Specter: Project Archangel

Chapter 4 | Breaking point

Blake sat on the edge of his bed, cleaning his gun what felt like a hundredth time that day. The familiar motions usually help clear his mind, but today, his thoughts kept circling back to the morning's events like vultures over a carcass.

Vance. That damn snake. He wanted to remind him that no matter how good he was, no matter how many missions he had under his belt, he could be cut loose at any moment. Blake had been a soldier long enough to know when someone was pulling strings, but Vance had done more than pull them—he had tried to wrap the damn noose around Blake's neck.

Blake hadn't gone back to the briefing. Rickford could handle the mission prep; he had no intention of standing around while he tried to pacify Vance, pretending like nothing had happened. There was no point in sitting through more lies, no reason to hear Rickford spout empty reassurances about how the mission was still salvageable. It wasn't. They all knew it. It would go south, just like Blake had warned them. Just like he had warned them about Sarajevo.

A sharp knock at the door broke his thoughts. Blake didn't move at first, waiting for whoever it was to leave. They didn't. The knock came again, more insistent.

"I know you're in there, Blake." Ramirez called out.

"Go away." He growled

"Not happening, amigo. Open up before I override your lock. Again."

Blake sighed, setting down his gun. "Door's open."

Ramirez stepped inside, letting the door close behind him. "I've heard what happened. Thought I'd check on you if you were planning to do something stupid."

"Like what?"

"Like going after Vance." Ramirez's eyes fell on the whiskey bottle. "Or drinking yourself into a coma."

Blake scoffed. "I'm fine."

"Yeah, you look it." Ramirez grabbed a spare chair, spinning it around and straddling it backwards. "Want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Too bad. I'm here, you're here, and we're going to talk about it."

Blake ran a hand over his face and leaned back against a wall, staring up at the ceiling as if the answers to all his problems were hidden somewhere in the faded paint.

"There's nothing to talk about," he said finally, "Vance's an asshole. The mission's a disaster waiting to happen. End of story."

"Mitchell said Vance pulled a gun on you."

Blake's jaw clenched, but he didn't respond right away. The truth was, Ramirez was one of the few people he respected, one of the few who knew him well enough to see through the bullshit. There was no point in pretending nothing was wrong.

"What are you even doing here?" he asked instead, turning his head slightly towards Ramirez. "Why aren't you involved in this mission?"

Ramirez had more experience than half of his team combined – if he was on the mission, maybe Blake would feel a little more confident about its outcome.

Ramirez raised an eyebrow. "You're deflecting, but I'll bite. I've got other assignments. And I've been meaning to talk to you about some of the intel we gathered in Eastern Europe last month. But I didn't expect to find out you were nearly shot in the middle of the briefing." His eyes grew sharp, "No, that's serious. Is this about Sarajevo again?"

Blake's eyes darkened. He hated when people brought it up, as if it was some kind of defining moment, a lesson he should have learned. "This isn't Sarajevo. This is worse."

Ramirez shook his head. "If you think it's that bad, why aren't you doing something about it?"

Blake's fists clenched. He DID try to do something – it didn't end well. "What do you want me to do?" he snapped, "Storm into Rickford's office and demand he scrub the mission? Even if I did, Vance would find a way to push it through."