9. The Handler
The Handler
Chapter 9
I sit in the cold, metal chair, listening to the sounds of the waves outside by the pier, and wait for Camela to arrive.
The abandoned warehouse looms dark, my ancient beast, its shadowy corners hiding secrets and memories of the past. A gang used it…once.
Until I blew up the trucks they operated from, killing their key men.
Now, this place is mine. Though the dead still own the lease.
I command the air around me to laugh at my cleverness while I wait, heavy with anticipation.
I don’t meet with my weapons when they fail. I simply discard them. But the Huntress has never failed me before. She could walk in here and still tell that the mission is a success. Could.
The thick silence is only broken by the faint scurrying of a mouse on the warehouse floor. Its tiny feet tap against the cold concrete, an unwanted metronome to my thoughts.
I watch it scurry under my chair with unblinking eyes. In a second, I leap back, toppling the chair, frightening it into inaction. I crouch and grab it by the tail, staring into its eyes.
When Camela was just a child, her eyes were wide with fear, much like this little creature.
With it still dangling in my fingers, I put back my chair in place and watch the mouse rotate between my thumb and forefinger, its small screeches like music to my ears.
As the seconds tick away, the mouse's screeching sound grows louder. He was free just moments ago and now hangs by his tail. How quickly life can change and how fragile it truly is. Camela has never kept me waiting before.
The pressure in the room amplifies. A part of me wishes this meeting didn't have to take place. Yesterday, she was my best operative, today I have to question her loyalty.
But that is how things are in our line of work. Trust is slowly earned and easily shattered. Nothing is thicker than the mission.
I’m getting bored with the mouse. It’s tiring out; the fight is leaving its body. I drop it to the ground, giving it just a second to try to run before bringing my foot down on top of it. The crunch of its fragile bones reverberates through the warehouse.
Ruthlessness is what has kept me alive all these years. Sometimes, I need a little reminder.
"Your patience seems to be running thin," a cold voice says. Camela emerges from the shadows, stepping deliberately towards me.
Her gait is too calculated. She usually likes to play with me, letting her gaze wander in feigned boredom, walking at leisure, wasting my time, knowing exactly how much it bothers me. And she loves every moment of it.
But today, she walks right over, not in the mood for games.
I can't help but notice the subtle change since our last encounter. Her demeanor is too composed. She is hiding something.
"Camela," I reply, forcing a smile.
"Handler." Her eyes meet mine, unwavering.
I give her a moment, but she remains standing. “Sit,” I motion at the chair. I’ve never had to invite her to take a seat at the table. She’s always grabbed it.
Is she hoping not to stay for too long? The secrets she wants to keep have me curious now.
I lean back in my chair, studying her face. "Tell me, how was Vincenzo's gala?"
“The wine was good,” she scoffs. “The food could be better. When was the last time you attended a party, Handler? You do look like you could use some cheering up,” she gives me a coy smile.
Oh. So now she’s back to playing games. I see right through her. She’s buying time.
But I’m not willing to waste any of mine.
"Enough with the pleasantries," I say abruptly. "Tell me what happened at the gala."
Her eyes lock onto mine, and I see a flicker of uncertainty pass over her face – another unusual occurrence for someone as disciplined as Camela. But she quickly regains her composure and begins to recount the events of the night.
"Everything went according to plan, up until I managed to get Vincenzo out in the gardens alone.” For a second, her gaze flickers to the right, but not all the way, before she regains control and looks back at me.
"Go on," I urge, observing her carefully. I look to my left, and notice the exit. I smile inwardly at my smart, smart girl. She covered her intentions well. "It was plain sailing until I encountered a hiccup with security," she explains.
"They had hired additional security to pose as civilians and mingle with the guests. Vincenzo didn’t seem to be aware of this change, but it made it difficult to complete my mission without arousing suspicion."
"And?" I urge, stroking my chin.
"I had noticed several individuals at the gala earlier who seemed out of place – their demeanor, their attire. Upon closer inspection of the couples scattered across the lawns, it became apparent that they were not simply guests; rather, they were armed and positioned strategically around the grounds."
"You didn’t think to engage them?" She shifts her weight slightly.
"No," she replies firmly. "I didn’t want to jeopardize the mission. The brief was clear: swift and discreet. But there's something else bothering me about her responses, something I can't quite put my finger on yet. Something I need to test.
"Now," I say, leaning forward, my voice low. "Tell me, did you perchance retrieve anything from the historian's house?"
"No" she responds quickly.
Now I’m certain something is off. My Camela would interrupt, wanting to know what the one has to do with the other. Always curious, always trying to goad me.
She took something. I’m certain of it.
"Camela," I sigh, choosing my words carefully. "There's something you should know about this mission. The historian was in possession of an ancient artifact – a golden arrow with powers beyond our understanding."
She sits there unblinking, her breaths controlled. She is trying very hard to appear calm.
I continue to watch her closely for any sign of recognition or guilt. "This arrow has the power to make anyone fall in love completely and beyond their control. Now, you can imagine how dangerous that can be, can’t you?”
“Love?” she questions.
“Yes, love. Love makes people weak and makes them do crazy things. It makes people stab the ones they care about in the back. Now, you wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?” I ask straight up.
A fleeting expression of surprise crosses her face before she quickly regains her stoic demeanor. Her hands clench in her lap, but other than that, she’s wearing her usual calm exterior.
"Love is a weapon of the feeble, Handler. I assure you, I have no interest stooping to such level," Camela replies, her voice steady but lacking its usual ice-cold tone.
Her omission of the golden arrow is conspicuous, but I decide to keep my suspicions to myself for now. There's a chance she simply didn’t take it, that a conversation about love is simply uncomfortable for her, since she doesn’t understand the concept.
However, I can't shake the nagging feeling that something has changed within her, something that may jeopardize the success of my mission and the years of training I've invested in her.
I need to remind her of that.
“That arrow, if possessed by the wrong party, can put countries at war. I need that arrow, Camela. I want it.”
She nods furiously. “Eliminating the historian was just the first step. Vincenzo might be in possession of the arrow. That is why you were sent to eliminate him.” “Might?” she questions.
Interesting. She has never questioned the validity of a kill, just always played her game to fish for the reason of the kill.
“He might or might not possess the arrow. Does that bother you, Camela?”
“Never,” she shakes her head, a smile on her face.
She sure knows how to play a good game.
I lean back in my chair, locking eyes with Camela as I lay the trap with my words. “So now, you understand why I’d like to acquire that arrow?
I would have the power to bring politicians, actresses, activists, journalists, all to their knees. Eliminating Vincenzo is one step closer to getting that arrow.”