been one for underestimating people. It didn’t pay in his line of work. “She represents Eidolon, but she isn’t Eidolon, she’s just a figurehead”. Breslaw lapsed into silence and shovelled eggs and bacon into his mouth. He tried not to bolt the food but time was getting on and he was aware of their schedule.
Breslaw watched Lyle mop at his egg yolk with some toast. His charge had poached his own eggs rather than frying them. Breslaw wasn’t sure their breakfast would do them any favours when they got to travelling, but he was enjoying it. It was only made better by sharing it with Lyle. He liked the man, had done from the moment they’d met.
“They have plans for you, Mr.Tate.” Breslaw had hoped to be on first name terms with his charge by now, but the invitation to address him thus had never been offered. “Big plans.” He forked up the last of the food and washed it down with the dregs of his coffee. “That was good, thank you.” Breslaw started to move away from the table, but Lyle grabbed his wrist.
“So tell me about their big plans. What’s really going on, Adam?”
Breslaw’s jacket slipped open as Lyle snatched at him and he was treated to an expression that told him the Englishman was still unused to guns. It seemed odd, given how long Lyle had been living in the States., but then he remembered that his husband had been shot dead. There was bound to be some discomfort there.
Breslaw was just processing all this when his phone rang. He listened a few moments, then snapped the handset shut. “I’m sorry, Lyle, we have to go—plane time has moved up by an hour and we need to collect Mr. Parker on the way.”
7: Rude Awakening
Carter (Gil) Gillespie, Miles Sutherland, Tony Alessi, George Jones
introducing Lance Peabody
___________________________________________________
Early Sunday morning, 23rd January, Miles Sutherland’s house
Gil reached out and hit the alarm, expecting the thumping noise to stop. When it didn’t, his groggy mind registered that alarm clocks didn’t usually make thumping noises. He sat up, realising that the noise was coming from downstairs. Someone was hammering on the door, an urgent banging. He glanced at the clock. The display said 0550.
What the—? He’d set it for 7am giving them an hour to pack. They were not due to be collected until 8am. He looked down. Miles was stirring, his long limbs half-tangled in the top sheet. Sweat glistened on his pale skin. Miles, in his bed. Who would have believed it? More banging intruded on Gil’s pleasant recollections of the previous evening.
Yawning and scratching his head—it felt as if he had barely had any sleep—Gil rolled out of bed and stumbled downstairs, cautiously maneuvering around a large rucksack Miles had left in the hallway.
“Who is it?” he called through the door.
“Alessi,” came the urgent reply. “Gil? Def con 3 went to def con 2 about ten minutes ago. Everything has been pushed forward an hour.”
Gil opened the door. He knew it was Alessi from that phrase. He had been joking with the agent on the way over about def con 1. “We need to move,” the man said simply.
“Sorry, late night…”
The agent moved past him into the hall and Gil shut the door behind him, dimly registering the presence of another agent in a large SUV at the roadside beyond.
“We’ve been told to take you to the airport asap.” A small smile played across the agent’s mouth. “I’ll…er…leave you to get dressed.”
Gil realised in his haste he had not stopped to put his shorts on. He grinned, only slightly embarrassed. “Sorry,” he murmured. Alessi raised an eyebrow. His grin widened.
“No apologies necessary, sir. I’ll see you outside.” He consulted his watch. “Best make it no later than twenty, if you can, otherwise the boss will rip me a new one.”
“Before you go…”
“Yes?”
“If you were me, what would you take with you?” Alessi regarded him for a moment