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Lyle was whistling to himself as he walked down the corridors to the Sim Lab. His previous sour mood had improved since calling the Centre operative, whom he had nicknamed the mercenary. As much as he hated the idea of having another operative working on something he was capable of handling on his own, Lyle knew that he had to make it seem like he welcomed the addition of a newcomer, so he had left him a message offering his services, his insight, and what he deemed was his valuable - and unique - information to helping in the hunt for Jarod and Samantha. Lyle hated having to smooth talk to get his way; it was degrading to his image, but he also knew that in order to survive, one would have to - on occasion - get under something in order to push through it.
A soft beeping jarred him from his thoughts. He stopped and reached into his suit jacket, pulling out his cellphone. He looked at his display and smirked when he saw he had a voice message waiting for him, with a number indicating who called - a number he clearly recognized. He dialed his voice mailbox, punched in his password, and listened as the message played, the smirk slowly fading from his face.
“Well, Mr. Lyle, I wondered how long it would take you to start in on your wheedling. Unfortunately, I’m an adult with a busy life, so let me save both of us some time and trouble - I’m going to say this in very short sentences so that you can understand: the answer is no. I do not need you. I am not impressed by your offer. I have neither the time nor the patience to deal with your puerile insecurity. I came here to do a job - your job, to be specific, as you’ve proven to be inept. Since you have been given a multitude of chances to complete one task and you have constantly failed, your safest option is to stay well out of my way. Mark my words, Mr. Lyle: you do not want to lay one hand on me or set one foot in my path, because I can guarantee you that my suit cost more than you make in a year, and if you get in my way, you will lose much more than just another appendage.”
Lyle’s features hardened as he listened to that voice - a hard-bitten British accent with just a touch of something he couldn’t quite identify, something slow and dripping, an element that could charm a sweet old lady and in the next minute make a murderer’s blood run cold. Lyle turned off his phone and stuffed it back into jacket, marching angrily through the corridors; any employee who encountered him kept a safe distance away. He pushed through the door to the Sim Lab, not caring that the slam echoed loudly, only a small part of him enjoying startling his sister and the other two, who had been were in the middle of the Sim Lab talking until he unexpectedly showed up.
“I want a full background check,” he demanded. “Anything and everything you can find, I want it, and I want it now.”
“If you’re talking about the Tower’s one man search-and-destroy,” Parker said, her eyes narrowing, her voice hard and cold, “then you’re too late.” Her nerves were already frayed by the hunter, but Lyle barging in and making demands was really starting to tick her off.
“And?” Lyle asked as he came over to them.
“And the only thing we were able to find on him was a memo,” Parker replied curtly. “It seems that Raines is responsible for having your new best friend brought here; he wasn’t cheap either.”
“How much?” Lyle asked.
“More than all our salaries combined,” Sydney answered calmly. “It seems Raines was pretty desperate to get this hunter after Jarod and Samantha as quickly as possible.”
“Isn’t there anything *useful* you have on him?” Lyle glared at Broots, smiling inwardly as Broots shrank away from him slightly.
“Is there any reason you have a sudden interest in the Tower’s operative?” Parker retorted.
“It doesn’t matter,” Lyle replied. “I graciously offered my services, but that sniveling little foreigner had the nerve to call me back and insult me. And on top of that the jerk apparently can't form coherent words because he called me . . . something I’ve never heard of, and I have a pretty extensive vocabulary.” He loved to brag whenever possible, especially to those he considered below him.
“What did he call you?” Sydney asked while Parker rolled her eyes.
“Doesn’t really matter,” Lyle answered cooly.
“Oh, come on, baby brother,” Parker smirked. “Afraid we’ll know what it means and you won’t?”
Lyle narrowed his eyes. “If you must know, it was ‘puerile.’ Sounds like some prison colony somewhere, if you ask me.” He noticed them looking at him oddly. “What?”
“Um, actually, I know where it comes from,” Broots spoke up in a soft, but confident, voice. “It’s a real word; it’s derived from the Latin word ‘puer.’”
Lyle was annoyed by the sniveling tech. “Which means....??” he asked.
Broots looked him up and down once and said in the same tone as before, “Little boy.”
Parker snuck a look at him; she wasn’t surprised so much by his knowledge of Latin as she was by his lack of usual timidity towards Lyle. Ever since he dented Sydney’s file cabinet last year she knew Broots was developing more and more of a backbone, losing some of that timidity; she had to admit she was proud of him for that. A glance towards Sydney showed the elder gentleman was looking as proud of Broots as she felt. She glanced back at Lyle and saw his indignation; she couldn’t help but smile. “Wow, I’m surprised; for someone he’s never met, he sure has you down pat.”
“Watch it, Parker,” Lyle threatened.
“No, *you* better watch it,” Parker retorted. “You may have had fun and games when it was just us to push around, but I can guarantee you that that ‘sniveling little foreigner’ is an opponent you do *not* want to mess with. If I were you, I’d leave him alone.”
“I just want that mercenary to understand that he had better not harm my property,” Lyle replied.
“If, by your property, you mean Jarod and Samantha,” Parker replied, “then I don’t think you have to worry about them coming home with nothing more than a few bumps and bruises; anything more than that, and that foreign troll will have to answer to the Tower, regardless of his so-called credentials.”
“I couldn’t care less about Jarod being roughed up,” Lyle said. “In fact, I would enjoy having him laid up in the Infirmary for a few weeks nursing bullet wounds in his knees.” He smirked, noticing Sydney frowning at the thought of his science project being damaged. “I would, however, be extremely upset if Samantha was returned blemished.”
“Ooh, talk about an interesting change of emotions,” Parker replied. “She slashes your car, almost removes your other thumb, and makes you look like an idiot in Chicago, and yet you still manage to have feelings for her.” She smirked. “The Tower’s going to *love* hearing that one.”
“Actually, I still want her dead, Parker,” Lyle replied with a forced smile on his face. “It’s the safe retrieval of her progeny that concerns me.”
A pin could have been dropped at the top of the stairs, and they would have heard it. There was dead silence from all three members of the chase team. They stared at Lyle, too stunned and shocked to say anything.
Lyle grinned to himself. He had the upper hand again, and he knew it and loved it. His only regret was that he didn’t have a camera to get their expressions.
“Would you care to repeat that?” Parker not so much asked as she demanded.
“What?” Lyle asked, feigning innocence, “I didn’t tell you?”
“Tell us what?” Sydney asked suspiciously.
Lyle smiled. “I have it on good authority that Samantha is pregnant with Jarod’s child.”
(End of Chapter 4)
Lyle was whistling to himself as he walked down the corridors to the Sim Lab. His previous sour mood had improved since calling the Centre operative, whom he had nicknamed the mercenary. As much as he hated the idea of having another operative working on something he was capable of handling on his own, Lyle knew that he had to make it seem like he welcomed the addition of a newcomer, so he had left him a message offering his services, his insight, and what he deemed was his valuable - and unique - information to helping in the hunt for Jarod and Samantha. Lyle hated having to smooth talk to get his way; it was degrading to his image, but he also knew that in order to survive, one would have to - on occasion - get under something in order to push through it.
A soft beeping jarred him from his thoughts. He stopped and reached into his suit jacket, pulling out his cellphone. He looked at his display and smirked when he saw he had a voice message waiting for him, with a number indicating who called - a number he clearly recognized. He dialed his voice mailbox, punched in his password, and listened as the message played, the smirk slowly fading from his face.
“Well, Mr. Lyle, I wondered how long it would take you to start in on your wheedling. Unfortunately, I’m an adult with a busy life, so let me save both of us some time and trouble - I’m going to say this in very short sentences so that you can understand: the answer is no. I do not need you. I am not impressed by your offer. I have neither the time nor the patience to deal with your puerile insecurity. I came here to do a job - your job, to be specific, as you’ve proven to be inept. Since you have been given a multitude of chances to complete one task and you have constantly failed, your safest option is to stay well out of my way. Mark my words, Mr. Lyle: you do not want to lay one hand on me or set one foot in my path, because I can guarantee you that my suit cost more than you make in a year, and if you get in my way, you will lose much more than just another appendage.”
Lyle’s features hardened as he listened to that voice - a hard-bitten British accent with just a touch of something he couldn’t quite identify, something slow and dripping, an element that could charm a sweet old lady and in the next minute make a murderer’s blood run cold. Lyle turned off his phone and stuffed it back into jacket, marching angrily through the corridors; any employee who encountered him kept a safe distance away. He pushed through the door to the Sim Lab, not caring that the slam echoed loudly, only a small part of him enjoying startling his sister and the other two, who had been were in the middle of the Sim Lab talking until he unexpectedly showed up.
“I want a full background check,” he demanded. “Anything and everything you can find, I want it, and I want it now.”
“If you’re talking about the Tower’s one man search-and-destroy,” Parker said, her eyes narrowing, her voice hard and cold, “then you’re too late.” Her nerves were already frayed by the hunter, but Lyle barging in and making demands was really starting to tick her off.
“And?” Lyle asked as he came over to them.
“And the only thing we were able to find on him was a memo,” Parker replied curtly. “It seems that Raines is responsible for having your new best friend brought here; he wasn’t cheap either.”
“How much?” Lyle asked.
“More than all our salaries combined,” Sydney answered calmly. “It seems Raines was pretty desperate to get this hunter after Jarod and Samantha as quickly as possible.”
“Isn’t there anything *useful* you have on him?” Lyle glared at Broots, smiling inwardly as Broots shrank away from him slightly.
“Is there any reason you have a sudden interest in the Tower’s operative?” Parker retorted.
“It doesn’t matter,” Lyle replied. “I graciously offered my services, but that sniveling little foreigner had the nerve to call me back and insult me. And on top of that the jerk apparently can't form coherent words because he called me . . . something I’ve never heard of, and I have a pretty extensive vocabulary.” He loved to brag whenever possible, especially to those he considered below him.
“What did he call you?” Sydney asked while Parker rolled her eyes.
“Doesn’t really matter,” Lyle answered cooly.
“Oh, come on, baby brother,” Parker smirked. “Afraid we’ll know what it means and you won’t?”
Lyle narrowed his eyes. “If you must know, it was ‘puerile.’ Sounds like some prison colony somewhere, if you ask me.” He noticed them looking at him oddly. “What?”
“Um, actually, I know where it comes from,” Broots spoke up in a soft, but confident, voice. “It’s a real word; it’s derived from the Latin word ‘puer.’”
Lyle was annoyed by the sniveling tech. “Which means....??” he asked.
Broots looked him up and down once and said in the same tone as before, “Little boy.”
Parker snuck a look at him; she wasn’t surprised so much by his knowledge of Latin as she was by his lack of usual timidity towards Lyle. Ever since he dented Sydney’s file cabinet last year she knew Broots was developing more and more of a backbone, losing some of that timidity; she had to admit she was proud of him for that. A glance towards Sydney showed the elder gentleman was looking as proud of Broots as she felt. She glanced back at Lyle and saw his indignation; she couldn’t help but smile. “Wow, I’m surprised; for someone he’s never met, he sure has you down pat.”
“Watch it, Parker,” Lyle threatened.
“No, *you* better watch it,” Parker retorted. “You may have had fun and games when it was just us to push around, but I can guarantee you that that ‘sniveling little foreigner’ is an opponent you do *not* want to mess with. If I were you, I’d leave him alone.”
“I just want that mercenary to understand that he had better not harm my property,” Lyle replied.
“If, by your property, you mean Jarod and Samantha,” Parker replied, “then I don’t think you have to worry about them coming home with nothing more than a few bumps and bruises; anything more than that, and that foreign troll will have to answer to the Tower, regardless of his so-called credentials.”
“I couldn’t care less about Jarod being roughed up,” Lyle said. “In fact, I would enjoy having him laid up in the Infirmary for a few weeks nursing bullet wounds in his knees.” He smirked, noticing Sydney frowning at the thought of his science project being damaged. “I would, however, be extremely upset if Samantha was returned blemished.”
“Ooh, talk about an interesting change of emotions,” Parker replied. “She slashes your car, almost removes your other thumb, and makes you look like an idiot in Chicago, and yet you still manage to have feelings for her.” She smirked. “The Tower’s going to *love* hearing that one.”
“Actually, I still want her dead, Parker,” Lyle replied with a forced smile on his face. “It’s the safe retrieval of her progeny that concerns me.”
A pin could have been dropped at the top of the stairs, and they would have heard it. There was dead silence from all three members of the chase team. They stared at Lyle, too stunned and shocked to say anything.
Lyle grinned to himself. He had the upper hand again, and he knew it and loved it. His only regret was that he didn’t have a camera to get their expressions.
“Would you care to repeat that?” Parker not so much asked as she demanded.
“What?” Lyle asked, feigning innocence, “I didn’t tell you?”
“Tell us what?” Sydney asked suspiciously.
Lyle smiled. “I have it on good authority that Samantha is pregnant with Jarod’s child.”
(End of Chapter 4)
