The Agent Crown Dilemma part 3

1970…

MI6 didn’t like the idea of Agent Crown getting married. The identity of the agent was kept secret to the public, but vital information could’ve potentially leaked if one of the Crowns started a family. There wasn’t much that could be done, however. This one was willing to leave the Agent Crown Program if need be.

The bride was Sabine Fortier, a French scientist working for the criminal organization WRATH. Julian Scorn, the group’s leader, was interested in creating a serum to prolong his life, giving him eternal youth. Crown infiltrated the organization and while Sabine was initially just a mark to gain information, he soon fell in love with her. She was smart, funny, and had the right amount of edge that endeared her to him.

The ceremony was private with only a few friends and family; the front was that he was a government contractor. They were careful not to let his real job slip, but they didn’t account for Sabine’s former employer tracking her down.

On the way to their honeymoon, they hadn’t traveled far before the car began to wobble, a tell-tale sign of a flat tire. “Won’t take long, luv,” the agent told his new bride and stepped out the car to assess the damage. He stooped down, noticing the front tires were flat but seeing no visible damage.

“Is everything alright?” Sabine asked.

“I think someone let the air out of our tires,” his voice conveyed growing concern.

A car rounded the turn, the back window having been rolled down. He glanced up just in time to see an older, hairless man in a white suit at the wheel: Julian Scorn. The agent stood up and shouted to his wife, “Sabine! Get down!”

The man opened fire as they passed. Car windows shattered and the agent took three bullets to the chest.

The Present…

The team was given the go-ahead by the Slovenian government to act. MI6 agents in masks and full gear rushed out of the van and ascended the stairs. Seconds later, they burst through the apartment door with rifles drawn. One of the men managed to raise a gun but he was shot down before he could pull the trigger. The other men sitting around the poker table complied and immediately got down on the floor.

In the living room, another man tried to escape out the window, but he was roughly pulled back inside and forced to the ground. A bedroom door opened and a partially-clothed woman ran out; the team let her go and went for the man inside instead. Soon, they were all restrained with zip ties and lined up in the living room. All laptops were quickly confiscated and every bit of furniture was rummaged through and cut open. Eventually, a briefcase was found and placed on the floor at eye level with the other men on the ground. A pistol was placed against the back of one man’s head and he quickly gave up the combination to the briefcase. Once it was opened, the team found the old disk. “Tell headquarters we found it,” the team leader ordered.

In a quiet bar in Manchester, the Badges sat around a table at the far end. Kisi Yeboah was the only one without a drink as her powers gave her sensory problems and any substance that deadened the senses came with the risk of reliance. Normally, she wouldn’t go out drinking with the others because of this, but she had something important to discuss. Likewise, Jill Frakes would also not be one to partake in drinks after-hours as she never felt the need to fraternize with teammates, but she was also curious to know what Kisi wanted to discuss.

“You all know I unintentionally pick up surface thoughts,” Kisi told them, “I know Director Pierce feels someone is targeting former members of the Agent Crown Program.”

“He hasn’t mentioned anything to me,” Frakes explained.

“That’s just it, he’s trying to do this alone.”

“He’s had some trust issues lately,” Dave Bronson said bitterly.

“I know. This is why I’m telling all of you.”

“If he’s truly in danger, it’s no time to be stubborn,” Lowana Jones shook her head, “What’s he plan to do about this?”

“So far, he’s been keeping tabs on MI6’s investigation.”

“That’s not his jurisdiction,” Frakes said curiously, “That could be why he’s not bringing us in on this. It’s not a metahuman issue.”

“He’s been acting weird lately, though. We should help him whether he likes it or not,” Bronson said, “If someone takes the old man out, I don’t wanna be stuck here twiddling my thumbs because Judi Lee wanted us to stay in our lane.”

“I understand your concern, but there are limits to what we can do,” Frakes reminded him.

“What about calling Mansoor?,” Nadeem Alam added, “Officially, she isn’t a member anymore. She’s a Commissioner. That’s supposedly the entire point of that team, correct? Less jurisdiction issues?”

“Pierce has her living in London these days so she can easily update him on the Commission,” Jones agreed, “Kisi can contact her and locate the director telepathically. After that, it’d be easy for her to -”

“Wait,” Frakes interrupted, “Are we suggesting spying on our director?”

“No, but she can talk to him on a level we can’t,” Jones explained, “If nothing else, she can provide protection against whoever’s out there killing Crowns. We’re just trying to help,”

“I’m not sure I like this,” Frakes told them, “If you want Mansoor to speak to Director Pierce to bring closure to this issue, so be it, but I’m not taking it any farther.”

In London, the next morning, Judi Lee marched down a hallway to her next appointment. She was the sort of person who hated being interrupted when she was busy, so when Sean Pierce stepped out of an elevator to speak to her, it prevented her from carrying out her duties, if even for a moment. It didn’t put her in a good mood.

“I’m sorry to intrude, but we need to talk, Judi,” Pierce began.

“Pierce! I knew the IMD was moving headquarters,” Lee sneered, “I wasn’t aware those headquarters would be located in the same building as MI6.”

“The chartered helicopter flight between Manchester and London should clue you in as to the severity of my visit.”

“Does this have to do with the Agent Crown situation?”

“Indeed. Did you know Craig Ellis was murdered last night?”

“I was alerted, yes. A robbery gone wrong as I understand it. Bloody tragic.”

“It couldn’t have been a simple robbery. It’s far too much of a coincidence that Moore and I are the only ones left now.”

“I understand your concern, Pierce, so I’ll let you in on things once more. My team found the group in Slovenia and recovered the stolen data. We’ve checked their communications and accounts and it doesn’t appear they sold to anyone. Their interrogations confirmed all this.”

“Then perhaps the person going after the Crowns had nothing to do with them. It’s a separate entity.”

“And we’ll deal with that if and when we need to.”

“Is this what we have to show for decades of service?”

“Besides a sizeable pension?” she snapped back derisively. Pierce, may I remind you that you are no longer a part of this organization and that what information I’ve given to you has been of my own volition? This is not your jurisdiction and you have no right questioning me. You’re not even supposed to be in this building and I’m honestly curious to know how you snuck in! Now, will you take your leave or shall I have you escorted?”

Pierce stepped back toward the elevators, “Don’t bother… I remember where the door is.”

When Pierce exited the building, he noticed Dafne Mansoor leaning against a pillar. “Can I assume your meeting didn’t go well?,” she asked with a subtle smile.

“As far as conversations with a Chief of Secret Intelligence Service goes, I’ve had far worse.”

“The team’s concerned.”

“Someone has killed old men they’ve never met. Nothing to be worked up over.”

“Sir, with all due respect, that’s bullshit. If someone is after the Crowns, then they’re after you.”

“You know me well enough to know I’ve taken precautions.”

“You don’t have to go about this alone. The other Badges are tied up in bureaucracy, but the relationship we currently have is… unofficial. I can help.”

“This little dilemma could potentially incorporate multiple organizations around the globe, some of which, are supposedly allies. That team you belong to has enough baggage as it is and I’d rather you remain unscrutinized.”

“I’m Israeli, I’m used to scrutiny,” she joked.

“The head of MI6 threatened me not more than ten minutes ago. Trust me, you wouldn’t like to be on their bad side,” he gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder, “I’ll be seeing you, Mansoor.”

That night, Timothy Moore and Sean Pierce met on a rooftop overlooking Manchester. “MI6 was no help?” Moore sighed, “So much for solidarity.”

“At this point, everyone’s a suspect,” Pierce admitted, “Judi Lee always despised ‘The Boys Club’, and perhaps for good reason. She was competent enough to be a Crown, but they needed a bloke in a smart suit for the job.”

Moore nodded sadly, “I suppose we can’t rule out all possibilities… including each other.”

“No,” Pierce’s face fell, “I suppose not.”

“I’ll be leaving soon and take appropriate measures to protect myself.”

“I don’t blame you for not telling me what they are.”

“Likewise. Take care, Pierce,” he shook his hand.

“You as well.”

The two men knew, one way or another, it was the last time they would see each other. They went their separate ways on the street and Pierce began preparations. His first step – calling the press.

The next day, in Lyon, Kisi Yeboah stood in front of a wall full of TV screens. Next to her was a repaired sensory deprivation tank. The IMD had arrived hours earlier and were in the process of settling back into their old building. The only thing missing was the director.

In the meeting room, the team met alongside Mansoor. “You were right,” she admitted to the team, “Pierce wants to do this alone and he’s willing to get arrested inside the MI6 building if that’s what it takes.”

“I say we leave it alone now,” Frakes told the group, “It’s not something we should be interfering in. It’s not a matter for the IMD.”

“If someone tries to kill our director, it’s absolutely in our purview,” Mansoor argued.

“He’s our director and it’s in our purview,” Frakes corrected her, “You’re not on the team at the moment. At least not officially.”

“I still consider her one of us,” Bronson spoke up.

“We all do,” Adrian Klausman announced.

Frakes calmed down slightly, “I understand everyone’s concern, but unless we get direct orders, we’re grounded.”

“Well…,” Mansoor began, “If I’m not ‘officially’ part of the IMD, you won’t mind if I ignore your orders.”

Frakes furrowed her brow and began to speak, but she was interrupted. They received a telepathic message from Kisi, “Everyone, please come here. There’s something you need to see.” The group quickly made their way to the surveillance room where Kisi was waiting. The screens were on, displaying the same news footage. Pierce was still in Manchester, speaking before gathered reporters.

“Good afternoon,” he began, “As most of you are aware, I was once a part of the Agent Crown Program where I served my country well in counter-intelligence. After retiring, I was enlisted to the director position of the Interpol Metahuman Division. The team was affectionately known as the Badges and I was proud to lead them. It is now with a heavy heart… that I announce my resignation from Interpol. Affective immediately, I’ll no longer be associated with Interpol or the IMD.”

****

In the UK, Moore made his way to a large field. The lone outhouse was the entrance to a hidden base that was initially built during the Space Race to beat the Russians to the Moon and was used up until the mid-80s when Earth intelligence agencies were afraid of a potential interstellar war. Normally, it was unguarded as few people knew how to access it and the British government had all but forgotten about it, but Moore knew the traps and how to arm them. There was an explosive device at the entrance, razor wire at the base of the stairs, and sensor-activated automatic guns inside. The traps were decades-old but in good enough condition to work, so he set them up. To further arm himself, Moore climbed into the experimental Space-Jet in the base. It didn’t function very well as a vehicle, but the gatling-gun under the nose was potentially armed and operational. He just needed to check, so he climbed inside the jet.

Once Moore sat inside the cockpit, the console lit up and the main screen switched on. A green glow emanated from the Thatcher-era computer. The view on the screen was from a room Moore didn’t recognize, but he could hear a voice: “I was wondering if one of you would go to the bunker. I know the Crowns all had access to it. Setting a trap there was a longshot, but it looks as though my hard work paid off.”

Moore maintained his composure as he spoke, “I hope it’s not too much to ask that my assassin show his face. I’d hate to be murdered by a coward.”

“Where are my manners.” The view began to shift, indicating the killer was holding a phone. The face of a young man appeared: dark-haired with a square jaw. Moore’s eyes widened. He only said a name:

“Langworthy.”

“The prodigal son of the Agent Crown Program, yes.”

“Faked your death, I see. Very devious. Reminds me a bit of Julian Scorn.”

“Touché, Mr. Moore.”

“I suppose this is all because of Amsterdam?”

“Only Amsterdam? Surely, you can’t be that short sighted.”

“Care to elaborate then?”

“I would, old chap, but unfortunately, the moment you sat in that cockpit, you only had a minute to live.”

The bunker exploded and a fiery crater was left in a distant field.

Continued…