Another late update, with sincere apologies and a plea for forgiveness! I had to work two jobs this summer and had almost zero time/energy for writing. Hopefully now that the action is starting I will be motivated to churn out more chapters at a faster pace.

Enjoy!

000

Chapter 21

This was actually his second time in Zurich.

The sudden recollection gave Seymour some pause – a hesitation in his otherwise decisive stride which, admittedly, few noticed – and for a moment he was twenty-eight years old again and on his first honeymoon. He had been so consumed by the mission that any personal associations with the city had been firmly shoved to the back of his mind.

Why Lydia had wanted to come to Zurich was beyond him, frankly. She was usually the traditional type, and he'd figured she would want to go somewhere hot and tropical, like Hawaii or the Bahamas. But no, she wanted to go some place . . . classy. Modern. Expensive as hell. Not surprisingly, he had been miserable for most of it, and consequently so was she. The sex, as minimally inclined as they felt to engage in it, had been at its worst ever, and they hadn't been all that compatible in bed to begin with. She ignored that one little detail in favour of his sizeable paycheck (and impending pension), and he in turn focused on using her father's connections in the U.S. government to secure his upward mobility. They must have thought that a sexless marriage – or even one where it just wasn't that great – could survive. Lydia's parents had managed it for decades, hadn't they? And look how fucking happy those two are.

Blinking, he looked up and realized that he had made it all the way through the front doors of the Opernhaus. A few of his men were already in place, dotted here and there throughout the crowd as patrons filed towards the auditorium. The air was a monotone hum of conversation and polite elevator music, easily reduced to little more than white noise. Seymour shook himself a little and swept the gleaming marble lobby with a narrowed gaze, knowing already that he wasn't going to see that shock of ridiculous blond hair anywhere. That Raines hadn't done the smart thing and cut it all off, or at least dyed it a more neutral colour, irked Seymour. Agents were trained to be invisible, forgettable, unnoticed. Even one who had gone rogue would feel compelled to follow that one, simple little rule. Well, good-looking as he was, Raines probably had a hard time being 'forgettable', but still. Some semblance of vanity and pride, maybe? Defiance? Neither would come as a surprise.

There were other agents in place, scattered here and there and doing their best to look as inconspicuous as possible. One by one they met his passing gaze and, wisely, refrained from responding to him. Raines could be anywhere and have eyes at any location, and if he didn't already know who was tracking him – which he probably did, Seymour acknowledged with a scowl – even the subtlest nod or lingering look would be a dead giveaway.

He angled himself towards the east wall and made his way to a small fire extinguisher hanging near a lavish floral arrangement. Looking like he had every right in the world to do so, Seymour reached under the red metal cylinder and, sure enough, retrieved the ticket that had been taped in place, one of the two Raines had purchased earlier to flag down SIN's satellite. He glanced down at his seat number and grimaced; right in the middle of the goddamn audience. Figures.

It was only by sheer coincidence that a side door marked Staff Only happened to open just to his right at that moment, revealing a glimpse into the Opernhaus' east wing. Looking up, Seymour's jaw clenched at the sight of white plastic hanging from the ceiling and coating the floor, the glare of industrial lights and sudden sharp smell of plaster. The door was only open for a second as a construction worker made a hasty exit through another door leading downstairs, where Seymour heard the distinct noise of power tools.

How the hell had they missed this?

Clever little shit, aren't you Raines.

"Be advised," he hissed into a hidden transmitter hidden, speaking through gritted teeth, "the east wing and lower levels are being remodeled. Maintain visual – fuck, double visual and ready a backup unit."

"Copy that," somebody replied on the other end.

"And if things go south, keep the local PD out of this for as long as possible. I don't want to add a bunch of dead cops to Raines' rap sheet, got it?" It looks bad for PR.

"Understood, sir."

Rubbing his face with an agitated hand, Seymour did one last sweep of the lobby before resigning himself to get on with this and headed towards the auditorium. In any other situation but this he could probably take the time to look around admiringly. Run a hand along the red velvet seats, bask in the warm yellow glow of the massive chandelier hanging from the middle of the ceiling. The semi-circular shape of the room, along with the polished hardwood finishing carried sound like a rippling ocean, making the orchestra warming up below the stage sound as if their music was emerging from the back walls.

Lydia would love this, Seymour thought absently, forcing his way through the crowd toward his seat. I should call and tell her about it. Maybe she'll drag Phil along too. The idea almost made him smirk. Her second husband (or was it third? He could never remember) had the cultural pizzazz of a mac truck, for all his millions.

The second he sat down, he felt something hard jut up against his lower back, poking out of the back of his seat cushion. Frowning, he reached down and extracted a small disposable cell phone.

It rang before he had a chance to fully register it.

"Shit," he muttered, before clicking it on and pressing it to his ear. "I was hoping to do this face to face, Raines."

The agent's voice on the other end was mostly flat, but carried an unmistakable trace of smugness. "Sorry, couldn't take that chance."

A few patrons turned to give Seymour variously displeased looks, since the show was about to start and almost everyone else had put away their phones, but he ignored them. "Where's the file?"

"Scattered around the city, divided into ten sections," Raines replied with equal alacrity. "I'll be a team player and tell you where the first one is – you'll need it to get directions to the second one, which will lead you to the third, then the fourth, and so on."

Seymour clenched his jaws for a moment and wished he knew how to patch in the cell phone to his transmitter so that the rest of the crew could hear what was going on.

"And while you're busy recovering them," Raines went on, "Yuna and I are to take our leave and go free. Forever. Her name gets cleared, and my identity is to be wiped from every record you've got on me. You don't track, trail, monitor, or come after us ever again, is that understood?"

"Uh huh," Seymour grunted, "but tell me something son, what exactly is stopping us from playing cat and mouse with you once we're done collecting the file? 'Cause you know I can't just let you walk away from this, not with the kind of shit we've got on each other."

Right away he realized that Raines had been waiting for him to ask that. "Because," he answered smoothly, "I decided to join the 21st century and uploaded a digital copy onto a laptop. It's on a timed relay, so unless I enter a 9 digit code every three hours, it will send out the file in a viral e-mail and make it public to the world – including every major news organization across the UK and the US. That's why."

Seymour felt himself growing colder with each passing second. "Right," he heard himself mumble. "And, ah, when exactly did you find the time to steal a laptop, upload a fifty-something page document, and then stash the real file in ten different locations around an unfamiliar city?"

"I didn't steal anything, thanks to the money from the safety deposit box. And I work quickly. But I'd get to work if I were you; clock's ticking, Seymour. You'll find the first section behind a dumpster in the alley across the street."

"Wait, just wait." Licking his lips, Seymour shifted in his seat and glanced around with what could almost pass for nervousness. "Be honest with me, Raines – what do you want? I mean, really. This whole amnesia thing . . ."

"What I want is to be left alone," Raines snapped, showing the first true hint of emotion. "Was that not clear enough? I'm not who I was, and I have no desire to be ever again, and I sure as hell don't want to die for you. I want Yuna to be safe, and happy, and free to live her life as she pleases – God willing, with me in it. I want to never have to look over my shoulder again, or worry about talking on the phone, or if any cameras are on me, or if I'm gonna have fucking assassins waiting for me around every corner."

For a long time Seymour was silent. Then, quietly, "I wish it was that easy, kid. I really do."

The lights began to dim and a hush swept over the audience.

"Show's starting, Seymour."

There was a click, followed by a tell-tale dial tone on the other end. Seymour slowly lowered the phone from his end and shut it off. "Yeah," he murmured. "I guess it is."

After another long pause, in which the opening act began, he rose to his feet and made his way towards the nearest exit to the lobby. "I want eyes on every possible exit," he said into his transmitter. "Raines is somewhere in this building, and he is not leaving."

000

"We've got her!"

Rikku's head snapped up from scanning maps of the city like a slingshot. "What?"

Joshua, who had been standing just outside the van coordinating a strike team, scrambled inside with almost comical speed. "Say again?"

The tech analyst across the van from her glanced over his shoulder. "Savard's staying at the Scheulinger motel on Latsbourg – security cam across the street caught her and Raines checking in last night and she hasn't left since."

"Great work," Joshua said breathlessly, clapping the young man on the shoulder. "Rikku, stay here and keep an eye on –"

"Uh, well, shouldn't I, ah, go with you?" she said quickly, rising to her feet without even realizing it. Shit, shit, shit.

Joshua blinked at her. "Why?"

"Well, from a psychological point of view, it makes sense," she rushed to explain. "She's gonna be surrounded by men, they're gonna be shoving her around, pushing and pulling and shouting at her – it'll be really traumatic! If there's another woman there, one closer to her age, she'll feel more comfortable. I pretend like I'm on her side, looking out for her – good cop, you know? – and maybe, if she decides to talk, she'll talk to me. Maybe if she trusts me I can convince her that spilling her guts is the best thing for her."

The tech analyst exchanged looks with Joshua. "Sounds reasonable enough to me," he ventured.

Joshua nodded. "All right, find yourself a gun and stand by." Pointing to the analyst, "You – upload coordinates to my PDA and tell everybody to get on point. We move in five, got it?"

"Yes sir."

Feeling somewhat dazed, Rikku climbed out of the van and went to locate her handgun. She was qualified to carry and fire a sidearm, but this was her first field mission and as such she had no prior cause to use it. Half the time she left it with her other personal effects, seldom feeling the need or desire to keep it nearby. She fiercely hoped today would be no exception, but Auron had been adamant that she do any and everything in her power to keep Yuna safe.

The ride to the motel was . . . quiet. Not tense, but focused. Joshua had retreated into himself, showing none of the bright-eyed, childlike enthusiasm he had displayed before. After briefing the extraction team, he busied himself by going over the building's schematics with relentless precision, committing every detail to memory. Rikku's eyes kept darting towards him, wondering if she would be able to think fast enough to outmaneuver him. If she was caught or even suspected of helping Yuna escape, she had fewer and fewer doubts that he would have any trouble shooting her on sight. And who would fault him for that? SIN had no qualms about dealing with leaks and traitors. It was in the nature of their business, all so that their own betrayals could be contained – betrayals against their country, their own citizens, allies, innocents . . .

She closed her eyes to keep them still. She needed to think hard and fast. Just get Yuna alone. Let them take her into custody if you have to, but no matter what it takes, get her alone –

"There it is."

Joshua's voice startled her back into the present. She peered out the window just as the van, followed by two others teeming with black op agents, came to a near-screeching halt at the curb. The doors flew open almost before the wheels stopped turning, and before she knew it, Rikku found herself swept outside along a current of agents. With Joshua in the lead, his glock already out and held at the ready, she didn't have time to think anymore. Wordless, tight-lipped and pale, she followed close behind him as he jogged up the metal stairs to the second floor.

"Bravo Team in position, standing by," a voice crackled over the radio. "Rear exit covered."

"Copy that," Joshua whispered, moving to stand near the door to room 213. He glanced to Rikku, who read the cue and positioned herself on the other side of the door, fighting to keep her hands steady. She saw him take a few fortifying breaths, and subconsciously held her own when he suddenly sprang forward and shouldered the door open with a bang.