you, but the contents of that case look like the beginnings of a suitcase-sized dirty bomb." She said as she slammed the door behind her. "Minus the nuclear payload of course. Oh, and I wasn't the only person in that apartment who was interested in that."

"What? Who...?"

"No idea." Leah cut Elliot off, pulling down the small mirror on the sun visor to examine the cut on her lip. "But your clean-up crew will find three bodies rather than two in the room that need to be identified." Elliot looked dumb struck.

"I...I don't know what to say..."

"You can start with thank you." Leah replied. "Now, get me back to JFK -- my flight leaves in just over an hour and I want to get drunk in the bar before take off."

****

76 Burrow Street

Pain flooded through his leg. The sensation of blades piercing his flesh dragged him screaming from his sleep as each one tore through the soft membrane and struck nerve endings with blunt disregard for his own well being. Eyes open and alert, he looked down and saw a small, orange shape gripping his shin.

"Jesus Oliver...you scared the shit out of me." Andrew muttered as he scooped the kitten up in his hands. The small feline creature immediately began to purr as he stroked her. "Come on, you're going back into the kid's room..."

****

Greece July

She had run to Greece. He wasn't surprised; it was a routine she had developed as a coping mechanism after a botched job. Her last mission in Berlin had gone wrong on levels that very few people could comprehend and her first -- her only -- instinct was to run. The bodies of colleagues were still cooling in the morgue by the time she had boarded the first flight out of Germany.

In a strange way though, she always seemed more at home in Europe than anywhere else in the world. Something in her bones was very old, and hadn't yet shed the dusty centuries of her ancestors. It was one of the things her eyes could never hide -- and it was something Andrew was counting on for his plan to work.

For weeks he watched her live a leisurely dream in the cobblestone streets and olive groves of this sun-drenched coastal town. Even though she left the modest villa every day, she didn't do much: Maybe a walk through town, a beer on the beach, the occasional adventurous meal on top of a long-disused Catholic mission. The local bookstore was her only constant routine. Her training served her well. Even on holiday, she instinctively kept her paths hard to trace.

But he waited out the weeks with patience, not too proud to admit he was enjoying himself in this Mediterranean paradise. While not endless, he did have time enough. His opportunity presented itself almost entirely by chance. He figured it was a sign of fate, and so took it. Taking a break from surveillance, he'd ducked into a comfortable little bistro for dinner, one busy enough that his presence would go unnoticed. And just after placing his order, Leah walked through the door with the same idea.

The waiter seated her at a table near the large front window. Andrew was nearer the kitchen, facing the opposite wall, and thankfully under a burnt-out light bulb. He was certain she hadn't seen him. After the waiter took her order, Andrew immediately flagged him over for a refill of water. He sneaked a glance at the waiter's notepad nestled on the tray he carried, to see what Leah had ordered. The waiter refilled the glass and retreated to the kitchen, and Andrew fished a small paper envelope from a pocket up his sleeve. He palmed a white pill the size of a pupil, and when the waiter emerged, again Andrew called him over. He pointed out some random menu item and barraged the man with questions about the ingredients while his other hand silently dropped the pill into the small white teacup.

The teacup and metal pot were served to Leah minutes later. Andrew watched with careful eyes as she smiled and thanked the waiter. For a moment she started, and then leaned to her purse on the floor and scooped out her phone. She read something, put the phone down, and poured her tea.

Leah finished a full cup, and as she refilled, Andrew paid his bill and skirted out into the sinking night.

She went home directly after her meal. From his perch on the roof of the villa next door, Andrew watched her fumble with her keys to get in the front door. There was a flash of light, and she reappeared in his limited view of the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of wine. Then she gathered up a bundle of fabric and sewing tools and moved upstairs to her bedroom. After opening the glass doors of her balcony to let in the warm summer air, she settled at an old table to repair a few pieces of clothing.

Andrew readjusted his positioning to make sure the chimneys behind him blocked his silhouette. The moon shone full and accusing this summer night, and one glance of his crouched figure in the dark would ruin the entire month's work.

He barely blinked, watching her, waiting for the sedative to take effect. After half an hour, it was obvious Leah was fighting sleep; twice she dropped her sewing to the floor as she nodded off. She fought for another ten minutes before finally pushing the work aside and switching her lamp off. The wine she poured remained untouched as she climbed into bed and all went still.

Andrew waited another half an hour; to be sure she fell absolutely asleep.

Then he dropped from the neighbouring roof and silently slithered his way up to the balcony off Leah's bedroom. In her drug-induced state, she had even left the French doors open for him.

In the dark of her room, he padded his way over to the bed and, holding back his long black hair, he bent over her face. Her breathing came deep and steady, with an occasional snore escaping her open mouth. At this distance, he could smell her sweat laced with the flowery soap she used in the shower. Heat floated off of her, as if she were some fallen, dying star. The familiar sensations drowned him in memories he'd worked hard to bury. Memories that wanted to suck him in like quicksand.

Andrew straightened and watched her quiet face for a moment. Then, and without thinking about it, he pulled the cool sheets up over her still-dressed body. Leah didn't stir.

He began his search in her little office downstairs, but came up empty. She hadn't even unpacked her laptop the entire trip, so he knew that was a waste of time. He searched the kitchen and modestly furnished living room, and found nothing. Then he came back upstairs to try the spare bedroom. She had stored boxes in the closet here that she never came in to open.

It was a long shot, but Andrew began anyway, yanking the first box from the closet and hauling it across the room to a bureau that came to his chest level. He had to know what she knew; how much she had gleaned since their meeting in New York all those months ago; how close she was to discovering the truth. He had the lid off the box when he felt the cold kiss of steel against the bones of his neck.

Were it not for his finely tuned instincts, he would have turned right around to investigate and slashed his own jugular on the blade. Instead, he stiffened but did not jerk, and in another heartbeat a matching blade caressed his windpipe. Any move he made could be fatal, and he hadn't even heard anyone approach.

"Have you lost your fucking mind?" A dangerous whisper flowed in his ear like angry poison. So furious was the voice that Andrew did not right away realize it was Leah. His eyes widened as the scent of flowers drifted closer.

"It would seem so," came his knee-jerk reply. He raised his hands slowly and placed them on the bureau, where she could see them.

"What the fuck are you doing in my house?" She pressed on the front blade with a deadly promise. Andrew didn't answer.

"What the fuck are you doing awake?" He knew instantly that it was the wrong answer. Leah put vengeful pressure on both blades now, and pain screamed down his spine.

"You think I didn't notice you in that restaurant? Like you become less visible in proportion to your fucking ego?" Andrew blanched. He replayed the dinner in his mind. No, she couldn't have! Not once had she even glanced his direction. And then he groaned in realization: the cell phone. It was a distraction. With one hand she pretended to read a text, and with the other, she had dumped the pill. He had fallen for his own scam.

"Well, I did think that, yes. I suppose it was a pet theory at best."

"You son of a -..." It worked. Her anger gave him a sliver-thin window and Andrew took it. In a flash he wrapped a powerful hand around the wrist with the dagger at his throat and twisted hard. At the same time he popped his right elbow back and made contact with Leah's face.

She hollered in pain and twisted to her knees; one knife clattered to the floor, and she swung wildly with the other. Andrew leapt back to avoid the blade. With the toe of his boot he spun the loose knife around and dove for its handle and for Leah. Before she could climb to her feet, he had her pinned on the hardwood floor with a blade dangling over her face.

Her forehead dripped blood from the crack with his elbow, and even with both hands clamped on his thick wrist, she was losing the battle; her arms shook from the effort to keep his hand with the blade away. She gritted her teeth and looked up through his dark hair, at the pain and blackness in his eyes, at the tears barely kept at bay. He met her eyes suddenly, in surprise, and immediately he knew it was a mistake.

Look at her blazing eyes distracted him enough that Leah gained the leverage to free a hand and reach for the blade on her thigh. Andrew screamed as he felt the small, sharp blade bury itself in the meat of his hip. The pain charged through him and he writhed off her, dropping the knife. Leah scurried to her feet and retreated to the other side of the room with her back to the wall and knives at her front.

Andrew pushed upright and examined the wound. The cut was deep, but nothing stitches wouldn't fix. He tried to slow his clamouring heart and painful breathing. Leah, perched like a cat trapped in a corner, eyed him as her breath too came in quick, shallow spurts. Sweat and blood dripped from her face.

"You should have killed me," said Andrew.

"What makes you think I won't?" said Leah. He bent at the waist, hands on his knees, as a nauseating wave of pain shot through his muscles. He shook his head and stood up again.

"You won't -- despite your public protestations; you don't have it in you."

"Fuck you, Andrew. What the fuck are you doing here?" She twisted the knife, and a glint of dim moonlight danced across the room.

"Keeping an eye on you." She straightened again and her eyes blazed, ready for another fight.

"Keeping an eye on me? How dare you!"

"It's strictly self-defence, honey. Don't flatter yourself." Leah's face flared with rage. She took a step forward.

"Watch your mouth, you bastard, or I'll cut that silver tongue out of your face." As sweet oxygen rushed his lungs, Andrew realized he'd get nowhere keeping her anger at a boiling point. Hard as it was, he had to reign his spitfire words in, or this night would end even worse than events were already promising.

"Remember, I told you I would be coming back for my knife."

"You haven't killed me yet; you haven't earned it back." She laughed with caustic tone. "And anyway, it just gave you a kiss hello." Andrew frowned and eyed her right hand; it was his knife. His knife soaked in his blood. He cursed. "If ever I needed a bad omen..."

"I'm not going to ask you again, Andrew. Tell me what you are doing here."

She wasn't going to let him leave and she had a direct line to contingent agents stationed in this region. She would either kill him or release the hounds on him were he to escape. He'd lost his upper hand. Andrew cursed again and finally dropped the knife he still held. He paced to the window and back again.

"You need to back off -- they know about you, the Russians. If you keep on following me then you and your team are going to get hurt. I'm trying to save your life! That's what I'm doing here, Leah!" Leah eyed him in suspicion, and it melted into a hurt frown as she lowered the knives and straightened. "They know about the red flag that's been raised against me." He looked at her, cocking one eyebrow slightly.

"You think I'm feeding them Intel?" The shock was clear for him to hear in her voice.

"They're getting nervous, Leah. That makes them unpredictable and extremely dangerous. They're liable to shoot first and ask questions later." Something wild lit up in Leah's eyes; almost a wild fear, Andrew thought. Like a mama bear that knows her cubs are playing too close to a rushing river. However her face remained cold.

"So, you think someone has sold you out?" He nodded. "Look, my information on your habits is years old. If you ask me, you're paranoid."

"Well, don't say I didn't warn you." Andrew added. Neither of them spoke for a moment.

"So what would you like me to do now, Andrew?" said Leah with a dramatic shrug. "Just let you waltz out of here with a 'good night, sleep tight'?"

"Pretty much, yeah, that's exactly what I'd like you to do." Leah put her hands on her hips and scowled.

"You know that isn't going to happen."