Title: Marshall Flinkman 007
Author: Midnight
Feedback / E-Mail: Reviews are welcome. Feel free to e-mail me at: varzideh@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: All Alias characters and related material does not belong to me, but to J.J Abrams.
Classification / Genre: Action/Adventure/Romance
Summary: Marshall’s never considered himself to be the ‘secret agent’ type, even if he did work for SD-6. Things change however as a sudden trip to London shows everyone, including himself that he has more promise than even the deadliest of agents. Will he give up his life as an ‘Op Tech guy’ to become a field agent? Or will he remain as he always was? Double-agents, assassinations, elegant parties, beautiful women, The Truth, and more, are all that await him.
Rating: PG…for now
~~~~~
CHAPTER 1: The Offer
Marshall Flinkman, ‘go-to’ guy for any possible invention or tech device that existed, was now back at work full time at SD-6.
It had taken several weeks for all his injuries to heal (which thankfully only really consisted of a swollen eye) after being abducted on the way home from Los Angeles International Airport, and yet, here he was. . .back at work.
Spending two weeks on 'sick-leave' was more than he could bear, as he spent nearly all that time either watching the Discovery Channel, or thinking about what had forced him to be sitting at home instead of being at work.
He still kept replaying the events that happened during his time with Sydney, all leading up to the when they jumped out of the 47th floor window of a building in Mexico City. There was no chance in hell that he’d be able to wear a dashing tuxedo and walk down a hall full of elegant adornments with Sydney on his arm, or even parachute out a 47th floor window again.
Sydney. . .he still didn’t feel at ease around her. Sure, all his buddies on the tech staff knew that he had a crush on her (since they most likely did themselves), but none of them really knew how sweet and charming she was. . .or the fact that she had voluntarily kissed him. Of course, she had had no other choice really; getting shot with a tranquilizer dart left little options open for them at the time. But still, he’d never forget it.
“Flinkman, Sloane’s called a meeting. You’re needed in the conference room in five minutes. . .” a passing security head said to the ‘go-to’ guy himself as he sat there tinkering with what looked to be an expensive black pen.
Marshall, startled by the sudden appearance of someone in his small ‘office’, dropped the pen he was holding.
“Alrighty” he said as he bent down to pick up the pen.
Unfortunately, it didn’t go as smoothly as planned. As he leaned on his chair, it banged right into the table behind him, knocking what seemed to be a dozen bright blue coat buttons onto the floor. They appeared to explode as soon as they hit the ground, releasing white fumes and quickly encompassing the small office quarters.
Hacking profusely, Marshall stumbled out the door and into the main hall, the white fumes visible behind him, but quickly dying down.
Everyone who has been accustomed to Marshall’s ‘accidents’ didn’t even look up from their desks as he apologized loudly and tried explaining what had happened.
Now fully embarrassed, he made it to the conference room without further incident.
Sloane was already seated at the far end of the table, elbows on it, and fingers intertwined. It seemed as if that was always how Marshall saw him sitting. To Marshall’s disappointment however, Sydney was nowhere to be seen, yet there was someone else in the room that appeared to have been having an intense conversation with Sloane as he entered.
A man, dressed sharply in a dark gray suit, had the same neutral, yet cold expression that Sloane himself often had. They both looked up as he walked in.
“Sorry I’m late. . .buttons. . .tear ga—“ he tried to say quickly, only to be cut off as usual before he continued to babble on.
“Marshall, this is David McNeilly. He’s head of one of our international branches situated in London.
Apparently news of your work here at SD-6 has spread” the head of SD-6 himself said in a neutral tone, as if not really understanding why someone would be impressed to such a degree by a clumsy ‘tech guy’. Of course, as long as Marshall was alive, he was in fact, very invaluable to SD-6’s espionage capabilities.
Sloane himself was cut off as Mr. McNeilly himself started to speak. "I've seen your work Mr. Flinkman, and since I have not seen anyone with the amount of op tech skills that you possess, I was left with little choice but to meet with you personally."
Marshall opened his mouth and closed it several times, not knowing what to say first. He was just complimented of course, but what were the reasons for the sudden interest in him? There were hundreds of op tech guys in the CIA, or so he thought, and he doubted that there wasn't anyone better than him. It took him several seconds to realize that the man was once again talking.
". . .so due to my office's present state of disarray, I wanted to ask you if you'd be willing to come work in our London office for the next few months. You're expertise is greatly needed."
'Greatly needed? Wow. . .' Marshall thought to himself, not able to really grasp the fact that he was as important as he was. But that meant just getting up and leaving L.A, which meant leaving SD-6, his weekly Star Wars fan club meetings. . .and Sydney. For some strange reason, the last point seemed of the most importance.
"Am I supposed to go to London?" he started saying unsurely, looking nervously at Sloane. " I mean, I don't kno--"
It didn't seem as if he'd be able to get a word in edge-wise, considering the fact that Mr. McNeilly seemed to have guessed the question before it was asked. . .despite the fact that Marshall wasn't really sure if he was about to ask a question or not.
"You will be given incentives of course" he said with a motion of his hand. "A large office situated in our Op Tech department, a salary plus seasonal bonuses, a company car, and accommodations. . ."
Marshall shifted uneasily in his chair, a dumbfounded expression on his face. "You guys must really want me to go to London if you're offering me all that. And when you say 'accommodations', do you mean like in a hotel room? or more like one of those British flats, because I read somewhere that almost 90% of them contain asbestos. . ."
He didn't see Sloane trying not to roll his eyes, or McNeilly looking at him with one eyebrow arched, and therefore spent the next few minutes explaining how he'd come across the information.
"I am sure you'll find your accommodations to exceed your expectations Mr Flinkman, should you choose to accept." he said assuredly, despite the obvious wearing down of his patience.
"Of course I don't expect you to decide this instant. I am flying back to London tonight, but I'll expect you to tell Arvin here, of your decision within the next 48 hours. We are really in need of your expertise, and I cannot stress enough how much your help would be appreciated."
It seemed as if he'd said the right words as Marshall grinned sheepishly. Obviously he wasn't used to being praised to such a degree, at least not by people he barely knew.
"Sure thing. . .I'll just be off now. . .if you'll excuse me" he said not knowing really what to say.
Feeling bad about turning his back and walking out, Marshall decided to just put up his hand and say good bye while backing up towards the door. With a loud rattle he banged into one of the rotating glass frames which sealed the room, forcing him to turn around and quickly find the nearest exit.
Letting out a long breath he'd been holding in, he went towards the elevator. Pushing the button marked '4', he tried not to think about everything he'd have to think about very shortly. Instead, he hoped that the cafeteria wouldn't be out of frozen yoghurt by the time he got there.
In the meantime, the two gentleman remained seated in the conference room.
"I hold your opinions in high esteem Arvin" he said doubtfully "although I'm not sure why exactly why you want your op tech specialist sent to SD-4."
Finally standing up, Sloane walked slowly around the table, if for no other reason that to do something other than sit.
"Marshall is one of the smartest individuals I have ever come across, despite his unusual personality. After the incident in Mexico City, I figured it'd be wise that in case of another incident, there would be someone at least in the same range of the Marshall's area of skill. Sending him to at least show SD-4's Op Tech team some of his rather useful inventions would be helpful for both our sakes, considering the fact that if Marshall is indisposed of, it would not be such a loss to SD-6."
McNeilly did something one wouldn't really see a man like him do. . .he laughed.
"Arvin, you know that's one of the poorest explanations I've ever heard you come up with. Surely age isn't catching up with you. Considering the fact that SD-1 is sending their head Op Tech specialist here to Los Angeles, it would be rather inconvenient if Marshall saw and found what was going on to be...somehow inappropriate for the 'CIA' to be doing. Am I correct in my assumption?"
All he got in return was a wry smirk. Sitting back down at his desk, Slone watched on his main computer as Marshall boarded the elevator and headed for the cafeteria.
"I'll be in contact with you David during Marshall's stay in London. If I find Marshall's replacement to be just as useful...then there will be no need for you to keep him around. I'm sure if it came to that, you'd be more than capable of disposing of him."
Taking this as a sign that their conversation was ending, McNeilly stood up and headed for the door.
"You can be assured Arvin that SD-4 is just as capable of disposing of inconveniences as SD-6 is. But in any case, I'll be in touch. I'll go ahead and make arrangements for Mr. Flinkman's stay in London, as I doubt he has a choice as to whether or not he'll go, whether he knows it or not."
CHAPTER 2: The Decision
Being offered a chance to work in London (other than on a secret mission) seemed very enticing to Marshall, although he had no idea how he was going to face getting on an airplane again. At least he knew now that his parachute-lined jackets were definitely useful.
The next two days passed by in a blur, as Sloane kept him quite busy. He had spent all his time checking and upgrading SD-6’s servers, although he didn’t know why the task was given to him, as there were specific people in charge of it. But since there didn’t appear to be any missions going on as of late, there had been no need for any of Marshall’s inventions or technical advice. So he was pretty much ‘work free’, leaving him plenty of time to think about the offer given to him.
Despite the fact that it was offered to him as a choice, he was pretty sure that it wasn’t really an option. After all, in a place where telling someone (even a family member) what you did for a living could get them (as well as youself) killed, things were not ‘asked’ of you. . .they were ‘told’.
Nearing five o’clock in the afternoon, Marshall made his way to Sloane’s office. It was habit for him to become completely incapable of proper speech when he was around his boss. Luckily conversing with people wasn’t what he was paid to do. Otherwise he’d be screwed.
He was pretty sure that Sloane had seen him walk towards his office, because as soon as he approached, the door opened, revealing Sloane gesturing for Marshall to come in.
“I take it you have come to a decision Marshall. Although I trust you made a wise one” he said neutrally, his eyes boring into Marshall’s as if trying to figure out Marshall’s decision before he told him. Of course either way. . .Marshall was off to London.
“Yes, I uh…have thought about it carefully…” he said smiling, and nervously laughing.
“Last time I was there, in London I mean, I didn’t really get to see much, except for the London Symphony Orchestra. Did I mention how good they were? I’m not one for classical mus—“
“Time is short Marshall” Sloane said cutting him off before he could go on. “I take it from your tone that you’ve decided to take Mr. McNeilly’s offer. A wise decision, of which I’ll inform him of shortly.”
Picking up his phone Sloane began to dial a number, giving Marshall a look that clearing showed him that he was excused.
Having no clue what to do, Marshall went back and sat at his desk, not really in the mood to do anything, as he had no idea what he was supposed to do now, or what was in store for him.
He decided to make a quick mental check-list in his head, making sure to remember to ask Mrs. Taylor, his neighbor, to feed his cat, Luke, as well as figuring out how he was going to keep up with the rent of his apartment in L.A, and whether or not he could find someone to send him tapes of the new ‘Enterprise’ episodes every week.. He had no time to go on any further, however, as Sloane entered his quarters.
“I’ve just spoken with McNeilly. He already left your airline ticket with me before he left, in case of your acceptance. . .” he said handing Marshall a British Airways envelope.
“As you can see, your flight leaves tomorrow night at eight-fifteen. Transportation to the airport will be provided, so you should expect a car to arrive at your place of residence by six o’clock. When you arrive in London, look for a man holding out a sign that says ‘Royal Tours’. That will be your contact and he’ll escort you to your location point. All information needed for your stay in London will be handed to you once you’re safely in the car. I trust you have no trouble following all of this” he said curtly, noticing Marshall’s somewhat dazed expression.
“Huh? Oh no…I mean yes, I understand. So I leave tomorrow then? Wow…such short notice. I mean, can you get by without me? Not that I’m saying that I’m so great or anything. . .” Marshall said in quick succession, about to continue on before noticing the glare that was directed his way. “Right. . .I’ll just be quiet now” he added in an undertone, his eyes cast to the ground.
“Do not worry about leaving your position here. We’ll get by without you until you return. You’re going to be going somewhere where your skills are greatly needed as compared to what you do here. Have a safe a trip” and with that, Arvin Sloane turned around and walked out of Marshall’s office, not really caring whether he saw Marshall again or not.
The next day. . .eight thirty in the evening.
Sweat dripped off Marshall’s face as sat in his first class seat, not really caring that his seat could recline one-hundred and eighty degrees, or the fact that there was an unlimited supply of roasted peanuts at his disposal.
His mind was focused on the laptop in front of him, which was keeping tabs on the plane’s operating controls. He had no Sydney to try and calm him down, and so by the time he arrived in London ten hours later, he was very much exhausted (although happy to have his feet back on solid ground).
Only having one piece of luggage with him (despite wanting to bring pretty much every single invention he owned with him), he quickly made his way towards the exit terminal as he had nothing to declare in customs.
He immediately spotted a man dressed in a black suit and chauffeur’s hat, holding up a ‘Royal Tours’ sign. Walking towards him, he was thankful when the man took his luggage and escorted him out of Heathrow Airport.
Despite almost nodding off on his feet as he walked out of the airport, his eyes openly quickly again as he noted that the man was headed towards a black Mercedes Benz limousine.
“Wow. . .all this just for me” he said smiling at the chauffeur as he held the door open for him. He however, didn’t get a smile back in return as the man quickly shut the door and made his way to the drivers seat.
Inside the limousine was a T.V, DVD player, a small refrigerator filled with Ginger Ale (to Marshall’s delight), as well as an iced bottle of what looked to be very expensive French champagne.
Sadly, there was no reception on the T.V, nor were there any DVD’s for the DVD player, so Marshall was left to just sipping on his can of Ginger Ale, which made him feel slightly better since being on an aircraft.
Nearly spilling his ginger ale on the leather upholstery, he set it down quickly before picking up the phone beside him that had begun to ring.
“Look under the seat beside you. . .” a male voice said, before hanging up.
Assuming it was the driver that had called, Marshall looked under the seat beside him. Seeing nothing, he tried lifting the seat, which to his luck, opened.
Inside was a rather thick brown manila envelope. Opening it he saw a large folder entitled ‘profile’ as well as various photographs. Looking through the photos graphs he was rather impressed with everything he saw. The first photo was of what looked to be a large Victorian style mansion, similar to a castle. The next couple of photos were of an office building that reminded Marshall of Credit Dauphine, and the last few photos (and ones that he seemed to enjoy the most) were of a lady, who would have looked to even be in her very late teens if she had not been wearing a suit and sunglasses. She was very pretty to say the least, but she wasn’t smiling, which didn’t make her seem all too nice. Of course, turning the photos around, there was no writing, or any indication of what (or who) these photographs were of.
Setting them down, he skimmed through the folder labeled ‘profile’. It seemed to be information regarding his new alias and life, which surprised him as he had had no idea that he’d have to change anything about him. So for the time being, he was Alexander Benning, a VP of Parsa Global Corporation, which specialized in the import and export of computer parts.
“Hey hey. . .I’m a VP. It’s a shame I can’t keep my real name though. Oh well…VP” he said impressively, fighting the urge to call his mom and tell her about his new ‘position’.
“I feel like James Bond!” he said loudly towards the driver. He did not however, get any answer in return.
Other things included in the profile were his address, phone number, social security number, bank account numbers, as well as his monthly salary, which after he read and counted and re-counted all the zero’s, he still couldn’t believe.
Making his way towards the driver, he knocked on the black plate that was now separating the front from the back of the car, and hoped to get the drivers attention. At once the phone rang, and Marshall picked it up.
“Is this really my salary?! Or is this just for document purposes? I mean, I’ve never even seen this much mon—“
“Everything written in the dossier is accurate, except for the job description which is your cover. You may speak with the boss tomorrow when you go in for work” and with a click, the line went dead.
Breathing hard, Marshall felt he was very near having a panic attack. Of course, he didn’t even have time to beg the driver to pull over as they suddenly stopped.
They were now in front of what looked to be where the picture of the mansion had been taken. At least now he’d figure out what the picture was of.
As his door opened, and Marshall got out, he looked around, not understanding why they had stopped here.
“What am supposed to do?” he enquired from the driver, who was now taking out Marshall’s suitcase from the trunk.
“These are your accommodations” he said swiftly, while carrying the suitcase to the front door.
“Oh my god. . .” he muttered under his breath, not being able to comprehend why he was being given a new identity, a six digit monthly salary, and mansion to live in. It was then that he did the only thing that came to mind. . .he passed out.
CHAPTER 3: The Surprise
Everything seemed fuzzy as Marshall began to regain consciousness. He didn’t seem to be on hard ground anymore, but on what appeared to be a burgundy, velvet couch, which was adorned with tiny, golden fleur-de-lis.
Feeling the back of his head, he was relieved to find that didn’t seem to have had a bad fall. Why is it that he had to faint? His mom had always warned him not to get over excited, which is probably why she never really let him date much when he was growing up…In her mind, rampaging hormones was a major risk factor to her son’s health.
Of course, more importantly, Marshall wondered how he’d gotten into the house (if you could call it that), as he was pretty sure he had collapsed just outside.
“Eric and I carried you inside” said a surprisingly pleasant voice from behind.
Sitting upright, Marshall bit back a laugh. The guy looked every bit like the butler from ‘Ask Jeeves’.
“Uh…not to be rude or anything as I know it’s not really my place to be rude, even if I’m apparently staying here, which I don’t understand at all but-but I’m sure you know why I’m staying here…” he continued on and on, before ‘Jeeves’ cleared his throat loudly. Thankfully it was enough for Marshall to remember what he was going to ask. “So yeah…who’s Eric?” he asked as he looked around.
“You’re driver” ‘Jeeves’ responded as he came forward with a silver tray in his hands; on it lay a damp, white, wash cloth. Marshall took it gratefully, although he still didn’t understand what he doing there.
An Op Tech specialist like himself was lucky if he found a decent apartment to live in. This was just beyond the realm of possibility. Why would Mr. McNeilly…or anyone for that matter, spend so much money on one guy? Despite Marshall’s almost superhuman IQ, he as unable to come up with an answer.
“As for me sir” the butler responded, a British accent evident in his voice “My name is Williams. I’ve been informed that you are to now take up permanent residence here at Sterling Manor. If you’ll allow me, and if you’re feeling up to it, I’ll be happy to give a tour of the estate that you ca—“
“Woah…hold on!” Marshall exclaimed loudly, putting out his hands in order to stop Williams from going on any further. Using the wash cloth that was still in his hand, he wiped the back of his neck. “P-Permanent?! I’m not going to be here long! I’m here temporarily! Temporarily as in…not permanent!” he cried. “My mom’s going to kill me! And uncle Dan! What’s he going to say when he finds out I won’t be coming back with the case of ale he wanted! And Aunt Marge! She’ll go into hysterics! Of course, rumour has it that she doesn’t really like me after her dog Pugsy ate one of my dermal pigment capsules…but I told her not to let the dog in. So you see, I just can’t stay here!” he finally finished saying.
He hurried over to the nearest door and quickly opened it, not even looking where he was going. Just his luck, he seemed to have walked into a linen closet, and with a faint click, the door behind him closed, leaving him in total darkness.
Williams had listened quietly to everything Marshall had said, not bothering to try and get in a few remarks. The boss would answer his questions, as it wasn’t a butlers place to do so.
Of course, hearing a muffled Marshall asking politely if he could open the door, he strode over and opened the door, looking at the obviously distraught American with a questioning look.
“Perhaps I am mistaken” he said, although he doubted it. “Indeed, in any case, it would be wise for you to know you’re way around the estate…no matter how long you plan to stay.”
And with that, Marshall followed the butler around the estate, showing him everything including several of the guest bedrooms (which Marshall calculated to be 100 square feet bigger than his entire apartment), the tennis court, the gardens, the kitchens, the swimming pool, movie room, and garage (which housed several sports cars from various brands).
It actually took a little over and hour to go over the entire estate, and luckily one time was all it took for Marshall to remember where everything was situated.
As he followed Williams up a flight of stairs, he was led to the last door on the right. Opening it, Marshall was surprised to find a master bedroom, which could have passed for it’s own large apartment.
“This is the master bedroom” Williams said behind him. “As you can see, you’re belongings have been brought up. I’ll leave you to your own then. If you need to reach me, just press ‘4’ on the speed dial. Good evening sir.”
It didn’t take Marshall long to notice that there was a white envelope addressed to him propped up on the night-stand.
The planner is for your use only.
It was a rather cryptic message, but Marshall got the hint. Picking up the black leather planner, which had been beside the envelope, he opened it up and flipped through it. It seemed to be completely blank until he noticed that something was written under today’s date.
Tailor- 7pm
It was already after four in the afternoon, and Marshall had no doubt that he was either supposed to go somewhere, or someone was going to meet him.
‘Tailor…is that like a code name for someone?’ he thought to himself as he lay down on his new bed.
He spent the next few hours trying to figure out what was going on, even going to his dresser and looking over the pictures that he had received in the car.
Suddenly the telephone rang with a sharp shrill, causing Marshall to jump in response.
Grabbing the phone, he answered. “H-Hello?” he said cautiously.
“I’ll be arriving in ten minutes” a voice said in a neutral tone.
Recognizing the voice as the driver’s, Marshall’s tension died down somewhat. “Listen, about this afternoon. I heard that you helped take me inside. I really appreciate it. I mean, I know that I haven’t really been keeping up with going to the gym lately, so I’m glad that y-you were able to—“ he stopped suddenly as he heard the click of the phone on the other end. Eric had hung up.
“Thanks…” he said to no one in particular as he put the phone down and went to comb his hair.
Apparently Eric seemed to have arrived in a hurry, as it had only been a minute since he had called, and yet Williams knocked on the door to let him know that his car had arrived.
Not being able to change clothes, Marshall grudgingly made his way downstairs and out the door (which William’s held open for him). Everything seemed so surreal; he had a butler calling him ‘sir’, the limousine was considered ‘his’ car, the room he had was considered ‘his’ room…the list went on and on.
As Marshall said thanks to Williams, he walked out the door and down to the car, where Eric stood holding the car door open.
Not forgetting the rude hang up that he’d gotten from his driver, Marshall resisted the urge to say thank you, and got into the car without a word.
He didn’t even bother asking him where they were going, and figured he’d best enjoy the ride.
The ride however, didn’t last long as they were soon back in the heart of London. They seemed to have stopped in front of a men’s boutique.
Not noticing the sign outside the door, Marshall went in, unaware of what he was supposed to do. That didn’t last long, as he saw a man in dark gray suit come up to him. A pleasant smile was on his face, which made Marshall feel slightly better.
“Ah Monsieur Benning! We ‘ave been expecting you!” the man said with a heavy French accent.
“Really? I’ve been expected? That very g-good…I guess” Marshall said as he was pushed towards the center of the boutique.
A small, balding man with a tape measurer around his neck stood waiting by a long row of mirrors.
“You ‘ave ordered the most exquisite suits. ‘ere…let us get you started.”
Before he knew what was happening, Marshall had put on 7 different suits…some casual, and some that he would have called ‘super swank’.
He had to admit, he did look quite good in them, but he wasn’t exactly sure what all this was for. By now he had figured out that ‘Tailor’ really had meant going to go get suits tailored, but why? He had never heard of any type of company having such a dress code.
An hour and a half, and ten suits later, Marshall was finally done. Apparently, someone had already chosen the suits out for him before he had even got there, and all he had to do was get them fitted. It wasn’t exactly a bad thing, as whoever had chosen the suits had immaculate taste.
“The suits will be ready by tomorrow morning as you ‘ave requested, monsieur” the man said happily, no doubt already knowing how much money he had just made on this transaction.
“Uh…thank you Anselm” Marshall said politely, as the man had told him his name. “Just a quick question though…how much is all this costing me?” he said cautiously, not knowing indeed how he was supposed to pay for all of this. Heck, he hadn’t even been in London for 24 hours.
“Mais monsieur! Vous avez oublié! Your secretaire called and took care of everything” he said with his eyes shining.
“Ah…yes…my secretary…” Marshall answered unsurely, having no idea that he even had a secretary. “So…it’s been a busy few days for me, and I-I seem to have forgotten…what type of—of suits are these?” Marshall asked, feeling rather stupid.
“Monsieur Benning!” Anslem said admonishingly. “You must take a few days off work, non? To clear thee head.” Clucking his tongue, and shaking his head he continued “after all, if you can forget ordering ten of our finest Armani suits, then you must be very very busy.”
Marshall stood ramrod still. ‘Armani? Armani?!!!’ While he wasn’t exactly the flashiest dresser in the world, he did know that Armani suits didn’t cost cheap. Heck the last Armani suit he wore was the tuxedo he had worn on his ‘mission’ with Sydney. And even then, he had had to return it to SD-6.
He seemed to have gone into a state of shock, which soon went away as Anslem presented Marshall with a glass of wine. Not being a drinker really, Marshall had no taste for it, but downed it anyways.
He held his breath as he walked out of the boutique and back into the car.
The rest of the night passed by in a blur as soon he was back in his bedroom, and after taking a quick shower, climbed into bed and soon fell asleep.
In what felt like only a few hours, Marshall’s phone rang next to him. Picking it up, he grumbled a ‘hello’, only to get a cheerful ‘good morning’ from Williams who advised Marshall that his transportation would be arriving in an hour or so to take him to work.
Getting up, he trudged around to the bathroom, noticing that a suit bag was hanging from his dresser chair. ‘Williams must have brought in it early this morning’ he thought to himself as he noticed that it was nine o’clock in the morning. Jet lag was still an issue for now.
It took Marshall a half hour to get ready, as he took the opportunity to shave before going into work. He wanted to look as impressive as possible, although he wasn’t really sure how to do that.
Putting on his new suit, he looked at himself in the mirror. Surprisingly, Marshall looked very dashing in his suit of dark blue. His light blue shirt was tie-less but he still felt as if he was dressed to attend a gala, rather than work.
Going downstairs, he smelled what could only be described as the best smell he had ever come across.
Making his way to the breakfast, he had to stop himself from drooling. French pastries, crumpets, danishes, bagels…everything that one could possible have for breakfast was on the table.
Marshall then realized that he had indeed, not eaten anything since the flight to London. It didn’t take him long however, to finish off five cheese danishes, two blueberry scones, and two cups of coffee.
Soon Williams arrived to announce the arrival of his transportation.
This time however, it was not a limousine, but a black town car. Either Eric wasn’t a morning person, or he just didn’t take a liking to Marshall, as he didn’t get out of the drivers seat to help him in. Frankly though, Marshall didn’t mind one bit.
The ride lasted only about fifteen minutes as they pulled up to the building that Marshall had seen in the pictures. The sign outside the rather large building read ‘Credit Dauphine’, which honestly, didn’t really surprise Marshall.
The car passed into the lower level garage, and then Eric turned around and spoke. “Take this card with you. You’ll need it to access the A-1 level.”
Marshall was accustomed to this, as the process reminded him exactly of getting to his office at SD-6.
Getting out of the car, with only a key card in his hand, he made his way to the parking lot elevator. Getting in, he put his card into the slot, which lit up various buttons ranging from A-1 to A-6. Pushing A-1, he waited as the elevator took him down several floors.
He entered a white room and standing in the middle of it, a flash of blinding, red light filled the room. Then the doors opened…
If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought that he was back at SD-6. Everything seemed to be set up the same way, from the amount of computers in the main area, to the types of chairs everyone appeared to be sitting in.
No one looked at him as he made his past several stations, but he didn’t get far as he heard someone from behind.
“Ah, Marshall. I’m happy you’ve decided to join us” Mr. McNeilly said with a smile. His expression seemed so different than it had when Marshall had seen him in Sloane’s office. Here was a guy that looked warm and friendly, which was not exactly how Sloane looked…on any occasion.
“Hello Mr. McNeilly…” Marshall answered politely, his eyes darting around and looking at everyone surrounding him.
“I trust you liked the suits provided for you. I assumed that it would be a nice way for you to start your work here.”
“Yes I-I liked them very much, as you can see” he said, motioning to the suit that on him “although what exactly am I supposed to be working on?” he asked.
The smile on McNeilly’s face nearly faded, but he recovered before Marshall could notice. “Patience…patience Marshall. For now, you’re set up at the office at the end of the hall and to the left. Your name is on the door already. Feel free to have a look around if you wish. I’ll come by later on to speak with you.”
And with that, McNeilly left Marshall standing there, in the middle of a room full of strangers, with whom Marshall would now have to work with. Not being a naturally social person, he felt as if it was his first day at a new school.
With a determined sigh, he made his way down the hall and to right, only then realizing as he came to a dead end, that he had gone the wrong way. It seemed as if he hadn’t heard a word that McNeilly had said.
Turning around, he looked for someone that looked to be somewhat ‘friendly’. Walking back down the hall, he saw a girl at the water cooler, idly sipping her cup of water. She didn’t notice Marshall until he came up to her and said hi.
“Hi” she said without emotion, not seeming half as friendly as Marshall thought she would be.
“I-I…I’m having trouble finding my off—“ before he could finish, the girl (who he realized was the one in the photographs he had) walked away from him. This made Marshall more self-conscience than before, as he was left standing talking to no one.
“Well are you coming or not?” the girl said as she turned around to look at Marshall. Apparently she had been heading towards his office…without really telling him.
Running to catch up with her, he followed her until they arrived at a door, which said ‘Marshall Flinkman’. Strangely, it did not say his position as it did on all the other doors.
Opening the door, she motioned for him to go in. “Here you are. I trust you’ll remember how to get here next time” she said without a smile. As she turned to walk off however, she stopped and appeared to stand motionless for a second or two, before turning around and heading back towards Marshall.
He really didn’t know what was going on in that pretty little head of hers (he had indeed noticed that she was sort of pretty. No one could really compare to Miss Bristow however), but he was rather surprised when she walked up to him and held out her hand. “Agent Fenyvesi.”
“Marshall…” he said in return, sticking out his hand and shaking hers.
And with that, she turned on her heel and walked off, leaving a very confused Marshall behind.
For the next four hours, Marshall spent his time looking through all the gadgets and computer systems that were in his office. He had to admit though, that he liked this office much better than the one in Los Angeles, as he had at least twice as much space now, as he did then.
Everything seemed identical to the objects at SD-6. So far he had seen no problems with their servers, or any security risks whatsoever. So he assumed that he was there for his ‘gadget skills’.
Suddenly, his door opened and in came a very grave looking McNeilly. His face seemed pinched and stern, as if he was reluctant to be there at that precise moment.
“Five minutes ago I received word that one of our top agents was assassinated. Due to this…devastating news…it requires me to move a little faster than I intended…”
So far Marshall had no idea what his ‘new’ boss was talking about, as he had only gotten the ‘someone important was assassinated’.
“I need you to follow me, please” he said as beckoned Marshall to follow him.
McNeilly led the way to a room on the opposite side of the hall. Inside a petite woman who looked to be in her late thirties greeted them. She sat beside what Marshall immediately recognized as a computer-like device, which is used to give out functional imaging tests…in other words…an un-deceivable lie detector. .
“I-I don’t understand” Marshall said, looking at McNeilly expectantly.
“It’s just simple procedure. A simple yes or no will do. If you fail to tell the truth on a single question…” McNeilly let the sentence slide, making it clear what would happen.
As Marshall went to sit down in the chair, rather uncomfortably, McNeilly spoke quietly with the lady that was monitoring the controls.
“Some of the questions…may seem a bit shocking to you, but try and focus please” McNeilly said as he walked out of the room, and headed towards another small room where he could watch Marshall through a one-sided mirror.
The interrogation started simple enough. The lady, who nicely introduced herself as Agent Briggs, began asking Marshall simple questions such as: Is your full name Marshall J. Flinkman?, Do you work for SD-6?, etc…
After Marshall seemed to get comfortable with the questions being asked of him, he noticed that they now took a sudden turn.
The questions got rather specific in nature, but Marshall answered as calmly as he could. Before he knew it, the interrogation was over, and Agent Briggs gave him a warm smile.
“There now…all done” she said a bit cheerily. But her expression dampened as she heard a voice come over her intercom.
“Ask him, Briggs” said the voice, which Marshall identified as McNeilly’s. Apparently, he wasn’t done just yet.
With a small sigh she turned around and looked at Marshall again. He could barely comprehend the question that was asked.
“Were you aware at all that SD-6 and all it’s divisions are enemies of the CIA?”
To Be Continued. . .
Reviews are welcome! *g*
Author: Midnight
Feedback / E-Mail: Reviews are welcome. Feel free to e-mail me at: varzideh@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: All Alias characters and related material does not belong to me, but to J.J Abrams.
Classification / Genre: Action/Adventure/Romance
Summary: Marshall’s never considered himself to be the ‘secret agent’ type, even if he did work for SD-6. Things change however as a sudden trip to London shows everyone, including himself that he has more promise than even the deadliest of agents. Will he give up his life as an ‘Op Tech guy’ to become a field agent? Or will he remain as he always was? Double-agents, assassinations, elegant parties, beautiful women, The Truth, and more, are all that await him.
Rating: PG…for now
~~~~~
CHAPTER 1: The Offer
Marshall Flinkman, ‘go-to’ guy for any possible invention or tech device that existed, was now back at work full time at SD-6.
It had taken several weeks for all his injuries to heal (which thankfully only really consisted of a swollen eye) after being abducted on the way home from Los Angeles International Airport, and yet, here he was. . .back at work.
Spending two weeks on 'sick-leave' was more than he could bear, as he spent nearly all that time either watching the Discovery Channel, or thinking about what had forced him to be sitting at home instead of being at work.
He still kept replaying the events that happened during his time with Sydney, all leading up to the when they jumped out of the 47th floor window of a building in Mexico City. There was no chance in hell that he’d be able to wear a dashing tuxedo and walk down a hall full of elegant adornments with Sydney on his arm, or even parachute out a 47th floor window again.
Sydney. . .he still didn’t feel at ease around her. Sure, all his buddies on the tech staff knew that he had a crush on her (since they most likely did themselves), but none of them really knew how sweet and charming she was. . .or the fact that she had voluntarily kissed him. Of course, she had had no other choice really; getting shot with a tranquilizer dart left little options open for them at the time. But still, he’d never forget it.
“Flinkman, Sloane’s called a meeting. You’re needed in the conference room in five minutes. . .” a passing security head said to the ‘go-to’ guy himself as he sat there tinkering with what looked to be an expensive black pen.
Marshall, startled by the sudden appearance of someone in his small ‘office’, dropped the pen he was holding.
“Alrighty” he said as he bent down to pick up the pen.
Unfortunately, it didn’t go as smoothly as planned. As he leaned on his chair, it banged right into the table behind him, knocking what seemed to be a dozen bright blue coat buttons onto the floor. They appeared to explode as soon as they hit the ground, releasing white fumes and quickly encompassing the small office quarters.
Hacking profusely, Marshall stumbled out the door and into the main hall, the white fumes visible behind him, but quickly dying down.
Everyone who has been accustomed to Marshall’s ‘accidents’ didn’t even look up from their desks as he apologized loudly and tried explaining what had happened.
Now fully embarrassed, he made it to the conference room without further incident.
Sloane was already seated at the far end of the table, elbows on it, and fingers intertwined. It seemed as if that was always how Marshall saw him sitting. To Marshall’s disappointment however, Sydney was nowhere to be seen, yet there was someone else in the room that appeared to have been having an intense conversation with Sloane as he entered.
A man, dressed sharply in a dark gray suit, had the same neutral, yet cold expression that Sloane himself often had. They both looked up as he walked in.
“Sorry I’m late. . .buttons. . .tear ga—“ he tried to say quickly, only to be cut off as usual before he continued to babble on.
“Marshall, this is David McNeilly. He’s head of one of our international branches situated in London.
Apparently news of your work here at SD-6 has spread” the head of SD-6 himself said in a neutral tone, as if not really understanding why someone would be impressed to such a degree by a clumsy ‘tech guy’. Of course, as long as Marshall was alive, he was in fact, very invaluable to SD-6’s espionage capabilities.
Sloane himself was cut off as Mr. McNeilly himself started to speak. "I've seen your work Mr. Flinkman, and since I have not seen anyone with the amount of op tech skills that you possess, I was left with little choice but to meet with you personally."
Marshall opened his mouth and closed it several times, not knowing what to say first. He was just complimented of course, but what were the reasons for the sudden interest in him? There were hundreds of op tech guys in the CIA, or so he thought, and he doubted that there wasn't anyone better than him. It took him several seconds to realize that the man was once again talking.
". . .so due to my office's present state of disarray, I wanted to ask you if you'd be willing to come work in our London office for the next few months. You're expertise is greatly needed."
'Greatly needed? Wow. . .' Marshall thought to himself, not able to really grasp the fact that he was as important as he was. But that meant just getting up and leaving L.A, which meant leaving SD-6, his weekly Star Wars fan club meetings. . .and Sydney. For some strange reason, the last point seemed of the most importance.
"Am I supposed to go to London?" he started saying unsurely, looking nervously at Sloane. " I mean, I don't kno--"
It didn't seem as if he'd be able to get a word in edge-wise, considering the fact that Mr. McNeilly seemed to have guessed the question before it was asked. . .despite the fact that Marshall wasn't really sure if he was about to ask a question or not.
"You will be given incentives of course" he said with a motion of his hand. "A large office situated in our Op Tech department, a salary plus seasonal bonuses, a company car, and accommodations. . ."
Marshall shifted uneasily in his chair, a dumbfounded expression on his face. "You guys must really want me to go to London if you're offering me all that. And when you say 'accommodations', do you mean like in a hotel room? or more like one of those British flats, because I read somewhere that almost 90% of them contain asbestos. . ."
He didn't see Sloane trying not to roll his eyes, or McNeilly looking at him with one eyebrow arched, and therefore spent the next few minutes explaining how he'd come across the information.
"I am sure you'll find your accommodations to exceed your expectations Mr Flinkman, should you choose to accept." he said assuredly, despite the obvious wearing down of his patience.
"Of course I don't expect you to decide this instant. I am flying back to London tonight, but I'll expect you to tell Arvin here, of your decision within the next 48 hours. We are really in need of your expertise, and I cannot stress enough how much your help would be appreciated."
It seemed as if he'd said the right words as Marshall grinned sheepishly. Obviously he wasn't used to being praised to such a degree, at least not by people he barely knew.
"Sure thing. . .I'll just be off now. . .if you'll excuse me" he said not knowing really what to say.
Feeling bad about turning his back and walking out, Marshall decided to just put up his hand and say good bye while backing up towards the door. With a loud rattle he banged into one of the rotating glass frames which sealed the room, forcing him to turn around and quickly find the nearest exit.
Letting out a long breath he'd been holding in, he went towards the elevator. Pushing the button marked '4', he tried not to think about everything he'd have to think about very shortly. Instead, he hoped that the cafeteria wouldn't be out of frozen yoghurt by the time he got there.
In the meantime, the two gentleman remained seated in the conference room.
"I hold your opinions in high esteem Arvin" he said doubtfully "although I'm not sure why exactly why you want your op tech specialist sent to SD-4."
Finally standing up, Sloane walked slowly around the table, if for no other reason that to do something other than sit.
"Marshall is one of the smartest individuals I have ever come across, despite his unusual personality. After the incident in Mexico City, I figured it'd be wise that in case of another incident, there would be someone at least in the same range of the Marshall's area of skill. Sending him to at least show SD-4's Op Tech team some of his rather useful inventions would be helpful for both our sakes, considering the fact that if Marshall is indisposed of, it would not be such a loss to SD-6."
McNeilly did something one wouldn't really see a man like him do. . .he laughed.
"Arvin, you know that's one of the poorest explanations I've ever heard you come up with. Surely age isn't catching up with you. Considering the fact that SD-1 is sending their head Op Tech specialist here to Los Angeles, it would be rather inconvenient if Marshall saw and found what was going on to be...somehow inappropriate for the 'CIA' to be doing. Am I correct in my assumption?"
All he got in return was a wry smirk. Sitting back down at his desk, Slone watched on his main computer as Marshall boarded the elevator and headed for the cafeteria.
"I'll be in contact with you David during Marshall's stay in London. If I find Marshall's replacement to be just as useful...then there will be no need for you to keep him around. I'm sure if it came to that, you'd be more than capable of disposing of him."
Taking this as a sign that their conversation was ending, McNeilly stood up and headed for the door.
"You can be assured Arvin that SD-4 is just as capable of disposing of inconveniences as SD-6 is. But in any case, I'll be in touch. I'll go ahead and make arrangements for Mr. Flinkman's stay in London, as I doubt he has a choice as to whether or not he'll go, whether he knows it or not."
CHAPTER 2: The Decision
Being offered a chance to work in London (other than on a secret mission) seemed very enticing to Marshall, although he had no idea how he was going to face getting on an airplane again. At least he knew now that his parachute-lined jackets were definitely useful.
The next two days passed by in a blur, as Sloane kept him quite busy. He had spent all his time checking and upgrading SD-6’s servers, although he didn’t know why the task was given to him, as there were specific people in charge of it. But since there didn’t appear to be any missions going on as of late, there had been no need for any of Marshall’s inventions or technical advice. So he was pretty much ‘work free’, leaving him plenty of time to think about the offer given to him.
Despite the fact that it was offered to him as a choice, he was pretty sure that it wasn’t really an option. After all, in a place where telling someone (even a family member) what you did for a living could get them (as well as youself) killed, things were not ‘asked’ of you. . .they were ‘told’.
Nearing five o’clock in the afternoon, Marshall made his way to Sloane’s office. It was habit for him to become completely incapable of proper speech when he was around his boss. Luckily conversing with people wasn’t what he was paid to do. Otherwise he’d be screwed.
He was pretty sure that Sloane had seen him walk towards his office, because as soon as he approached, the door opened, revealing Sloane gesturing for Marshall to come in.
“I take it you have come to a decision Marshall. Although I trust you made a wise one” he said neutrally, his eyes boring into Marshall’s as if trying to figure out Marshall’s decision before he told him. Of course either way. . .Marshall was off to London.
“Yes, I uh…have thought about it carefully…” he said smiling, and nervously laughing.
“Last time I was there, in London I mean, I didn’t really get to see much, except for the London Symphony Orchestra. Did I mention how good they were? I’m not one for classical mus—“
“Time is short Marshall” Sloane said cutting him off before he could go on. “I take it from your tone that you’ve decided to take Mr. McNeilly’s offer. A wise decision, of which I’ll inform him of shortly.”
Picking up his phone Sloane began to dial a number, giving Marshall a look that clearing showed him that he was excused.
Having no clue what to do, Marshall went back and sat at his desk, not really in the mood to do anything, as he had no idea what he was supposed to do now, or what was in store for him.
He decided to make a quick mental check-list in his head, making sure to remember to ask Mrs. Taylor, his neighbor, to feed his cat, Luke, as well as figuring out how he was going to keep up with the rent of his apartment in L.A, and whether or not he could find someone to send him tapes of the new ‘Enterprise’ episodes every week.. He had no time to go on any further, however, as Sloane entered his quarters.
“I’ve just spoken with McNeilly. He already left your airline ticket with me before he left, in case of your acceptance. . .” he said handing Marshall a British Airways envelope.
“As you can see, your flight leaves tomorrow night at eight-fifteen. Transportation to the airport will be provided, so you should expect a car to arrive at your place of residence by six o’clock. When you arrive in London, look for a man holding out a sign that says ‘Royal Tours’. That will be your contact and he’ll escort you to your location point. All information needed for your stay in London will be handed to you once you’re safely in the car. I trust you have no trouble following all of this” he said curtly, noticing Marshall’s somewhat dazed expression.
“Huh? Oh no…I mean yes, I understand. So I leave tomorrow then? Wow…such short notice. I mean, can you get by without me? Not that I’m saying that I’m so great or anything. . .” Marshall said in quick succession, about to continue on before noticing the glare that was directed his way. “Right. . .I’ll just be quiet now” he added in an undertone, his eyes cast to the ground.
“Do not worry about leaving your position here. We’ll get by without you until you return. You’re going to be going somewhere where your skills are greatly needed as compared to what you do here. Have a safe a trip” and with that, Arvin Sloane turned around and walked out of Marshall’s office, not really caring whether he saw Marshall again or not.
The next day. . .eight thirty in the evening.
Sweat dripped off Marshall’s face as sat in his first class seat, not really caring that his seat could recline one-hundred and eighty degrees, or the fact that there was an unlimited supply of roasted peanuts at his disposal.
His mind was focused on the laptop in front of him, which was keeping tabs on the plane’s operating controls. He had no Sydney to try and calm him down, and so by the time he arrived in London ten hours later, he was very much exhausted (although happy to have his feet back on solid ground).
Only having one piece of luggage with him (despite wanting to bring pretty much every single invention he owned with him), he quickly made his way towards the exit terminal as he had nothing to declare in customs.
He immediately spotted a man dressed in a black suit and chauffeur’s hat, holding up a ‘Royal Tours’ sign. Walking towards him, he was thankful when the man took his luggage and escorted him out of Heathrow Airport.
Despite almost nodding off on his feet as he walked out of the airport, his eyes openly quickly again as he noted that the man was headed towards a black Mercedes Benz limousine.
“Wow. . .all this just for me” he said smiling at the chauffeur as he held the door open for him. He however, didn’t get a smile back in return as the man quickly shut the door and made his way to the drivers seat.
Inside the limousine was a T.V, DVD player, a small refrigerator filled with Ginger Ale (to Marshall’s delight), as well as an iced bottle of what looked to be very expensive French champagne.
Sadly, there was no reception on the T.V, nor were there any DVD’s for the DVD player, so Marshall was left to just sipping on his can of Ginger Ale, which made him feel slightly better since being on an aircraft.
Nearly spilling his ginger ale on the leather upholstery, he set it down quickly before picking up the phone beside him that had begun to ring.
“Look under the seat beside you. . .” a male voice said, before hanging up.
Assuming it was the driver that had called, Marshall looked under the seat beside him. Seeing nothing, he tried lifting the seat, which to his luck, opened.
Inside was a rather thick brown manila envelope. Opening it he saw a large folder entitled ‘profile’ as well as various photographs. Looking through the photos graphs he was rather impressed with everything he saw. The first photo was of what looked to be a large Victorian style mansion, similar to a castle. The next couple of photos were of an office building that reminded Marshall of Credit Dauphine, and the last few photos (and ones that he seemed to enjoy the most) were of a lady, who would have looked to even be in her very late teens if she had not been wearing a suit and sunglasses. She was very pretty to say the least, but she wasn’t smiling, which didn’t make her seem all too nice. Of course, turning the photos around, there was no writing, or any indication of what (or who) these photographs were of.
Setting them down, he skimmed through the folder labeled ‘profile’. It seemed to be information regarding his new alias and life, which surprised him as he had had no idea that he’d have to change anything about him. So for the time being, he was Alexander Benning, a VP of Parsa Global Corporation, which specialized in the import and export of computer parts.
“Hey hey. . .I’m a VP. It’s a shame I can’t keep my real name though. Oh well…VP” he said impressively, fighting the urge to call his mom and tell her about his new ‘position’.
“I feel like James Bond!” he said loudly towards the driver. He did not however, get any answer in return.
Other things included in the profile were his address, phone number, social security number, bank account numbers, as well as his monthly salary, which after he read and counted and re-counted all the zero’s, he still couldn’t believe.
Making his way towards the driver, he knocked on the black plate that was now separating the front from the back of the car, and hoped to get the drivers attention. At once the phone rang, and Marshall picked it up.
“Is this really my salary?! Or is this just for document purposes? I mean, I’ve never even seen this much mon—“
“Everything written in the dossier is accurate, except for the job description which is your cover. You may speak with the boss tomorrow when you go in for work” and with a click, the line went dead.
Breathing hard, Marshall felt he was very near having a panic attack. Of course, he didn’t even have time to beg the driver to pull over as they suddenly stopped.
They were now in front of what looked to be where the picture of the mansion had been taken. At least now he’d figure out what the picture was of.
As his door opened, and Marshall got out, he looked around, not understanding why they had stopped here.
“What am supposed to do?” he enquired from the driver, who was now taking out Marshall’s suitcase from the trunk.
“These are your accommodations” he said swiftly, while carrying the suitcase to the front door.
“Oh my god. . .” he muttered under his breath, not being able to comprehend why he was being given a new identity, a six digit monthly salary, and mansion to live in. It was then that he did the only thing that came to mind. . .he passed out.
CHAPTER 3: The Surprise
Everything seemed fuzzy as Marshall began to regain consciousness. He didn’t seem to be on hard ground anymore, but on what appeared to be a burgundy, velvet couch, which was adorned with tiny, golden fleur-de-lis.
Feeling the back of his head, he was relieved to find that didn’t seem to have had a bad fall. Why is it that he had to faint? His mom had always warned him not to get over excited, which is probably why she never really let him date much when he was growing up…In her mind, rampaging hormones was a major risk factor to her son’s health.
Of course, more importantly, Marshall wondered how he’d gotten into the house (if you could call it that), as he was pretty sure he had collapsed just outside.
“Eric and I carried you inside” said a surprisingly pleasant voice from behind.
Sitting upright, Marshall bit back a laugh. The guy looked every bit like the butler from ‘Ask Jeeves’.
“Uh…not to be rude or anything as I know it’s not really my place to be rude, even if I’m apparently staying here, which I don’t understand at all but-but I’m sure you know why I’m staying here…” he continued on and on, before ‘Jeeves’ cleared his throat loudly. Thankfully it was enough for Marshall to remember what he was going to ask. “So yeah…who’s Eric?” he asked as he looked around.
“You’re driver” ‘Jeeves’ responded as he came forward with a silver tray in his hands; on it lay a damp, white, wash cloth. Marshall took it gratefully, although he still didn’t understand what he doing there.
An Op Tech specialist like himself was lucky if he found a decent apartment to live in. This was just beyond the realm of possibility. Why would Mr. McNeilly…or anyone for that matter, spend so much money on one guy? Despite Marshall’s almost superhuman IQ, he as unable to come up with an answer.
“As for me sir” the butler responded, a British accent evident in his voice “My name is Williams. I’ve been informed that you are to now take up permanent residence here at Sterling Manor. If you’ll allow me, and if you’re feeling up to it, I’ll be happy to give a tour of the estate that you ca—“
“Woah…hold on!” Marshall exclaimed loudly, putting out his hands in order to stop Williams from going on any further. Using the wash cloth that was still in his hand, he wiped the back of his neck. “P-Permanent?! I’m not going to be here long! I’m here temporarily! Temporarily as in…not permanent!” he cried. “My mom’s going to kill me! And uncle Dan! What’s he going to say when he finds out I won’t be coming back with the case of ale he wanted! And Aunt Marge! She’ll go into hysterics! Of course, rumour has it that she doesn’t really like me after her dog Pugsy ate one of my dermal pigment capsules…but I told her not to let the dog in. So you see, I just can’t stay here!” he finally finished saying.
He hurried over to the nearest door and quickly opened it, not even looking where he was going. Just his luck, he seemed to have walked into a linen closet, and with a faint click, the door behind him closed, leaving him in total darkness.
Williams had listened quietly to everything Marshall had said, not bothering to try and get in a few remarks. The boss would answer his questions, as it wasn’t a butlers place to do so.
Of course, hearing a muffled Marshall asking politely if he could open the door, he strode over and opened the door, looking at the obviously distraught American with a questioning look.
“Perhaps I am mistaken” he said, although he doubted it. “Indeed, in any case, it would be wise for you to know you’re way around the estate…no matter how long you plan to stay.”
And with that, Marshall followed the butler around the estate, showing him everything including several of the guest bedrooms (which Marshall calculated to be 100 square feet bigger than his entire apartment), the tennis court, the gardens, the kitchens, the swimming pool, movie room, and garage (which housed several sports cars from various brands).
It actually took a little over and hour to go over the entire estate, and luckily one time was all it took for Marshall to remember where everything was situated.
As he followed Williams up a flight of stairs, he was led to the last door on the right. Opening it, Marshall was surprised to find a master bedroom, which could have passed for it’s own large apartment.
“This is the master bedroom” Williams said behind him. “As you can see, you’re belongings have been brought up. I’ll leave you to your own then. If you need to reach me, just press ‘4’ on the speed dial. Good evening sir.”
It didn’t take Marshall long to notice that there was a white envelope addressed to him propped up on the night-stand.
The planner is for your use only.
It was a rather cryptic message, but Marshall got the hint. Picking up the black leather planner, which had been beside the envelope, he opened it up and flipped through it. It seemed to be completely blank until he noticed that something was written under today’s date.
Tailor- 7pm
It was already after four in the afternoon, and Marshall had no doubt that he was either supposed to go somewhere, or someone was going to meet him.
‘Tailor…is that like a code name for someone?’ he thought to himself as he lay down on his new bed.
He spent the next few hours trying to figure out what was going on, even going to his dresser and looking over the pictures that he had received in the car.
Suddenly the telephone rang with a sharp shrill, causing Marshall to jump in response.
Grabbing the phone, he answered. “H-Hello?” he said cautiously.
“I’ll be arriving in ten minutes” a voice said in a neutral tone.
Recognizing the voice as the driver’s, Marshall’s tension died down somewhat. “Listen, about this afternoon. I heard that you helped take me inside. I really appreciate it. I mean, I know that I haven’t really been keeping up with going to the gym lately, so I’m glad that y-you were able to—“ he stopped suddenly as he heard the click of the phone on the other end. Eric had hung up.
“Thanks…” he said to no one in particular as he put the phone down and went to comb his hair.
Apparently Eric seemed to have arrived in a hurry, as it had only been a minute since he had called, and yet Williams knocked on the door to let him know that his car had arrived.
Not being able to change clothes, Marshall grudgingly made his way downstairs and out the door (which William’s held open for him). Everything seemed so surreal; he had a butler calling him ‘sir’, the limousine was considered ‘his’ car, the room he had was considered ‘his’ room…the list went on and on.
As Marshall said thanks to Williams, he walked out the door and down to the car, where Eric stood holding the car door open.
Not forgetting the rude hang up that he’d gotten from his driver, Marshall resisted the urge to say thank you, and got into the car without a word.
He didn’t even bother asking him where they were going, and figured he’d best enjoy the ride.
The ride however, didn’t last long as they were soon back in the heart of London. They seemed to have stopped in front of a men’s boutique.
Not noticing the sign outside the door, Marshall went in, unaware of what he was supposed to do. That didn’t last long, as he saw a man in dark gray suit come up to him. A pleasant smile was on his face, which made Marshall feel slightly better.
“Ah Monsieur Benning! We ‘ave been expecting you!” the man said with a heavy French accent.
“Really? I’ve been expected? That very g-good…I guess” Marshall said as he was pushed towards the center of the boutique.
A small, balding man with a tape measurer around his neck stood waiting by a long row of mirrors.
“You ‘ave ordered the most exquisite suits. ‘ere…let us get you started.”
Before he knew what was happening, Marshall had put on 7 different suits…some casual, and some that he would have called ‘super swank’.
He had to admit, he did look quite good in them, but he wasn’t exactly sure what all this was for. By now he had figured out that ‘Tailor’ really had meant going to go get suits tailored, but why? He had never heard of any type of company having such a dress code.
An hour and a half, and ten suits later, Marshall was finally done. Apparently, someone had already chosen the suits out for him before he had even got there, and all he had to do was get them fitted. It wasn’t exactly a bad thing, as whoever had chosen the suits had immaculate taste.
“The suits will be ready by tomorrow morning as you ‘ave requested, monsieur” the man said happily, no doubt already knowing how much money he had just made on this transaction.
“Uh…thank you Anselm” Marshall said politely, as the man had told him his name. “Just a quick question though…how much is all this costing me?” he said cautiously, not knowing indeed how he was supposed to pay for all of this. Heck, he hadn’t even been in London for 24 hours.
“Mais monsieur! Vous avez oublié! Your secretaire called and took care of everything” he said with his eyes shining.
“Ah…yes…my secretary…” Marshall answered unsurely, having no idea that he even had a secretary. “So…it’s been a busy few days for me, and I-I seem to have forgotten…what type of—of suits are these?” Marshall asked, feeling rather stupid.
“Monsieur Benning!” Anslem said admonishingly. “You must take a few days off work, non? To clear thee head.” Clucking his tongue, and shaking his head he continued “after all, if you can forget ordering ten of our finest Armani suits, then you must be very very busy.”
Marshall stood ramrod still. ‘Armani? Armani?!!!’ While he wasn’t exactly the flashiest dresser in the world, he did know that Armani suits didn’t cost cheap. Heck the last Armani suit he wore was the tuxedo he had worn on his ‘mission’ with Sydney. And even then, he had had to return it to SD-6.
He seemed to have gone into a state of shock, which soon went away as Anslem presented Marshall with a glass of wine. Not being a drinker really, Marshall had no taste for it, but downed it anyways.
He held his breath as he walked out of the boutique and back into the car.
The rest of the night passed by in a blur as soon he was back in his bedroom, and after taking a quick shower, climbed into bed and soon fell asleep.
In what felt like only a few hours, Marshall’s phone rang next to him. Picking it up, he grumbled a ‘hello’, only to get a cheerful ‘good morning’ from Williams who advised Marshall that his transportation would be arriving in an hour or so to take him to work.
Getting up, he trudged around to the bathroom, noticing that a suit bag was hanging from his dresser chair. ‘Williams must have brought in it early this morning’ he thought to himself as he noticed that it was nine o’clock in the morning. Jet lag was still an issue for now.
It took Marshall a half hour to get ready, as he took the opportunity to shave before going into work. He wanted to look as impressive as possible, although he wasn’t really sure how to do that.
Putting on his new suit, he looked at himself in the mirror. Surprisingly, Marshall looked very dashing in his suit of dark blue. His light blue shirt was tie-less but he still felt as if he was dressed to attend a gala, rather than work.
Going downstairs, he smelled what could only be described as the best smell he had ever come across.
Making his way to the breakfast, he had to stop himself from drooling. French pastries, crumpets, danishes, bagels…everything that one could possible have for breakfast was on the table.
Marshall then realized that he had indeed, not eaten anything since the flight to London. It didn’t take him long however, to finish off five cheese danishes, two blueberry scones, and two cups of coffee.
Soon Williams arrived to announce the arrival of his transportation.
This time however, it was not a limousine, but a black town car. Either Eric wasn’t a morning person, or he just didn’t take a liking to Marshall, as he didn’t get out of the drivers seat to help him in. Frankly though, Marshall didn’t mind one bit.
The ride lasted only about fifteen minutes as they pulled up to the building that Marshall had seen in the pictures. The sign outside the rather large building read ‘Credit Dauphine’, which honestly, didn’t really surprise Marshall.
The car passed into the lower level garage, and then Eric turned around and spoke. “Take this card with you. You’ll need it to access the A-1 level.”
Marshall was accustomed to this, as the process reminded him exactly of getting to his office at SD-6.
Getting out of the car, with only a key card in his hand, he made his way to the parking lot elevator. Getting in, he put his card into the slot, which lit up various buttons ranging from A-1 to A-6. Pushing A-1, he waited as the elevator took him down several floors.
He entered a white room and standing in the middle of it, a flash of blinding, red light filled the room. Then the doors opened…
If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought that he was back at SD-6. Everything seemed to be set up the same way, from the amount of computers in the main area, to the types of chairs everyone appeared to be sitting in.
No one looked at him as he made his past several stations, but he didn’t get far as he heard someone from behind.
“Ah, Marshall. I’m happy you’ve decided to join us” Mr. McNeilly said with a smile. His expression seemed so different than it had when Marshall had seen him in Sloane’s office. Here was a guy that looked warm and friendly, which was not exactly how Sloane looked…on any occasion.
“Hello Mr. McNeilly…” Marshall answered politely, his eyes darting around and looking at everyone surrounding him.
“I trust you liked the suits provided for you. I assumed that it would be a nice way for you to start your work here.”
“Yes I-I liked them very much, as you can see” he said, motioning to the suit that on him “although what exactly am I supposed to be working on?” he asked.
The smile on McNeilly’s face nearly faded, but he recovered before Marshall could notice. “Patience…patience Marshall. For now, you’re set up at the office at the end of the hall and to the left. Your name is on the door already. Feel free to have a look around if you wish. I’ll come by later on to speak with you.”
And with that, McNeilly left Marshall standing there, in the middle of a room full of strangers, with whom Marshall would now have to work with. Not being a naturally social person, he felt as if it was his first day at a new school.
With a determined sigh, he made his way down the hall and to right, only then realizing as he came to a dead end, that he had gone the wrong way. It seemed as if he hadn’t heard a word that McNeilly had said.
Turning around, he looked for someone that looked to be somewhat ‘friendly’. Walking back down the hall, he saw a girl at the water cooler, idly sipping her cup of water. She didn’t notice Marshall until he came up to her and said hi.
“Hi” she said without emotion, not seeming half as friendly as Marshall thought she would be.
“I-I…I’m having trouble finding my off—“ before he could finish, the girl (who he realized was the one in the photographs he had) walked away from him. This made Marshall more self-conscience than before, as he was left standing talking to no one.
“Well are you coming or not?” the girl said as she turned around to look at Marshall. Apparently she had been heading towards his office…without really telling him.
Running to catch up with her, he followed her until they arrived at a door, which said ‘Marshall Flinkman’. Strangely, it did not say his position as it did on all the other doors.
Opening the door, she motioned for him to go in. “Here you are. I trust you’ll remember how to get here next time” she said without a smile. As she turned to walk off however, she stopped and appeared to stand motionless for a second or two, before turning around and heading back towards Marshall.
He really didn’t know what was going on in that pretty little head of hers (he had indeed noticed that she was sort of pretty. No one could really compare to Miss Bristow however), but he was rather surprised when she walked up to him and held out her hand. “Agent Fenyvesi.”
“Marshall…” he said in return, sticking out his hand and shaking hers.
And with that, she turned on her heel and walked off, leaving a very confused Marshall behind.
For the next four hours, Marshall spent his time looking through all the gadgets and computer systems that were in his office. He had to admit though, that he liked this office much better than the one in Los Angeles, as he had at least twice as much space now, as he did then.
Everything seemed identical to the objects at SD-6. So far he had seen no problems with their servers, or any security risks whatsoever. So he assumed that he was there for his ‘gadget skills’.
Suddenly, his door opened and in came a very grave looking McNeilly. His face seemed pinched and stern, as if he was reluctant to be there at that precise moment.
“Five minutes ago I received word that one of our top agents was assassinated. Due to this…devastating news…it requires me to move a little faster than I intended…”
So far Marshall had no idea what his ‘new’ boss was talking about, as he had only gotten the ‘someone important was assassinated’.
“I need you to follow me, please” he said as beckoned Marshall to follow him.
McNeilly led the way to a room on the opposite side of the hall. Inside a petite woman who looked to be in her late thirties greeted them. She sat beside what Marshall immediately recognized as a computer-like device, which is used to give out functional imaging tests…in other words…an un-deceivable lie detector. .
“I-I don’t understand” Marshall said, looking at McNeilly expectantly.
“It’s just simple procedure. A simple yes or no will do. If you fail to tell the truth on a single question…” McNeilly let the sentence slide, making it clear what would happen.
As Marshall went to sit down in the chair, rather uncomfortably, McNeilly spoke quietly with the lady that was monitoring the controls.
“Some of the questions…may seem a bit shocking to you, but try and focus please” McNeilly said as he walked out of the room, and headed towards another small room where he could watch Marshall through a one-sided mirror.
The interrogation started simple enough. The lady, who nicely introduced herself as Agent Briggs, began asking Marshall simple questions such as: Is your full name Marshall J. Flinkman?, Do you work for SD-6?, etc…
After Marshall seemed to get comfortable with the questions being asked of him, he noticed that they now took a sudden turn.
The questions got rather specific in nature, but Marshall answered as calmly as he could. Before he knew it, the interrogation was over, and Agent Briggs gave him a warm smile.
“There now…all done” she said a bit cheerily. But her expression dampened as she heard a voice come over her intercom.
“Ask him, Briggs” said the voice, which Marshall identified as McNeilly’s. Apparently, he wasn’t done just yet.
With a small sigh she turned around and looked at Marshall again. He could barely comprehend the question that was asked.
“Were you aware at all that SD-6 and all it’s divisions are enemies of the CIA?”
To Be Continued. . .
Reviews are welcome! *g*
