Chapter 2

“Special agent Michael Scott is here, Sir.” The secretary announced politely and his superior looked up from the bunch of papers he was holding.

“About damn time.”

The head of the bureau tossed the folder on the table and Michael and the secretary exchanged a look. His boss wasn’t in the best mood.

“Don’t just stand there, get in.” The older man grunted and

the girl smiled one last time before she disappeared, leaving Michael and his boss- the angry version of him, to be precise - alone.

Michael made a few steps into the room and stood in front of the richly decorated bureau.

His head was beginning to pound and he was already looking forward to a cigarette. Michael hated wearing suits, but meeting the CIA head required even the agents like him, who had been infiltrated for years in the lowest of the low circles, to be presentable when going to the headquarters of the bureau. It was to be expected, however, the transition for Michael wasn’t easy sometimes.

“Have a seat,” Benjamin offered and Michael stood straighter.

“Thank you, Sir. I’m good.”

“Whatever suits you.” The man said absent-mindedly, “Now, about the task.”

Benjamin sat further in his armchair and crossed his hands. Even if Michael’s senses weren’t ten times sharper than a normal human’s, he would’ve guessed something was going on without the wolf part in him telling him that.

The head of the bureau just looked like someone who was about to share some really bad news. And from what Michael had learned so far- the news was always bad if he was asked here at such short notice.

“Michael.” The man began.

“Yes, Sir.”

“How old are you?”

The question took Michael by surprise, but he said quickly.

“26, Sir.”

“Twenty- six...Twenty- six. When I was your age, I had just finished a deep infiltration mission, just like you.”

Cool, he’s giving me the father-son lecture, Michael thought, but didn’t say anything and gave the man a slight nod of acknowledgment.

“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 d*** 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 real reason is...”