Rendezvous in the Cabinet

Maximilian was a proficient agent for a discreet sub-sector of the English government, in fact one of the best there was. He was as charming as he was frivolous with a strong penchant for Irish whisky and bedding unconventional brunette women he barely met that usually foreboded his assignments. His thick black curls had streaks of grey on his sides always combed back that left them spiraling to the back of his head. Max was usually dressed to the nines, custom black or grey suits and lavish jewelry to match, but this time he came in sluggishly. He had only a golden lighter in his pocket engraved with a phoenix symbol and no knowledge of it. He stood in front of an office door engraved "Jennifer O'Brien", behind it, the strong-willed redheaded cognitive psychologist in charge of assessing the mental capabilities of the field agents. She had been familiar with Max and had grown fed up with his antics. Though Max had came in desperately needing her help since she had a neurotransmitter machine in her possession. It was used to induce sleep in order to help the agents display their most recent memories, in case intricate details were missed during their assignments. Many in the agency called her specialized sensory tank, the 'Dream Machine'. Max opened the door reluctantly and took a deep breath before entering. A passionate and temperamental conversation quickly ensued, after a moment of a mildly cordial back and forth, their exchange became more brutish.

"What do you mean you don't remember the last 24 hours, Max?

"Yeah but you're taking the piss out of me , just help me out".

"I don't think you can actually function without alcohol Max, it's really quite surprising". 

"Well if you...just...", Max tried to get a word in but couldn't.

"A couple of your peers had to bring you in completely hammered, it's unreal". Jennifer yelled in a condescending tone as she paced around her office. She walked away from Max's mutterings, but couldn't contain herself. "I'm serious, I really, really think you're mental, how are you still employed for field duty?"

"Oh come off it, - do you hear yourself? I don't think you can actually function Max" Max mimicked under his breath almost adolescently as he rolled his eyes which further annoyed Jennifer. She walked up to a few inches from Max's face, sweat still oiling from his face and puffy eyes.

"Well go on" she dared him, he head a tenacious look on his face to keep going with his quips and continue testing her patience, but held back. 

"Just bloody what?" snapped Max.

"No go on finish then" Jennifer said completely fed up with his childish antics.

"Finish what?". said Max.

"Finish what you were going to say", she continued.

"Alright, I had a drink, or two... maybe three, I get it, I was wrong"

"Are you going to tone your voice down or you're going to shout like some dick?"

"I'll shout like some dick then I'm going to tone my voice down", Max snapped. I need the dream machine Jenny. I'm begging you here". 

"You're acting like a pupil" she grunted. Max visiting became almost a weekly thing which resulted in the same childish bickering between the two more in tune with a playground than a professional atmosphere.

"Well go on with it, already." Jennifer guided her hand over towards the machine rubbing his head while Max shuffled over, he had been recovering from a really bad case of a hangover and had barely slept.

"Why don't you lay on that couch here and while you're laying there I'll remind you of our code of ethics too. You're lucky to be alive, Max". She sighed. "You know I shout at you, but I care about your well-being. I don't want you to end up like Agent 26. Poor lad was exactly like you before he popped his clog".

"Well thank you Jenny, you know I like to take the mick out of you". Max walked into the leather bed and laid down encapsulated by the soundproof, transparent glass, the machine closed slowly and released an invisible chemical into the air. Max breathed in deep and mouthed the words "I'm sorry" before winking at Jennifer and losing consciousness.

"You twat", Jennifer muttered... shaking her head, "Muppet", a small glimpse of a smile formed in her rosy freckled face. Jennifer started monitoring the device watching an image of graphs and abstract infrared waves that signified his brain activity. The machine would help Max relay the last days of his experiences, communicating directly to his psyche and illustrate his actions and thoughts. It would appear to him like a vivid movie but stimulating his senses and guiding him through the events. He finally wakes up to the day before. 

__________________________________________________________

You're inside a long sprinter van with tinted windows, along with several others mainly eastern European and middle eastern men and women. The van is driving towards the parking lot of a wealthy mansion with a natural backdrop of a green country side and dark cloudy weather brewing up above. You listen in to a few mutters in Italian and a Northern Kurdish dialect, which you have intermediate proficiency understanding. The two Italian men are complaining about how far the training grounds are and the others are conversing about a very attractive Russian woman sitting in the front turning the radio station to a horrible Euro-dance song. You touch your face and feel the synthetic polyester. You have on the same ski mask as everyone else in the vehicle. One of the men sitting to the left of you taps you with the tip of a bottle, he offers you a drink in English, you quickly identify his Slovak accent. You thank him in your forced Russian accent you chose for yourself, a central dialect to blend in. After a few swigs you pass it back to him. The woman in the front passenger seat turns back to you and smiles. Do you know her?

The van finally halts in front of a parking lot after clearing the security check at the front gate and a heavy set man opens the slide door to guide you and the anonymous group out. He guides you into a large mansion, in which you follow behind with the group walking in an orderly line. You continue on heading towards a spiral staircase up to the top floors of the house, decorated in expensive vases, golden interiors and exotic house plants. The location doesn't particularly look nefarious despite everyone's masked appearance, but my goodness the interiors looked as if they were sculpted by Italian masters which would put the inside of the Kremlin to shame. You also see a family walking about the residential home carrying about their mundane activities nonchalantly, there's pictures on the wall of kids and family portraits with golden frames.

Through the line of masked people you're walking behind, you notice the same girl walking in front of you. You're staring at her with lustful eyes and quickly notice her well-defined form, narrow waist and well proportioned hips. She has a distinctive hourglass shape you find desirable. You keep fixating on her backside as you continue walking up stairs behind, catching a glimpse of her back dimples peering below her shirt. Her light brunette hair tightly squeezed onto her shoulders and her aromatic perfume leaves a trail behind that entrances you further. She catches you staring at her and smiles again. Your heart pulse slowly rises including the dopamine in your system, she finally stops and leans over to you and whispers in your ear in Russian.

"There's a closet on the second floor, if you want to make the escape", she teases.

"Uh, Do you think we have time"?

"How long do you need", she laughs grabbing your hand for a second and letting go. You two are the last in line following behind the group, who all seem to be in complete focus and unaware of them. You remember you're also carrying a backpack, it takes you a moment to remember you have very crucial documents in there, regarding the mission. Your badge is also inside, a badge divulging your real identity, someone finding this would entrap you. For a moment, you're upset with yourself for not hiding this right away, you hesitate between finding a secured location in the building to store it and the brunette guiding you back downstairs. She is pulling you away from the group in search for that closet she spoke of. You can't think of anything else more tantalizing than tasting her kiss and the feeling of her warm skin against yours.

"Well"? she says.

"Three hours" you tell her hesitantly smiling at her.

She laughs, "Your Russian is horrible".

You've now made it down to the second floor without anyone noticing you two have gone whispering and smiling to each other like infatuated young lovers. The house is empty on the second floor but you hear a few conversations through the ceilings above. There it is, the closet you are so excited to find, it was your oasis for the next few minutes. You toss your backpack out in the hallway hurriedly as she pulls you by your collar. She doesn't let you react, almost ripping the clothing from your body, while embracing you. Your body shivers as the dopamine kicks in more vigorously leaving you more satisfied in the spontaneity of the act. After a few minutes as promised, the deed is done you lay on your side to recompose yourself with a cheeky grin on your face. She is already dressed running up to the third floor, leaving you engulfed in her heat and scent. After a moment you get dressed and walk outside of the room to head over to the spiral staircase, in the third floor. There you see some of the men are lounging outside of a large meeting room. You walk inside and find the anonymous group has filled the room to capacity including the Russian woman standing in front of the others watching a large projection of a man speaking. You look around the room and find piles of backpacks and bags in the corner, that's when you realize your backpack was left behind, back in the hallway.

You knobhead, you moron. You've lost the only thing that would completely compromise you in this assignment. You've got shite intuition and even more shite priorities. After a moment of self-hatred and agonizing insults to yourself, you excuse yourself from the group. You wipe the sweat condensing on your perspiring forehead, the hot flashes is growing stronger as you rush outside trying best to not seem suspicious. You head over back to the spiral staircase and find the closet again, it's not in the hallway where you left it. You're now walking with your head down and eye sight moving in quick pigeon-like turns inspecting everywhere you've walked through. It has to be somewhere, why does this house have to be so big? You're walking in the second floor between every room in the house. Did someone get it? It wasn't in the pile of bags by the conference room, so you kept searching mercilessly. You pass by a kitchen with a family dining, some women and their children eating lunch at the table.

"Excuse me". you smile through the masks, one of the woman acknowledges you but carries about her business, they must be used to a bunch of strangers in masks walking around daily. Bollocks, it's nowhere in sight. You're out of options, so you head back towards where the van was parked, maybe it's in there. You head over to the wrong end and notice this mansion has a warehouse and a loading docks for trailers to back into. One such truck is already offloading, where several men in similar black clothing and black ski masks all are attending to removing wooden crates from their trucks. There is a tall tan man with long greasy curls towering up over you, he looks about 7 foot 2 inches tall, but he's the only one without a ski mask on. Could he be the boss? He calls over to you with his voice so low pitched he could register as a bosso profondo. 

"Hey you. Help Egor carry some of these inside. Make yourself busy" he calls you out. This man could rip me in two if he wanted to. Don't you act too odd and stick out like a sore thumb. You'll help Egor with one of the crates, make your way into the living room and bobs your uncle. They won't be none the wiser, and maybe the bags inside. But, which ones Egor?

"Hey, Italian guy. Hurry and grab the other end", says a man holding a heavy crate from the end of the truck. You walk over to assist him and make your way walking sideways to a basement in the house, you lay the crate onto the counter top.

"I'm Egor" he says.

"Good to meet you Egor". you speak in your Russian accent. Egor folds his mask up to where his mouth is visible. Lights a cigarette and takes a puff then looks at you with interrogating eyes. The smell of the cigarette smells inviting. You enjoy it.

"I've never seen you before" he says in Russian. You remain calm as this doesn't exactly paint you suspicious, everyone has a mask on afterall, but you can't stop thinking about your backpack. That's what really makes you panic, if anyone found it you'd be as good as dead, much like the late Agent 26. You quickly excuse yourself to continue your desperate search.

"It's good to meet you, soldier", Egor says as you walk away from the room.

You head back to the spiral case for another look in the conference room that's now empty. There it is, the black backpack, the zipper is open, this is the end of you. You grab it and walk into another empty room with a couch. There you pull out the items inside one by one, your favorite jacket, the files seemed untampered, but your badge is missing. You turn the backpack upside down and throw everything outside, the gadgets, the phones and tools all come tumbling down, until the lanyard does. You pick it up and immediately notice your badge, your photo is scratched off. In its place a glued picture of the Russian girl you spent a lovely few minutes with, in the back it has coordinates scribbled. You are in a world of shit, my friend. Someone out there knows who you are but you've not the slightest idea whom, you walk out back into the crowded floors of people walking by all in black masks. They've carried about their business. You walk around the floors in search of the girl. You're severely stressed as you're walking around with suspicious eyes and a palpitating chest, nobody seems to take any particular notice in you however. You're so paranoid any lingering look in your direction you suspect they're watching you. You keep strolling around but you can't find the girl from before.

Egor calls out to you lounging around from a balcony overlooking some of the people still offloading below the docks, he invites you for a shot of vodka to celebrate. You partake, though you're still stressed and antsy, but remembered you're there to gain intel. You and Egor take a shot, one turns into two and then you lose count. Moments go by laughing with Egor and sharing details of the deceitful life you invented for yourself.

"To your health!" yells Egor smacking you on the side of your arms.

"Comrade, do you know what would go with this delicious Vodka?" You say.

"What's that?" Egor laughs drunkenly.

"Whiskey".

Egor yells in a scornful manner but agrees, he tells you where to find the liquor cabinet in the house which you immediately stumble over to, teetering and using the walls to balance yourself. You walk down a long blurry hallway into a large master bedroom. Then as you're close to opening the cabinet towards the end of the room, the door behind you shuts. A woman with short platinum blonde hair is standing in front of it smiling at you.

"Hello Max", she says, you jerked hearing your real name and turn around immediately leaning to pull the pistol hidden from your boots. She's already pointing her gun towards you.

You remember her familiar face, the polish agent you've met a few weeks ago in Tbilisi. You had spent a gratifying night with her infiltrating a secret society meeting in the alps, you smile at her and begin to lower your weapon.

"You know Max, it's rarely a good career move to have a conscious".

"Hannah. Look we're both looking for-".  

She quickly shoots her gun and a dart punctures into your neck. It causes you to fall back against the cabinet, tumbling over the bottles inside. A concoction pools over beneath the cracks and soaks your body laying against it. You smell the malty grains of an aged whisky ale before jerking awake back to Jennifer's office. -

Max regains consciousness and tries to push the door open from the dream machine unsuccessfully in a nervous fit. Then pulls an emergency handle inside, Jennifer is sitting at her desk typing at her keyboard. Max falls over lightheaded against the couch across her desk trying to waive his arms for her attention.

"Easy, Max, you're suppose to give it a few minutes", Jennifer says.

"We've been compromised", Max mumbled.