Chapter 2 The Mission

• “You are a very, very capable agent, Michael, “ His superior continued. “And despite your young age, thanks to your investigation, we’ve managed to catch some of the most hardened criminals out there.”
• “Thank you, Sir. “
• “And I’d like to congratulate you and your partner, Todd, on your last mission. You both did great, especially you. “ Benjamin pointed at him, “Especially you. And we’re impressed.”
• “Yes, Sir.”
• Michael was beginning to feel like an idiot, repeating the Yes, Sir, No, Sir lines the newbies were giving everyone around, so Michael decided to cut through the bullshit and be straightforward.
• “Thank you, but I’m not exactly sure why I was called here. “
• Benjamin pushed away from his desk and got up to stand in front of it.
• “As I said, the higher-ups are impressed by you. Not only in the CIA and DEA. “
• Oh. Shit.
• Here it was, Michael knew it.
• Whenever an investigation was not only shitty, but also involving the biggest freaks or mafia deals, and if it was involving not only the drug cartels but also the ones dealing with something else, the other bureaus like the FBI and DEA would pick the best CIA agents and “borrow” them for a mission.
• It could be for anything for an “as long as it takes” kind of thing. Micheal had no idea what the operations of the kind usually were, as :
• First- people either never got back alive from those;
• Second- the ones who survived were directly given a desk job with the salary one could only dream of;
• Or third - and he was only guessing, as he’d never heard of anyone around his age get to that point- be given the most classified cases, whose solving entered textbooks.
• But then again- he wasn’t exactly human and so far, the Bureau had been taking advantage of his wolf to the fullest.
• Michael put his hands on his hips, trying not to overthink and just hear out the instructions.
• “As I was saying, “ Benjamin said, reading his posture. Benjamin was human, but the years of being the head of one of the best intelligence services in the world made someone’s perceptions above the average human's.
• “The agency has been very impressed by the way you solved the last case. Even though it’s no secret bureaus rarely admit one does better than the other, or…”
• “What’s with the body lending, then?”
• “The what?”
• “Nevermind, “ Michael waved a hand. “I’m sorry, Sir, you were saying…”
• “I was saying there’s an agency that wants you for one of their cases. “
• He’d been right. Great.
• “And this is non-negotiable, I presume. “ He still tried.
• “Let’s say in theory it is, but not in practice. “
• “Of course. “
• Benjamin tipped his head and said affectionately.
• “You know how these things work, son. “
• Michael could sense it was almost genuine. He hated it when people did this. They always used the understanding, the giving of ‘I'm -doing -you a -favor’ kind of speeches when they were sending you to the worst places possible, masked as the one-step before the gold medal kind of cases.
• Micheal slowly closed his eyes, took the deepest breath he’d taken in a very long while, and said.
• “I’d be happy to assist in this case. “
• Benjamin clasped his hands triumphantly and smiled.
• “I was sure you’re the right person for this. Now, about the details.”
• ****
• His superior turned around and picked up the folder, still lying on the desk. He passed it to Michael and offered again,
• “Are you sure you don’t want to have a seat?“
• “No, it’s fine. “
• Michael shook his head and opened the folder. He was well aware if he sat down, his leg would start reminding him of the last injury he had, and even though his healing process was fast, the bullet holes took longer to heal. So Michael only propped himself on the nearest armrest and picked up the first picture. It was of an older man, perhaps Benjamin’s age. He looked like a ruthless businessman, judging by the confident posture and that look in the eyes vultures had.
• Michael knew they type very well- he’s sent a couple of men like that to prison after all.
• “This is Richard Gallahard,” Benjamin said and Michael looked up.
• “The trader? That Richard Gallahard? Wasn’t he a politician before?”
• “That’s right. “
• Michael put the picture back down and took the man’s profile. He skimmed through the information and frowned.
• “Art thefts? You only have information on those, or am I missing something here?”
• “You aren’t. This is what we have. For now. “
• "But why me? “ Michael asked, suspicious. “Why not someone from the International office, or the guys from Art theft? I mean, I don't even know much about all that."
• He admitted. The little he knew were things he'd learned from his sister, and that meant Very little.
• Michael was just more of a kick that guy's ass, and not a paint me those flowers one.
• Benjamin exhaled slowly.
• "The FBI Art Theft can't get anything."
• "And why would they think someone from the CIA would?"
• It sounded ridiculous. Surprising too, as everyone knew what they did. That's when he felt his boss' heartbeat go slightly off rhythm. Which meant this wasn't everything. To confirm his thoughts, Benjamin said
• "Michael, we gave a reason to suspect they trade with drugs, and Richard is the head of one of the biggest international drug and trafficking empires in the world."
• “The…” Michael began and paused. “Right. “
• It all kind of came together, Michael though amused. After all, you’d need a dog to catch the trace.
• Okay, this was a bigger game than he’d initially thought. Perhaps the case wasn’t going to be that boring after all.
• “What else?”
• “There’s already an agent, who’s been infiltrated- you’ll meet him once you’re in and he’s going to get you in the group. So the agent- his name’s Flynn, will try to get you closer to at least Richard’s inner circle. They trust Flynn, so that isn’t impossible. Otherwise, it could get years for you to just be in a room with the guy. Richard doesn’t believe in recommendations, you see. “
• “Of course. “
• ***