The Agent Crown Dilemma part 2

1969…

Agent Crown dropped the disguise at the entrance to the secret factory inside the mountain. Passing by large vats of chemicals, he climbed on to one of the many steel beams to get a better vantage point. As he had been equipped with high-powered magnetic cufflinks, the climb up the metal rafters was easy enough. Once he reached a vertical beam along the cavern ceiling, he crouched down to get a good view of the vats below. He positioned his watch and pressed the side, snapping photographs with a hidden camera.

The international criminal organization known as WRATH had installed a mining company in the Amazon rainforest as a front. They had been stealing natural resources and creating strange chemical compounds for reasons that were unknown to MI6, which was why Agent Crown was brought in.

As he took pictures, a short but stout man in a bowler hat and dark suit crept up behind him. Agent Crown was snatched from behind and hurled off the rafters. At the last second, Crown grasped a worker’s platform to avoid a deadly fall. Dangling precariously over a long drop, he looked back at his attacker; he recognized the man as a North Korean assassin known as Fixit. Crown climbed over the railing and onto the platform just as Fixit cleared the distance in a massive leap. The two faced-off, carefully sizing each other up.

Crown threw the first punch but, as usual, it did little to affect the incredibly strong assassin. Fixit wrapped both hands around Crown’s neck and forced him against the railing, threatening to once again throw him to his death. Crown tried to push him away, knocking the bowler hat from his head in the process. It was then that he realized the secret to Fixit’s resilience – a metal skull cap covered his scalp from the top of the brow to the base of the skull.

Thinking fast, Crown activated his magnetic cufflinks – with his left hand, he safely attached himself to the metal railing to secure himself and his right hand remained at Fixit’s shoulder. Once he activated the right cufflink, the high-powered magnet was instantly stuck to the skullcap. Fixit was drawn forward clumsily, but his grip remained firm. Crown flipped over the railing, bringing him along for the ride. In a second, he dangled off the platform with his left arm secured by the magnet. His right arm hung at his side with a flailing Fixit at the end of the second cufflink. Soon, the magnet tore away due to the weight and Fixit plummeted to the concrete floor several feet below. “Thanks for dropping by,” Agent Crown remarked dryly, then made his way back to the factory floor.

Once he was on the ground floor, he heard the crackling sound of a PA system turning on. A familiar voice greeted him, “Hello, Agent Crown. I see you’ve discovered my factory, despite our best efforts.” It was Julian Scorn, the leader of WRATH, who Crown had faced before.

“It was only a matter of time, Scorn,” Crown produced his pistol and began searching among the large vats, “I’m afraid Dr. Fortier has betrayed you. She told me everything after some rather… stiff persuasion.”

“I’ll deal with her soon enough. For now, I’ll settle for killing you.”

“Give it up, Scorn. At this point, I know all about your plan. An eternal youth serum? Even for you, that’s insane.”

“What’s insane is serving as an errand boy for a dying empire. I’ll still be here long after you’re gone, Crown. WRATH will have agents in every government on this planet forever, secretly controlling the world from the shadows in order to usher in a glorious eternity.”

Crown made his way to the front of the factory, “If it’s an eternity you’re after, I can certainly oblige.”

“Perhaps another time, Agent Crown.”

As he made his way around a large vat, he found a plastique explosion stuck to the wall. At the center of the explosive, a timer counted down rapidly. He only had a minute.

Crown rushed toward the mine shaft as it was the nearest available exit. He leapt into a cart resting at the top of a set of rails and released the brake. The cart rolled down the rails just as the factory behind him lit up. Debris and flames passed overhead as Crown laid low and as he rolled away, he could feel the rumbling of the factory collapsing. Sometime later, he emerged from a mine in the Amazon. Scorn’s plans were thwarted, but he knew the war continued.

Present day…

In an old house in London, a live-in caregiver made her way down the corridor, passing a member of the cleaning staff on her way. The house came from old money, and since her client never had children of his own, it wasn’t entirely known what would become of the historical home or the possessions inside. She felt it was a shame that a national hero should pass away without a legacy.

Conner Wilson was the first man to be called Agent Crown. In his youth, he had rugged good looks, a sharp wit, and a deadly set of skills. Now that he was nearing a centennial landmark, he only had his wit. Despite his age and physical ailments, she still found him to be quite charming and spry, often making cheeky remarks that reminded her he was once quite popular with women. When she entered his bedroom, she found him laying still under the covers. Normally, he would stir awake since, even in his advanced age, he was a light sleeper. This time was different. The caregiver quickly rushed to his bed to check his pulse.

****

In Manchester, Dave Bronson carried a high stack of boxes through a hallway and placed them in the mail room. With the Lyon headquarters fully repaired after the Resurgence, the Badges were ready to return to the international Interpol headquarters. He set the boxes down next to a series of other boxes labelled LYON and when he turned, he spotted a box floating through the air. Nadeem Alam casually leaned against the door frame as he telekinetically put his box down next to the others, “It’ll be nice to get back to our Lyon headquarters.”

“I’m partial to the Manchester location,” Bronson explained, “Bit closer to home.”

“I think Pierce would agree with that.”

“Maybe. I’ve no idea what he thinks about anything these days. He’s been a bit dodgy since the Billy Bacchus situation. Even for an old spy, it seems he has trouble trusting anyone these days.”

“With everything that happened during the Resurgence, can you blame him? Our greatest hero turned out to be our biggest threat, the Upstarts were killed, New York was nearly destroyed… it’s a lot for someone like him to handle. Between you and I, I think he considers the safety of the world his responsibility.”

“I get that, but I wish he’d relax and put a bit more trust in us. I don’t like that he set us up for a psychoanalysis with Dr. Ansari. He’s got trouble trusting metahumans these days, but he chose this job to begin with. He recruited us and gave us powers.”

“Our line of business operates on a bit of mistrust,” Alam corrected himself, “A lot of mistrust, really.”

“I suppose,” Bronson patted Alam on the shoulder as he left the room, “Can’t help but take this one a bit more personally.”

****

Craig Ellis and Timothy Moore entered the Manchester pub, instantly spotting Sean Pierce at the far end. “Already took the liberty of ordering a pint,” he told the two men. Moore sadly shook his hand, “Afraid we have some bad news, Pierce. Conner Wilson passed away in his sleep this morning,” “Bloody hell,” Pierce muttered in frustration. The two men sat on either side of Pierce and the server showed up with a pitcher and a set of mugs.

Moore shook his head, “That’s two Agent Crowns gone.”

“Three,” Pierce stated plainly.

“Sorry?”

“Three Crowns gone. After Gibson’s funeral, I tried to locate Langworthy and warn him about old enemies possibly coming back. He passed away around a month ago. Car accident.”

“Good lord,” Moore exclaimed.

“Why do I get the feeling you think there’s a connection?,” Ellis asked.

“Look at the clues,” Pierce poured a glass, “We’ve all lived to a ripe old age, now we’re dropping like flies. It doesn’t add up.”

“Let’s take a logical approach to this, shall we,,” Ellis began, “Gibson died while on a mission. You and I both know how often that happens to field agents. This one just happened to be Agent Crown. Statistically, one of us was bound to go while in the field and it’s a wonder it took 60 years for that to happen.”

“Langworthy?”

“A man that age getting behind the wheel of a car? I hate to sound callous, but it was also something that was bound to happen.”

“I’m afraid I agree with Ellis,” Moore added, “And you know that doesn’t happen often. As for Wilson, he was…,” he turned to Ellis, “… How old was he?”

“I reckon he was around 96 years old.”

“The man was nearly 100, either way. Passing away in his sleep isn’t a surprise and it’s a privilege men like us don’t normally get.”

“I’m not satisfied,” Pierce shook his head, “Judi said there was information out there on old agents.”

“Information that, as far as we know, hasn’t been leaked,” Ellis raised a glass, “Let’s have a toast.”

“If it lightens the mood,” Moore joked and raised his glass as well.

“Pierce?”

“Fine,” he reluctantly raised a glass.

Ellis cleared his throat before he made the toast, “To Agent Crowns young and old. To the quick and the dead and the great stories told. Cheers.” Together, they clinked their glasses. As the pint disappeared, they laughed, shared stories, and talked about retirement.

Over an hour later, Ellis returned to his home. He pressed a few buttons on his keypad before entering his penthouse tiredly. He lightly tossed his blazer on a chair and didn’t bother turning on the lights; instead, he moved to the kitchenette and filled a glass with water. He thought about his conversation with Pierce earlier and smiled to himself. He considered the theory that someone could be targeting former agents, particularly the Crowns. “Bloody bastard was right,” he said to himself before turning and hurling the glass at the figure hiding in the shadows.

The figure darted out of the way as the glass shattered on the wall. The small distraction was all Ellis needed to take his Walther PPK out of its secret compartment and fire. The figure leaped over a couch as the bullets passed by, then disappeared. Ellis was calm and collected as he took one of the kitchen knives with him and moved to investigate. He purposefully moved around the living room area, seeing no signs of his assailant. A blade ran across the back of his knuckles, forcing the gun from his hand. It was fortunate that he brought his own kitchen knife, however. He made quick slashes and jabs at the shadowy figure who defended. Occasionally, the blades connected, creating violent scraping sounds. Ellis was in his 70s and wasn’t nearly as fast as he once was, but being one of the most highly trained spies in the world made him far more dangerous than most people his age.

The figure backed away cautiously, knife still in hand, and Ellis took his time approaching. Slowly, they backed up near a window. There was a quick jab and Ellis lifted his leg to deflect the blade hand into the glass pane. The glass cracked and the figure was forced to drop the knife. Ellis’ hip throbbed and his knees reminded him of his age. It was enough to slow him down and when he went in for his own strike, the figure side-stepped the blade and caught his wrist. Ellis’ arm was bent over his shoulder, forcing him to drop his own knife. A black glove caught the handle as it fell and the blade slid into Ellis’ lung.

Ellis dropped to the floor with the kitchen knife sticking out his back. Undeterred, he crawled to the gun on the tile floor and his fingers came within an inch of it before a black boot kicked it out of reach. Next, the boot came down on the knife, digging it deeper into Ellis.

At the Interpol headquarters in Manchester, Pierce sat in an empty office with a single holographic screen hovering overhead. A very tired Judi Lee appeared in the translucent window, “Hello again, Pierce. I take it you heard about Wilson?”

“I have. Were you aware Roger Langworthy also passed away recently?”

“I was unaware of that fact.”

“Really? Am I to believe MI6 hasn’t kept tabs on him after his departure from the organization?”

“Let’s say, for the moment, that we’ve been keeping tabs on him and that I’m lying due to classified surveillance practices that you’re not privy to, what’s your point?”

“I think it’s fair to say someone is targeting former Crowns as you feared. I think the group in Slovenia found a buyer for the stolen data.”

Judi sighed and rubbed her forehead, “Not that it’s a matter for your organization, but I’ll extend some professional courtesy in letting you in on current operations – I have a team that’ll be closing in on those men within the next 24 hours. Once they’re apprehended, we’ll see who they’ve been doing business with.”

“Much appreciated.”

The window disappeared and Pierce let out a sigh. A moment later, Kisi Yeboah entered the room after having left her sensory deprivation tank. “Sir, I’m leaving for the night,” she spoke quietly, not out of meekness, but due to sensory overload – a side effect of her telepathic powers.

“Of course,” Pierce responded, “Have a good weekend, Kisi. I suppose I’ll see you on the flight back to Lyon?”

“Sir, you know I can’t help but hear surface level thoughts, particularly once I leave the tank…”

He gave her a reassuring smile, “You’re wondering why I’m getting involved in MI6 matters.”

“I’m wondering why you’re not telling us that you feel people are coming after you and your friends.”

“It’s not your concern.”

“The team feels you don’t trust them as you once did.”

“You can read my thoughts, what do you think?”

She gave him a sad look, “I think they’re right. After everything that’s happened with Rex Robinson and the formation of the Commission, you’ve had trouble trusting metahumans.”

“I have a problem trusting unrestrained power,” he admitted, “With Interpol or MI6, there are certain checks and balances. Intelligence agencies and the authorities can overstep their bounds from time to time, but ultimately, they have human limitations.”

“And what limits do the Badges have?”

“Me,” he said regrettably, “I realize what this does to the trust I’ve built up for years, but I feel that if Rex Robinson isn’t beyond corruption, no one is.”

Suddenly, his phone rang. “Excuse me,” he said to Kisi before answering it.

“Pierce? It’s Moore.”

Pierce gave a quick hello before turning back in Kisi’s direction. He noticed she had already left his office, but paid more attention to the phone call.

Moore continued, “I just received word that Ellis was murdered.”

Pierce closed his eyes in frustration, “Do we know who?”

“It was someone with a knife. Some items were stolen from his home, so the police ruled it as a robbery gone wrong. Of course, you and I know there isn’t a single robber that could kill Ellis in a knife-fight, regardless of age.”

“Dammit,” Pierced slammed his fist against his desk.

“You were right, Pierce,” Moore told him sadly, “Someone’s decided to track us down and pick us off, one-by-one.”

“And there’s only two of us, left,” Pierce added.

Continued…