"Good morning, O~ooodin!"
Heero shivered when the quilt was pulled of him with great force, allowing a gust of chilly air to wash all over him. Duo's voice ran out through the room. "Rise and shine, buddy. Time to get back to your conductors!"
"Shut up about those things," Heero groaned and tried to cover his head with a pillow. He didn't need Duo to remind him of his precarious situation.
"Oh, don't exaggerate. Who wouldn't love to tinker with intricate electronics in the early morning?" Duo snickered at his own joke. "Come on, let's have some breakfast first and then I'll introduce you to a guest."
"A guest?" Heero's curiosity was piqued. It was good to see Duo back into good spirits too; it automatically made him feel much, much better. He watched Duo scurrying around the room, going through Heero's wardrobe.
"I see they still think lace and huge collars are the trends of today's fashion," he tsk-ed. "I think a pair of tight jeans would look much better on you! Well, aren't you getting out of bed? You can't show up at breakfast in just those shorts, you know."
"All right, all right." Heero rolled out of bed, thanking the stars that he had kept his boxers on. Duo catching him in the nude would be... more than awkward. The man of his dreams walked around in front of him, talking and gesturing, and paradise and hell have never been so close at the same time. He quickly got dressed and followed Duo to the dining room. When he entered the room, he saw Quatre Winner, Chang Wufei and Trowa Barton sitting at the table, set with copious dishes and shiny, polished dinnerware. Heero feigned ignorance.
"Good morning, all."
"Good morning, Lowe." Wufei rose up from his seat. "Allow me to introduce you to Quatre Raberba Winner and Trowa Barton."
Quatre gave Heero a surprisingly strong hand, a kind smile on his face. "It's nice meeting you, Mister Lowe."
Trowa merely acknowledged him with a curt nod of his head and seemed more interested in his cup of tea than in Heero.
"What's the honor of your visit, Mister Winner?"
"Mister Winner is an... investor for the cause," Khushrenada said and scrutinized Heero. He hadn't heard the man arrive, dressed in the same uniform as yesterday, complete with a swiveling cape. Heero couldn't help but to play a little bit naive, trying to collect some more information.
"Excuse me, but you're the same Winner as the man behind Winner Resources? The mining satellites?"
For a short moment, something dark crossed Quatre's face, but it disappeared within a second, leaving Heero to wonder if he'd really seen it.
"My father was head of Winner Inc.," he said, carefully placing his porcelain teacup back on the plate. "I took over after his untimely death."
"Rebel forces?" Heero knew he was blunt, but he was curious as to learn Quatre's motives. He was financing a Foundation trying to resurrect the Gundams, the same Gundams who took care of his father death.
"It was a rebel revolt, yes, but with much more political and financial involvement than you could imagine." Translation: shut the fuck up. Quatre was too polite to return Heero's bluntness; however, the tone in his voice was more than obvious. Trowa blinked at Heero, his posture rigid.
"So, who killed your father then?" Trowa spoke, his speech pattern slow, as if he weighed every word on a golden platter before pronouncing them.
"Why do you assume my father was killed?" Heero asked him, looking grim.
"Duo told us you're a war orphan."
Heero glared at Duo, who was munching away at his breakfast, not even looking at Heero. He was so engrossed with his stack of pancakes and adding more maple syrup to it that he completely ignored the conversation. Heero reminded himself that Duo was on a first-name-basis with all of the people he encountered - so it wasn't farfetched that he had been talking to Trowa Barton. That made Duo Maxwell however, friends with a leader of a warfare Foundation, a man involved with rebel forces, a billionaire with probable father issues and a man involved in artillery and weapon business. It seemed that Duo had a habit of choosing dangerous friends.
"I'm afraid I can't help you," Heero answered dryly. "My adoptive father never talked about my real father. I guess he didn't know him well enough to tell me something about him."
"At least you had a parent," Trowa mumbled. "Duo had to find his refuge in a church."
The mention of the word 'church' immediately snapped Duo out of his pancakes trance. The look on his face clearly told Trowa to stop talking, but the other simply shrugged and continued pouring himself some pomegranate juice. Heero didn't know what was going on, but he filed 'church' mentally away for future use. He could imagine a little as to what Trowa was talking about; Duo was from L2, the volatile colony so caught up in war that casualties and damages ran extremely high, wrecking the entire economy and government. The rebel forces were the strongest at L2; the church Duo took refuge in had probably been attacked, if not destroyed. Heero shuddered involuntarily.
"Both wars were terrible, leaving many homeless and without their families." Quatre interrupted Heero's train of thoughts.
"And we should try to prevent a third one, but that's a bit difficult seeing how we're into the gundanium chips and conductors business," Heero said before he could stop himself. An awkward silence fell. He wished he could've bitten his tongue. He might as well have announced that he was a secret agent.
"Well well well, do we have a dealer with a conscience?" Quatre didn't mock him, but instead looked at him differently, his blue eyes determined and strong, yet... appraising him? It was too late to withdraw his words now. Heero's mind worked quickly, trying to steer the conversation to neutral grounds, but his tongue refused to cooperate.
"It seems to me that everyone at this table has experienced one or more tragedies in the previous wars. I was just wondering; why buy materials and equipment to walk into those footsteps of war?"
Quatre laced his fingers together, resting with his elbows on the table. Khushrenada had been silent all the time, but everyone was exchanging looks with each other.
"Interesting," he finally said. Then, suddenly, his face lit up as if he had heard the most excellent news in the world. "Let's not tar the early morning with such depressing talk about wars and Gundams! Sit down, Odin Lowe, and enjoy some breakfast. I have to say, I've never tasted fluffier pancakes."
Heero knew a dismissal when he heard one, but this time he was more than glad. He quickly sat down, catching Duo's brooding look and Khushrenada's gauging one, and even though the pancakes tasted like rubber to him, he'd never been more grateful for a distraction than this one.
He was walking a fine line, and he wasn't out of the woods yet. Heero stared at the damaged conductors in front of him. He was technical-savvy enough to make them look like they were repaired, but that didn't change the fact that they simply wouldn't work. He was running out of time fast, and as soon as Romefeller had no more use for him, Odin Lowe was dead. He certainly was, when they found out the conductors were never meant to work in the first place.
Headquarters. He had to find a way to reach them. Une had to be notified of Septem's death, and that Treize Khushrenada was calling the shots here. Actually, Quatre Winner was, but Heero knew Relena kept him in high regard, and he didn't want to unsettle the Queen of the World with this news. However, Une had to be told, somehow... but HQ was on Earth, and he was on L4. If only he had his laptop, but all his belongings were at the Star Hotel. Ever since the transaction went wrong, everything had gone wrong, with too many questions still left to be answered.
"Daydreaming, aren't we, Lowe?"
"Your Excellency." Heero recognized the man's voice before turning around, but couldn't hide his surprise; the man in charge of the Foundation was paying him a visit?
"I apologize for the pressure we put on you," Khushrenada said. "But time is really running out. We need those conductors, as we can't...manufacture them on our own."
"Duo Maxwell seems handy enough," Heero remarked. Khushrenada smiled.
"I see that he hasn't escaped your attention," he said. The ginger haired man swiped with his glove clad hands over the conductors. "Duo has qualifications on a very special level, for which we appreciate him very much. He's a brave man. Nice too, though a bit brash. But all in all, a very valuable force."
"You had him steal the Gundam designs."
Khushrenada laughed, albeit short and loud. "You're very observant, Lowe. I'm sure you've been told that you have to keep the conclusions you draw to yourself."
"Is that a threat or helpful advice?"
"Helpful advice." Khushrenada was taller than Heero, but no menace went out of him... yet. Heero didn't need to wish for his gun; he'd been trained in extensive fighting sports, ranging from martial arts to boxing. He could take the man on, if need be. He followed Khushrenada's movements, who had just picked up one of the conductors. He studied the piece of electronics for a while, but fortunately for Heero he didn't ask about any technical details. "How's work coming along?"
"It's coming along nicely," Heero answered. "Thank you for all the tools and the work space."
"No problem," Khushrenada said. "If you need anything more, just let me know."
It was the opening Heero had been waiting for. It was a long shot, a plan hastily put together, but it was worth a try. He had to get back to Earth, to Headquarters, even if he had to risk his cover.
"Now that you mention it, Your Excellency," he added hastily, "I'm in need of a few spare parts."
Khushrenada nodded. "I'll send someone to take your request. I'm sure we can provide you with whatever parts you need."
"They're not available on L4 or any other of the colonies," Heero said, carefully monitoring Khushrenada's reaction. "I have my own suppliers on Earth, and I trust them to deliver reliable parts."
"Are you sure these parts are only available on Earth? As you know, we have excellent connections with L3."
"With all due respect, Your Excellency," Heero made sure to keep the disdain out of his voice this time, there was no need to ruffle Khushrenada's feathers, "L3 is literally too heavy to provide me with such specific, frail components of the conductors."
"I see." Khushrenada was silent for a while, still studying the conductor in his hand. Finally, he put the fragile piece back on the workbench and stared at Heero. "How long is it going to take?"
"Only the hours to travel to Earth and back again, and to talk to some people," Heero said. "No longer than two days. I'll do the best I can to keep the delay as short as possible."
"And there's no way you can fix these things without those spare parts, or another alternative?"
"I'm sorry, but no." Heero kept his face as neutral as possible. He was the best agent in the Secret Service. He had faced tougher situations than this. He only needed to convince Khushrenada, needed to bullshit his way out of here, to get back to Earth and reach HQ...
"I think I can spare two days," Khushrenada said. There was no friendliness on his face or in his voice. "But that's the last I can do. Don't disappoint us and don't stall any longer, Lowe."
"Thank you, Your Excellency." Heero remained stoic under the other's words. He had heard many threats in his life, and he knew by now who was going to follow up on it or not. Khushrenada couldn't call the shots without Quatre Winner, and since the billionaire had expressed his veto... as it was, he'd just been given the leeway he needed, and Heero released the breath he didn't realize he was holding. He watched Khushrenada leave and reminded himself to be careful, very careful.
With a little time to spare before lunch, a servant visited Heero in his workshop. He told him that Quatre Winner was leaving for Earth in another hour and Mister Lowe was invited along. Heero was taken aback by the sudden opportunity; he had expected to pay a visit to Star Hotel first, get his belongings and book a seat on a commercial flight. Apparently, Khushrenada had spoken to Quatre - and now things had been set into motion, completely out of his control. He didn't like it, but he had no choice in the matter - the servant informed him that his bags had been packed, and that Quatre Winner was expecting him at lunch in his private shuttle.
Traveling with a private shuttle relieved him from waiting for hours in line and being propped up on a commercial flight. Quatre Winner proved to be pleasant company, not mentioning Heero's words at breakfast and talking about business, space travel and this and that in general. It wasn't hard to keep up conversation, even though Heero sometimes cast a longing glance at Trowa Barton - not at the person, but at the laptop he was using. All in all, it was late at night when Heero finally set foot on Earth, kindly thanking Quatre and declining his invitation to spend the night at his mansion - he hadn't been at his own apartment for way too long, and he could easily conduct his business from there.
His body was protesting, but Heero forced himself to go on. Space travel took a lot of energy, and he was barely adjusted to Earth's atmosphere, let alone the change in time zone. He could rest on the flight back. For now, he had urgent matters to attend to. It wasn't hard to find a taxi to take him to his apartment building; much to his relief, he wasn't followed. He didn't let his guard down - only a fool would do so - but experience told him that no, no one was on his tail. It made his work for tonight just a little easier.
His back-up laptop was booting, and Heero drank some instant coffee. It tasted terrible after all the delicious coffees he'd had on L4, but he only needed the caffeine to keep him going. With his mug firmly in his hand, Heero took the seat at his desk and stared at his laptop screen.
He checked all his secured email addresses and was appalled that no new messages had been delivered. Strange. Nobody had tried to contact him after the failed transaction. Not even his secretary, Sylvia Noventa, had sent him anything. He checked every virtual place that he could think of for messages; none were waiting for him. Not encoded, not encrypted, nothing. Not a peep. He tried to call Headquarters, using his special telephone so the call could never be traced back to him, but every number he dialed, was out of business. Now the hairs on the back of his neck started tingling. Headquarters could be reached 24/7, Une had set up the special support teams herself. Every agent, wherever in the world or in the colonies, would be able to reach HQ whenever. There would never, never be a "Sorry, you have reached the wrong number" message.
Annoyed and angry, Heero disconnect when he had tried the last of a list of phone numbers. He had run out of options, and he desperately wanted to talk to someone at HQ, preferably Une. An e-mail would have to do and he started typing. When he was finished, he send Relena a copy as well. Fatigue was catching up to him, and Heero decided to take a shower and a nap. There was still time; he could drop by in person even though it was extremely risky. He didn't like extreme risks. For now, he needed to clear his mind and take some rest before he crashed and burned. Heero hopped in the shower, enjoying the moment of warm water running over and soothing his tensed body.
When he got back into the living room, Heero couldn't keep from checking his laptop one last time. His eyes went wide when he took a look at his mail program. His mails had bounced. His jaw went slack. No such recipient. "Impossible!" He wanted to punch the laptop screen. Keep calm, keep calm. Gulping some more coffee, he checked and double checked everything while precious time went by, to no avail. Something had happened at HQ. Something that blocked him, that kept him out. Heero gritted his teeth. Whatever was going on, whoever was responsible for this - did they really think they could keep him out? Secret agent 001?
The night wasn't over yet. Frantic, Heero gathered his stuff: a suitcase with gadgets and clothes, his laptop in a protective case, extra cash (different currencies and credits), several passports and identification cards, and he slipped a few lock picks between his clean socks as well. It wasn't too late to pay a visit to HQ in person. If the building was still there... it wouldn't surprise him if the entire Secret Service had just gone up in smoke. And if they had... why? What was going on? He hated not knowing, he hated not being in control. It was bad enough that a Duo Maxwell was messing with his head on the emotional front, he really couldn't use more trouble on the job front. Snorting, he grabbed his car keys. Nobody had breached his security, that was for sure. His Bentley was still in the garage, where it belonged - time to get out and get things settled.
He was almost disappointed when the building doomed up in front of him. Heero parked the Bentley out of sight and checked the positions of the security cameras. They were still in the exact position as he remembered them to be, so that hadn't changed. Avoiding the cameras, Heero made his way over to the building. He had half-and-half expected it to be blown up, or something like that, and the eerie darkness of the building was both intimidating and familiar. He was glad it was still there. Now he could get some answers, and he knew enough back doors to get inside. He hadn't packed his things at home for nothing. Every entrance was electronically locked, and he wasn't shocked when his regular employee card didn't register. Access denied. Heero frowned nonetheless. A certain thought was coming up in his mind, bubbling along his thoughts, and he squashed it immediately. Une wasn't a woman to assume the worst immediately, she was calm and level-headed. She wouldn't believe he was... the lock finally showed a green light. Heero put his tools back into his pocket and quickly entered the building. Security was tight. He had less than fifteen minutes before his presence would be detected.
Heero didn't bother using the elevators. He was in good shape and ran up the stairs, to his own office; the best place to start. He was flabbergasted when he swung open the door. His sparse furniture was gone, and replaced by a luscious sofa and two large seats. The tasteful prints he had hung on the wall, were exchanged for large paintings depicting a glorious battlefield.
"Zechs Merquise!" He blurted out. He recognized those paintings from his colleague's, 006, office anywhere. Zechs Merquise had swiped his office? Something terrible had to have happened for Une to put up with this kind of shit! Zechs had real fancy tricks on his sleeve. Knowing agent 006, with the same license to kill as Heero and five years longer of service under his belt, he certainly was capable of pulling this kind of stunt.
Heero roamed through the office, avoiding leaving fingerprints. He flipped through the stacks of papers on the desk. It seemed that Zechs hadn't gone on any missions lately. What was he trying to accomplish with a desk job? Heero ached to boot up the computer and look through his files, but he was already down to ten minutes. Hacking Zechs' files was going to take much longer than that; Heero had no illusions that the other would be slack with protecting his data. Heero moved towards the other desk, assuming it was still his secretary's, Sylvia Noventa. He should've known better: it was Lucrezia's.
As sad as it was, he didn't have the time to contemplate Sylvia's fate. She was probably transferred - or demoted - to another department, if Zechs Merquise really was King here. What had the man done? What had he done? The top drawer of the desk was open, and Heero went through a stack of papers again, mentally keeping count of how much time he had left. He stumbled upon a few recent memos, and he all but tore them out of the drawer. The majority of the memos were signed by Une, and that released a huge ball of tension in Heero's body. In a worst case scenario, she had died and left everything to... but as soon as his eyes reached the next memo, he knew she hadn't been the one to die.
He had.
With wide eyes, he was reading his own obituary. The memo was directed at Lucrezia, to have the obituary published, along with a slew of impersonal mourning advertisements and an eulogy. Commander Heero Yuy, serving his country since his very youth, decorated veteran, distinguished member of society... but the only thing racing through his mind was "What?" What the hell was going on? He had briefly, very briefly, considered the option that the Secret Service might think him dead. After the transaction going awry, he hadn't been able to reach HQ himself, but for HQ to simply assume, so quickly, that he was dead...
It had to be a part of the plan, hadn't it? It had to be a plan. Une was a smart woman, she wouldn't take it for granted that Heero was 'just' dead. What in the world had happened that she believed such a thing, that Zechs of all people had usurped his office and somehow got all his, Heero's, access blocked? He was literally cut off, and he didn't even have a HQ to come back to! Worse, he couldn't contact J. to help him out with the conductors... it felt like a veritable spider web he was caught in, and with every move he made, the threads tightened around him. What was he supposed to do? He stiffened. Maybe Treize Khushrenada and the Romefeller Foundation weren't the real enemy, but Merquise was. That particular thought made him sick to his stomach.
Heero made it out of HQ and all but ran back to his Bentley, slamming the door behind him and grabbing the steering wheel. He didn't start the car yet. His breathing was quick and uneven, and his heart was racing a mile a minute. Willing himself to calm down, his quick, agile and trained mind started to sum up possible solutions, making a mental overview of the mess he was in. He'd always come out on top before. Operation Zero System wasn't going to be his last. He could find a way out of this, he was sure. Now that he knew he couldn't count on HeadQuarters anymore, he decided to focus on the problems at hand. First, he needed some sleep, no matter how much it sounded like a luxury. Without decent sleep, he couldn't function properly and he would make hasty, sloppy decisions. His hand already moved towards the keys in the ignition, and turned them around. He was going back to the apartment to catch himself a few hours of rest before the sun would rise.
Then, he had to make a plan. A very good plan, if he wanted to survive.
Chapter 6 | Chapter 8 (not up yet)