Of The Wolves And The Orphans

Trust To Survive

Keira's P.O.V.

I swear I am going to shoot something. We've been on this damned mission for nearly three months now. All Masteria contacts have simultaneously gone underground. Coincidence? I don't believe in coincidences. It's all I can do to outright blame Zeke when every turn we take is blocked. After all, who could help being suspicious when the enemy seems to know our moves before we even strike. It's like they all know we're coming after them. Like they've been warned.

But I can't doubt Zeke, not now. If we start fighting amongst ourselves, we won't last very long in the field. Nathan, however, is not so conservative in his doubt. When Zeke happens to be away, sly hints and rebellious, dark comments about our comrade are the order of the day. Right now I'm dealing with another of his tirades.

I lean forward and rub my forehead wearily, "for the hundred thousandths time, Ortuso, Zeke isn't a spy."

"Then how do you explain—"

"I don't know how to explain it," I interrupt waspishly, "but I know that this mission will blow to the high heavens if we don't learn to work with each other, and I'll be damned if I screw up my first mission." I push my chair back up and walk away. As far as I can in our confined space, that is.

"Keira," he starts again. He sounds like he's reasoning with a child. I hate it when he does that. "We have to entertain the possibility that we're being blindsided, and we shouldn't let our emotions or prejudices get in the way of our job." He says it sternly, as if delivering a lesson.

"For Christ's sake, I have just as high of an IQ as you, don't talk to me like I'm a doe-eyed three-year-old!" I round on him. "And that emotional shit is rich coming from someone with a very biased hate of the very person we are discussing."

He looks taken aback, his grey eyes large and innocent. "I do not have a prejudice against him!"

"Bull," I deadpan. "You've had it out for him since you first laid eyes on each other." I collapse back into my previous seat and resume my position of hopelessly rubbing my fingers against my pounding headache.

"That would be unprofessional," he shrugs self-righteously and turns back to his computer screen. Unprofessional, my ass.

"We've had this discussion a million times, and my answer is the same, if we can't work out petty differences, then we might as well call Fury and tell him..."

Zeke strides in, causing me to let my sentence die off. "Tell Fury what?"

"I need a pay raise," I finish dryly. He quirks his eyebrows in agreement and sets a cup of steaming, black coffee in front of me. I wrap my hands around it gratefully and try to convey my utmost thanks from the depths of my heart as I raise the nectar of life to my lips.

"Made any progress?"

"Surprisingly, we had an enormous breakthrough in the past five minutes that completely rectifies three months of absolutely no progress," I chirp with a falsely cheery tone. Zeke doesn't laugh but grunts in acknowledgement. Nathan turns to me and frowns, waiting as if expectantly. I stare back, until I realize what his problem is. "It was this thing called sarcasm, Nathan."

His mouth forms an "O" as realization dawns. He contemplates it for a moment, as if humor is some kind of abstract concept, and then turns back to his data.

I roll my eyes. I need to get a life.

A small notification beeps all our phones. We scramble for them simultaneously. Nathan gets his first. "New orders."

I open my message and read aloud, "locate a known Masteria base in Spain. Observe from distance, do not engage nor attempt to make contact. Notify your handler for further instructions when this is accomplished."