Heart

A first class suite on Emirates, and she still feels cramped.  There’s nothing good to watch, and her martini has too much vermouth in it.  She squirms, fidgets, and finally goes to the washroom, just for something to do.

Door locked, she takes out her compact and uses the laser to cut the vent bolts.  The guy in 4B isn’t civvie and he’s made her; she needs an upper hand.  Into the crawlspace she slithers, heading for cargo, shedding her travel clothes like dry skin.

She’s stuck somewhere over economy when she realizes the extra vermouth was a slow-acting poison.

Spade

He flips through the dossier idly, driving the Aston Martin with his knee, weaving against traffic because, hey, why not?

Wildcard’s been busy, but not so you’d notice – car accidents, heart attacks, a typhoon touching ground in Cambodia.  Diamond’s sending him to Prague, but neither of them could come up with a solid why. There’s probably an equation running through the Array or something.  He wonders if they should try the Probability Drive again.

He wonders where Heart is going, but, then, he’s always wondering.

His flight leaves at 2:00, but he realizes he’s going to be late when the Martin explodes.

Agent Diamond

She’s in the middle of the Array, watching everything happen at once. Heart’s driver is dropping her off at the street entrance in an hour. Club’s submarine is a blip on the local sonar, and could surface any minute. Spade is in the lounge, making drinks.

Diamond doesn’t have any trouble keeping track of the three dozen monitors, the readouts and charts, even if she is just a little distracted by the red box.

The red box is a global display, and on it there is a bright dot. Below, in huge white letters:

SIGNATURE IDENTIFIED: WILDCARD

LAST KNOWN LOCATION

Agent Club

Even with its high ceilings, Emperor Ouroboros’s throne room feels crowded. Maybe just for Club. Maybe because of the thirty odd guns pointed at him.

“Hey big fella,” says Ouroboros. “I hoped the bears would get you.”

“Nope,” says Club.

“What about their grafted titanium plating?”

“I thought it was a nice touch.”

Ouroboros sighs. “Put your guns down, boys. This guy’s old school. Go fight him one or two at a time.”

Later, Club walks out of the palace, cracking his giant knuckles. His phone rings; he fumbles with the tiny buttons.

“Get back here,” comes Diamond’s voice. “Now.“

Agent Heart

She enters on knife heels in a red dress, and everybody wants to fuck her. But she goes to a table in the corner where the Fat Man is smoking a cigar. There’s a rustle of hearts breaking.

“So glad you could join me,” the Fat Man oozes.

“I’d never miss the chance,” says Heart.

She gets bored halfway through the salad course. The Fat Man dries up the room, like a sponge. So she poisons his drink – so easy she doesn’t have to think about it – and excuses herself.

She’s already in the lobby when she hears the scream.

Agent Spade

The wind whips his tie over his face, and he forgets which way is up, and then he sees the plane dwindling to a tiny speck and figures it out.

All in all it’s not so bad. If he was afraid of anything anymore it might be this, getting pounded by air and gravity before an untimely end, but, really, it’s kind of relaxing. One of the henchmen, Claude maybe, whips past him and he hears, “You haven’t heard the last,” etc, but he doesn’t much care.

He wonders, mildly, which escape would be best. Probably something with his watch.