Agent Blue 6 (Patreon)

“Good evening, Mr. Steel,” said the Butcher of Boston with a kind tone, like he was just an old fisherman starting a simple conversation. “Would you like to have a seat?” I froze for a second, examining his style. The way he dressed was just as lax as his tone, just wearing a pair of slacks and a crumpled shirt, uncaring of how he looked. That, even more than his past reputation, told me that I was facing someone that was very important. Not everyone could afford to dress shabbily on the top floor of the Sapphire Palace, and the lack of bodyguards or cameras drove the point even deeper —except a waiter that was hiding on the corner, too far away to react in case of an emergency.  

No, the room belonged to him, which meant he was very high in the organization. No wonder he felt confident posturing. 

The only question was, why he summoned me. I would have guessed that he had discovered my identity, but he referred me with my alias, so it didn’t look like the case. Or at least, I hoped that to be the case. I wouldn’t be too surprised to learn that he would be playing with me, followed by a short disappointment punctuated by a bullet to the back of my head. 

Luckily, the years I had spent as a high-profile thief had trained me well to hide my shock. “Good evening to you, sir,” I answered after an appropriate amount of stagger, and took a seat. After all, it would be suspicious for my alias to react to adapt instantly. 

The butcher said nothing for a moment, just gestured, and the waiter slid closer silently as top-class butlers reputed to, but I had a feeling that his skills weren’t developed in stuffy castles and colorful galas. He expertly filled two wine glasses from the old bottle, and a heavenly smell reached my nose. “Please,” the butcher said as he grabbed his own glass while the waiter disappeared back into the shadows. 

I couldn’t help but widen as I took a sip, a heavenly aroma assaulting my tongue. I wasn’t an amateur when it came to wine —it was one of the most useful skills as I tried to penetrate the upper class in my past thievery career, not to mention the additional training I had received after I had been recruited as an agent. But I had never tasted such a complex and aromatic wine in my life. I didn’t speak until I finished the glass, focusing on enjoying the wine. 

My fears were put to rest. If I were to be executed, he wouldn’t waste such precious wine on me. 

“I hope the wine was to your satisfaction,” the butcher said after we finished the first glass, leaning back relaxedly, which did little to the threat he posed. He might be old, but that was not a reason to underestimate him. In his line of work, getting old was not an easy task to achieve. 

“Incredible,” I admitted easily. “Though I’m having a bit of trouble recognizing the vintage.” 

“Recognizing it would have been more surprising,” he admitted with a chuckle. “It’s a bottle gifted by a Russian acquaintance, from a batch his father looted from the palace of the Tzar during the revolution.” 

I couldn’t help but react in surprise. Even without the historic importance of such a wine, it was at least a century old, and among such wine, it doubtlessly had a special place. Otherwise, it was impossible to earn its place in the cellars of Czar Nicholas. “And if I’m not being too forward, why I’m being subject to such honor, especially by such an impressive host as Mr. O'Reilly?” I countered, using his real name. 

He chuckled, but a light of interest shone in his eye. “You recognize me, good. I like it, no dawdling around and posturing. But it’s a bit surprising that a keyboard boy like you knows an old man like me.” 

I shrugged. “I had a colorful youth before taking the software route, and it was not always entirely on the bright side of the justice,” I admitted, revealing some information willingly. It was clear that with the wine and the Silver VIP status, I was on his radar. Under such a direct assessment, I couldn’t maintain my skills indefinitely, so willingly revealing my potential would work better. 

“Interesting,” the butcher answered, his interest peeking forward. “So, I’m guessing the chaos that you created was not entirely accidental?” 

I didn’t feel the need to ask what he was talking about. With the timing, it was obvious that he was talking about my shocking engagement with Sabrina. I decided that honesty was the best way to go on that, as my situation was complicated enough. “Unfortunately, it’s still accidental, as I have limited contacts in Latin America, and didn’t recognize her or other people at the table,” I admitted. “I was just paying her back for a favor for helping me win big on poker. I didn’t learn exactly which family she belonged before it was too late.” 

O’Reilly watched me carefully, to assess whether I was lying, only to explode in laughter a moment later. “Oh, you’re actually telling the truth. That’s grand!” he hollered, shaking with laughter for almost a minute. “You’re telling me that you have engaged with the granddaughter of the Old Ghost by accident.” 

I stiffened once more. “The Old Ghost?” I whispered, unable to help myself. 

“You didn’t know that as well?” he added, laughing even harder. “Oh, that’s grand.” 

As much as I didn’t enjoy being the butt of the joke, I could understand his amusement. The Old Ghost was another legend in the business, though unlike O’Reilly, his death was confirmed. He had died in his seventies, but not without creating one last legend and taking two established families down with him. “And may I ask, how my fiancee is related to him.” 

“Maternal grandfather,” the butcher answered, his laughter finally subsiding. “Actually, that’s why I called you here, to test your mettle. Let’s start,” he added, and gestured to the waiter once more, and he came and pulled the table away, while three men, each dressed in impeccable suits, walked inside. It was easy to recognize that they were trained well, but not too well. “Show me what you got,” he said. 

I nodded once even as I grabbed a napkin, and then jumped up to my feet. With a kick, I sent the chair I was sitting on the one on the left, and threw the napkin at the one on the right. One against three was not the best odds without any weapon, especially when I had to walk in a tightrope, not revealing some of the more unique tricks I had learned in the Agency. 

Luckily, even when I was a street rat, I was trained nicely. Unlike what most people thought, quite a few of the homeless people were in destitute not because of monetary issues but mental problems and substance abuse, especially the veterans. Therefore, a resourceful street rat could receive the training only the special forces could receive in exchange for cheap alcohol and even cheaper drugs. 

Even better, after living in the streets, those veterans had a wealth of experience in dirty fighting, one I had no problems employing. At first, I had charged toward the one in the middle, only to take a sudden turn and sweep the one on the right, still reeling from the distraction from the napkin. He fell on the ground, and a kick on the diaphragm put him out of commission for a while. It didn’t matter how experienced a fighter, a kick to the correct location locked their breathing. And even better, it was nonlethal —though it might crack a few ribs— so I wouldn’t earn the displeasure of my host by killing one of his fighters. 

Then, it was one against two. The one on the left tried to use the same trick by pushing the chair toward me and charging forward together with his friend, but I stepped on the chair instead, using it to jump, pushing him back with a kick on the shoulder, then rolling to the side to make sure he was in between me and the other attacker before launching a punch combo. 

I was preparing for another fancy trick when O’Reilly spoke. “Enough.” Just like that, three bodyguards stopped, looking dejected. “I’m a bit disappointed,” the Butcher said as he looked at his man. “Never underestimate an opponent.” It was a sign of their discipline that they stood straight —except the one that I kicked in the ribs, who was supported by his friends— and said nothing before they disappeared through the same door they entered. 

He looked at me with a renewed interest. “Not bad. It seems that my research didn’t reveal everything,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting special forces training, but something is weird?” he murmured as he gazed at me, then his eyes brightened. “No wonder your moves are weird. You were quite young when you started training. Eight, nine?”  

“Eleven, but I was small for my age,” I corrected. “For an enterprising street-rat that can rob an alcohol store regularly, finding trainers is not a difficult task,” I added, revealing a nugget from my past. I didn’t want to, but he was clearly researching me, and giving him some real nugget about my childhood might distract me from the last couple of years of my life. As long my involvement with the Agency was not revealed, it wasn’t the worst-case scenario. 

“Good, I like a self-make man,” O’Reilly commented with a chuckle. “And I’m sure the Old Ghost would have loved that as well, if he didn’t kill you in a training accident,” he chuckled. As we talked, the waiter came and rearranged the room and refreshed our wine glasses, alongside with an exquisite cheese platter. He took a long sip, before speaking once more. “Initially, I was hoping for to you be the distraction while I made my move, but I like what I see. You’re good, maybe good enough to actually survive.” 

“I’m guessing there’s something more to Sabrina’s marriage issue?” I asked. 

“You’re not wrong,” he told, his expression serious. “What I’m going to tell you is going to stay secret, even from Sabrina,” he stated, not bothering to tell what would happen if I ignored it, and I didn’t bother to ask. With his nickname, I didn’t need to. “You think that Sabrina is the daughter of the current leader of the Blue Guard, but that’s wrong. She’s actually his niece, and both her father and mother disappeared when she was just a baby, suspected death, but despite our search, we weren’t able to confirm one way or another.” 

“Interesting,” I murmured. The Blue Guard was strong, and the Organization was even stronger. If the Butcher, who was obviously an executive of the ruling council, was unable to identify it one way or another, it was clearly not a simple issue. Of course, Sabrina’s real status was even more surprising, though considering the insistence of the current leader Diego showed to make her marry in a way that would make her ineligible for ruling the family, it made a certain amount of sense in the hindsight.

“Yeah,” he approved. “However, since the Old Ghost was a good rival, I decided to pay attention to his granddaughter, to protect her. I didn’t like the fact that Diego was trying to auction her to a bunch of idiotic heirs, but I had my suspicions, so I didn’t get involved. It proved the correct decision, because one of my spies had discovered that actually, her hand was promised to a mysterious third party, but it was top secret. To my knowledge, apart from Diego and a few key executives, only the oldest son is unaware of the situation.” 

“So that’s why you sent a silver card to me and called me to a private meeting despite not knowing much about me,” I said calmly as everything clicked. “You want them to think I’m your man, and you want them to think that you’re trying to prevent Sabrina from being married to one of those idiots, while on the background, you search for the mystery fiancee on the background.” 

“Smart boy,” he said, though I had a feeling that he was talking about my calm acceptance of the situation rather than understanding his simplistic —but effective— strategy. “I don’t care much about the relationship between you and Sabrina, as she’s a big girl, and I don’t know her personally. I’m only involved due to respect for an old rival, protecting her from an impossible challenge. The rest is up to her. She either handles the pressure and proves herself deserving of the reputation of her old man, or she shatters.” 

“Noted,” I said with an appreciative nod, not voicing my suspicions. The story he put together was certainly believable, fitting both his rumored personality and the situation, but I couldn’t help but feel like there was something much bigger going underneath, but I let it slide, as even the surface of the situation was complicated enough. Also, O’Reilly might be just using me as a distraction, but the silver VIP status actually increased the chances of completing the mission successfully. 

Of course, fate proved to be a fickle mistress, because just as I was leaving the private room, the main elevator parted open, and a figure I recognized stepped into the restaurant. Of course, he was different than his pictures, wearing his hair shorter, dyed black rather than its original grayish hue. Similarly, he hid his icy blue eyes behind a pair of thick-framed glasses, and used professional-grade makeup to cover the scar on his chin. However, in the world of secret agents, these changes were nothing. Clearly, he was feeling confident enough to walk around with a poor disguise. 

I had just found Agent Brown, and he looked very healthy… 

Something was wrong. Very, very, wrong…