A/N: So, I had most of this chapter written, but then my stupid computer decided to shut down and delete the whole chapter :(. But, (like problems with stupid oblivious guys) I decided not to let it bother me that much, and I took it as an opportunity to improve my writing.

Anyways, since I wrote "The Mechanic" (based on the movie about an assassin who takes another under his wing, if you haven't read y story on it, you should!) I've always wanted to do a story on the opposite side of things- the analysts.

More will be explained in the story, so here it is! Reviews would be great!

Disclaimer: I don't own PJO

Percy POV

I didn't think my swim trunks could conceal a glock that easily.

Then again, I never thought I'd be dodging bullets next to James Bond before my morning cup of coffee, either.

I lay down on my front on the bottom of the pool, directing my snorkel camera up towards the surface, ten feet above, and I watched as Daniel Craig dived in, swimming freestyle up and down the length of it. Right on time.

If that sentence sounded...not normal to you, then don't worry. Because I am definitely not normal.

I flicked a switch on my snorkel cam and it immediately switched from camera (allowing me to view things behind me or above me) to a new thing I had installed, called Kevlar x-ray.

Kevlar...is like this kind of crazy freaking supermetal. Great for everything, lightweight, low cost, you name it, Kevlar could do it, or it could help you do it. And right now, it was helping Daniel Craig's assassin hide.

His assassin (or Mechanic, as they're called) had come in early this morning, as the pool was still being automatically refilled, and drilled a square hole, big enough for him to fit, in the the side wall of the pool. Knowing that Daniel Craig comes here every morning at seven, he had then fitted a Kevlar sheet over that hole after getting in, and, underwater, everything seemed to bleed together into one blue-gray blob, but, to take an extra precaution, he spray-painted it the same color as the pool sides. Then he hid in it and covered the gap with the metal. He was well-hidden, very well hidden actually. And if you're wondering how I know all of this...I was there. In the same position I'm in now.

Daniel Craig didn't notice me, because I'd sprayed myself with some magical solution the guys at the lab came up with. Makes you're skin just about transparent, and, this deep in the water, you might as well be. That's how neither the Mechanic or his target noticed me; camouflage, something I pride myself heavily on.

I checked out the heat sensor in the corner of my snorkel came, and saw two very interesting things. There was a line of zero body heat that was wrapped in a huge mass of body heat (that I assumed to be the Mechanic) inside his hiding place, and I'd bet my camouflage that it was a handcuff tied to a stone. I'd seen that one a lot. The Mechanic's plan was simple, enough, really, but it's the simplest ones that are the most effective. He'd drop the stone so it was anchored at the bottom of the pool, and then snap the handcuff around Daniel's (a.k.a James Bond's) wrists, thus, anchoring him to the bottom of the pool.

The heat sensor tingled, and I knew it was the Mechanic tightly wrapping his hand around the handle to his metal sheet. When Daniel passed by him, he'd open the hatch (probably scaring him into shock) and simultaneously drop the stone and handcuff him, getting up and out of the pool and walking away as if nothing happened.

It kinda sickens my mind to know the kind of people out there.

Of course, this guy wouldn't just kill people for the fun of it. There was, in fact, a whole agency dedicated to the Mechanics. Three leaders, the intel guys told me, and twenty-three assassins. The leaders would pay the assassins to take out targets (usually famous people) and the Mechanics would do it, getting a check in the mail for their hard work. Simple, really.

Except, for them, at least, it isn't.

That's where the analysts come in. I, of course, am one of them, but there are others- twenty-two others, to be precise, and we had an agency, part of the FBI, dedicated to analysts. Our job, basically, is to find a someone being targeted by a mechanic and then save his or her life. Pretty exhilarating work, to me, and it wasn't easy, either. Mechanics just have to do it, analysts have to be there before it happens. Know what the Mechanic's going to do before the Mechanic knows he's going to do it. That's what makes analysts even more elite than mechanics.

Back to the current situation at hand.

In a few seconds, Daniel would be right where the Mechanic is, and I saw through the thermal vision camera in my snorkel that he was wearing a mask. Usually, mechanics weren't foolish enough to have others (or cameras) catch them, but it was always a necessary precaution.

Of course, you might be thinking: How can my snorkel work ten feet underwater?

Well, that's because it isn't really a snorkel. If I have it out in public, I can't let anybody see any of the heat sensors, or the little compartments hiding C-4, or the snorkel cam, or anything. So, the guys over at intel- geniuses, by the way- designed a way to fit everything into a snorkel. So whenever anyone sees me wearing a snorkel... that's what they'll see. Just a snorkel.

I liked it so much, though, that I even gave it a name- Riptide. I liked the water so much, growing up (in the summers, I practically lived in my town pool) and the name "Riptide" just sounded so...awesome to me. Epic. Rolls off your tongue.

The target passed by the Kevlar and I grinned to myself, feeling the familiar rush of adrenalin. This is where things would get interesting.

The world's most powerful people, the most famous ones, feel like they're untouchable.

They're dead wrong.

The Mechanic popped out of the hatch, scaring the target half to death, and he pulled out his stone-and-handcuff creation.

But I was already there. I unsheathed the knife out of my multipurpose swim trunks and slashed at the handcuff, trying to detach it from the stone. No success, and I cursed at myself as a Catch 22 appeared.

The Mechanic was already swimming up to the surface, either about to get away or kill us, neither of which would be good. Meanwhile, the target was slowly sinking to the bottom of the pool, struggling to no avail against the heavy stone weight, losing air fast.

Suddenly a warning beep flashed in my snorkel cam, and I swore again as I noticed that my air tank was less than a minute away from losing all its air.

Thinking on my feet, I grabbed Daniel's wrist and hoisted him up to my level, still five feet below the surface (thank whatever gods watching over me that water is almost zero gravity) any stuck the knife into the handcuff's locking mechanism, jimmying the lock. I looked over at the target and saw that his eyes were slowly closing, and I let the rock fall to the bottom of the pool and realized, with a start, that I had no air left, as I pushed him up to the surface. We were so close...four feet, three, two, one, six inches...

Then bullet holes started peppering the surface of the pool.

I swore again and looked up outside the pool, to where the Mechanic was shooting at us. I knew from experience (and watching Mythbusters) that the bullets wouldn't hurt us as long as we were in the water; the problem was that we were out of air, and both of us were already feeling the effects of oxygen deprivation.

In less that a second, I looked at the large room that housed Daniel Craig's pool, and suddenly formulated a plan.

The room was fifty, sixty feet high, and I knew that he could handle the height, doing all of his own stunts in the James Bond movies. That would be crucial if we wanted to live. There was a balcony built about thirty feet up that wrapped around the whole length of the room- probably for the guards watching him swim (who were probably disposed of or sent on a wild goose chase by the Mechanic). There were dozens of conveniently placed ropes dangling from the balcony, probably to swing from when Daniel had friends over. And if they held (which I had no doubt they would) we would come out of this alive.

As soon as I got the plan (which took less than a second) I chucked my knife out of the pool, higher, farther, and faster than necessary in order to reach the gun. The water had a dampening affect on all of this, though, so it sailed with perfect trajectory, knocking the gun out of the Mechanic's hand and sending it skittering away. That bought us around ten seconds, all we needed to survive.

I gave one last strong kick of my legs, and both of us flew out of the pool, taking huge gasps of air. We hoisted ourselves out of the pool and surveyed the situation...the Mechanic couldn't leave now without killing us. So, we just had to avoid being killed. The gun, though his primary source of defense, was also his weakness. We disarm him, we beat him. How do we disarm him? We make it hard for him to hit us. How do we do that? Well, it's a good thing I'd wrote a scene like this for the new James Bond.

I looked over at Daniel, who had just finished catching his breath. We locked eyes and nodded simultaneously. He could ask questions later about why his stunt partner was saving his life.

We split up, me running around to the right of the assassin (around the pool) and he ran to the left of the assassin (around the pool, also), and the Mechanic hesitated for just a second before swinging his gun out to shoot at me. A split second before he pulled the trigger, I dove through the surface of the water, and a split second before that, I saw Daniel shimmy up to the balcony and jump off on one of the ropes.

Perfect, I thought, Just like in the movie.

Except now, it was real life and death.

I dived down to the bottom, then kicked off the floor, blowing myself out of the water with such force that I landed, in a crouch, on the side of the pool. Daniel was holding on to the rope, running sideways along the walls towards where we were, in the middle of the room, next to the pool.

The Mechanic raised his gun, but I dove to the side, causing him to have to readjust, and I pulled my own gun out. This was the most dangerous part of the plan.

Daniel, still holding on to the rope, kicked off the wall, swinging towards us. He would pass right above us, but still be about five feet too high. I gritted my teeth, waited until exactly the right moment, and then-

BANG!

One round. One, nine millimeter bullet was all I needed.

It severed the rope from the ceiling (the rope Daniel was swinging on), and the Mechanic looked up, startled- to see James Bond fall on top of him, knocking him to the ground, out cold.

I took away his gun as the FBI swarmed into the room (because of the distress call I sent out).

We walked over to them, and Daniel, surprisingly still calm even though someone made an attempt on his life, said, "I get the feeling your name isn't Jason Wright, and that you aren't really my stunt partner."

I laughed and clapped him on his bare back. "You're right. I'm neither."

"Kinda weird to think how the stunt safety crew gave us all those safety procedures when it's fucking foolproof in real life."

I laughed as we reached the FBI, some of whom were loading the Mechanic into a police car to be incarcerated, and the chief spoke to me. "Helluva job, there. Did it go well?"

I exchanged a look with James Bond. "It got done."

An analyst operative started to walk over to us, and I knew that she would be the one to tell Daniel what the hell was going on with his life. I looked at him. "She'll tell you more," I said, gesturing to the operative.

He was probably still confused, but said, "What happens now?"

"Well," I said, "If all goes well, we'll never see each other ever again." His face fell, and that filled me up with pride a little, "But if we never do- it was cool working with you, Dan. Don't forget me."

He grinned as the FBI led him away. "I won't."

I turned back to the chief- Captain Sutherland. "It's always nice, you know? Working with appreciative guys like him?"

He chuckled as we stepped out of the house, into the morning sunlight. "There's no one better than you, you know? You're a goddamn machine."

I chose not to answer that as we walked into town, probably for the celebratory Vanilla Frappuchino. Just another day in the life of an analyst.

I wouldn't be able to say that for much longer.

A/N: I've always wanted to write this, and I think it turned out pretty good. My goal is five reviews per chapter, but more would be nice, so REVIEW!

-epicsilverbullet