Chapter 11 Jagger
Chapter Eleven: Jagger
I'm in bed, Jonah's warmth pressed against my back, when my work phone lights up with the kind of notification that makes my body tense. Priority alert. Ministry seal. The subject line reads: INFORMANT RETRIEVAL ORDER - IMMEDIATE COMPLIANCE REQUIRED.
I slide out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake him. He mumbles something and rolls into the warm spot I've left behind, and I look at him for a moment before forcing myself to focus on the screen.
The message is short. Bureaucratic, but devasting in its own right.
INFORMANT-7 flagged for immediate retrieval. Transfer to Processing Facility 7 for full cognitive reset. Compliance required within 24 hours. Non-compliance will result in disciplinary review and potential asset forfeiture.
Someone noticed Edmund's disappearance. Someone started asking questions. And now they're pulling at threads that lead directly to my apartment.
I have twenty-four hours to come up with a plan, take Jonah somewhere safe and pass off the fact that Jonah has been in my apartment for weeks as a simple memory extraction and reprogram.
I move to the living room, closing the bedroom door behind me, and dial a number I haven't used in three weeks.
Jace answers on the second ring.
"It's early. What do you want," he says. His voice is rough with sleep, but alert. We were trained to wake up ready for violence.
"I need extraction."
Silence. I can hear him sitting up, hear the rustle of sheets, hear Elliot's questioning murmur in the background.
"How bad?"
"Ministry retrieval order. Twenty-four hours."
"For the asset?"
"For Jonah. Yes."
More silence. Then: "You're using his name."
"That's what you're focusing on right now?"
"It's relevant." I hear him moving, footsteps on hardwood. "Jinx said you were different. I didn't believe him."
"Jace. I don't have time for this."
"You have time to tell me what's actually happening." His voice sharpens. "You killed Edmund Holloway. Don't bother denying it. Jinx has ears everywhere. Now the Ministry is coming for your asset, and you're calling me for extraction instead of handing him over."
I close my eyes. "Yes."
"Why?"
The question hangs in the air. I could give him the strategic answer. The investigation. Project Omega. The evidence Jonah carries in his fractured memories. All true. All relevant.
But that's not why I'm calling.
"Because I can't let them have him," I say quietly. "Because he's mine."
Jace exhales. When he speaks again, his voice is softer. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"The jet is in a private hangar outside the city. I can have my guys have it fueled and ready in two hours. Elliot will file a false flight plan. Where do you need to go?"
"Geneva. We've identified a facility connected to Phase Two. Kreiss is the financial link. If we can get to his records, we can expose the whole thing."
"Geneva is hot right now. Lots of Silent activity."
"I know. But it's where the evidence is."
"Then come stay with us first." Jace pauses. "The cabin in the Alps. It's off-grid, secure, and close enough to Geneva for operational planning. You can regroup here, and we can figure out next steps together."
"You and Elliot?"
"He's already nodding. He says, and I quote, 'Tell your idiot brother to stop being a lone wolf and let us help.'"
Despite everything, I almost smile. "He talks to you like that?"
"He talks to everyone like that. It's part of his charm." Jace's voice warms. "Two hours. I'll send coordinates. And Jagger?"
"What?"
"It's not weakness. Choosing someone. I know it feels like it is. But it isn't."
He hangs up before I can respond.
I stand in the dark living room, phone in hand, and think about the word "choosing." I didn't choose this. I didn't plan to fall for the man I destroyed three years ago. It happened the way avalanches happen.
Slowly, then all at once.
But Jace is right. I'm choosing now. I'm choosing to run instead of comply. To protect instead of process.
The bedroom door opens. Jonah stands in the frame, hair mussed, wearing nothing but boxers, squinting at me through the darkness.
"Why are you standing in the dark looking constipated?"
"We have to go."
"Go where?"
"Geneva. Eventually. But first, we're meeting my brother in the Alps." I cross to him, cup his face in my hands. "The Ministry issued a retrieval order. They're coming for you."
He processes this faster than most people would.
"How long?"
"Twenty-four hours. But we're not waiting. Jace is arranging a jet. We leave in two hours."
"And the Ministry?"
"I'll tell them I'm transporting you to a secure facility for erasure. Buy us time before they realize I've gone dark."
He's quiet for a moment, those dark eyes searching my face. "You're giving up everything. Your position. Your cover. Everything you've built."
"Yes."
"For me."
"For us. For the investigation. For the children in those facilities who don't have anyone else fighting for them." I brush my thumb across his cheekbone. "But mostly for you. Yes."
He kisses me. Soft at first, then harder, his hands fisting in my shirt.
"Okay," he says when he pulls back. "Let's go commit treason."
"That's the spirit."
The private airfield is forty minutes outside the city, hidden behind a facade of agricultural warehouses. Jace's contact meets us at the gate, checks credentials that don't officially exist, and waves us through without a second glance.
The jet is sleek, unmarked, the kind of aircraft that rich people use to avoid the inconvenience of commercial travel. I've been on dozens of them over the years, always for work, always focused on the mission ahead.
This is the first time I've boarded one as a fugitive.
Jonah whistles as we climb the stairs. "Nice. Very supervillain chic. Does it come with a white cat and a swivel chair?"
"Just leather seats and a fully stocked bar."
"Even better." He drops into one of the seats, stretching out his legs. "I could get used to this whole 'running from shadowy organizations in luxury' thing."
"Don't get too comfortable. We're not on vacation."
"You're no fun." He pats the seat next to him. "Come sit. You've been tense since we left the apartment."
"I'm always tense."
"More tense than usual. Which is saying something, because your baseline tension level is somewhere around 'coiled spring about to murder someone.'"
I sit beside him. The cabin is small but private, separated from the cockpit by a closed door. The engines hum to life as the pilot begins taxi procedures.
"Better," Jonah says. "Now relax. We have hours until Geneva, and if you spend the whole flight clenching your jaw like that, you're going to crack a tooth."
"I don't know how to relax."
"I've noticed." He reaches over, takes my hand, laces our fingers together. "Try. For me."
The jet accelerates down the runway and lifts off. I watch the city shrink below us, watch the life I've built for thirty years fall away into clouds and distance.
An hour into the flight, Jonah gets bored.
I can tell because he starts fidgeting. Tapping his fingers on the armrest. Bouncing his knee.
Looking around the cabin like a flighty bird.
He picks up a magazine, flips through it, tosses it aside.
Examines the bar but doesn't pour anything.
Presses his face against the window like a child, watching the clouds.
"We're above the cloud layer," he announces. "It looks like cotton candy. Murderous, atmosphere-level cotton candy."
"Fascinating."
"You're not even looking."
"I've seen clouds before."
"You've seen everything before. That's your whole personality. 'I'm Jagger Harrison, and I've seen it all, and nothing impresses me because I'm dead inside.'" He affects a deep voice for the impression. It's not accurate.
"I don't sound like that."
"You absolutely sound like that. Ask anyone." He slumps back in his seat. "I'm bored, Jagger."
"Read a book."
"There are no books. Just financial magazines and something called 'Luxury Yachting' which is apparently a thing rich people care about."
"Sleep."
"Not tired." His hand lands on my thigh, casual but deliberate. "I can think of other ways to pass the time."
I open my eyes. He's grinning at me, that sharp, knowing smile that always means trouble. His fingers are tracing small circles through the fabric of my pants, working their way higher with each rotation.
"We're on a plane."
"A private plane. With a closed cockpit door. And no flight attendants." His hand slides higher. "Live a little."
"This is your definition of living? Attempting to seduce me at thirty thousand feet?"
"Attempting? Please." He leans closer, lips brushing my ear, breath warm against my skin. "I could have you hard in thirty seconds."
"That's optimistic."
"That's a challenge." His hand moves to my belt, starts working the buckle with practiced ease. "Time me."
I should stop him. We're in the middle of an escape, flying toward an uncertain future, with the full weight of The Silent about to come crashing down on us. This is not the time for fooling around.
But his hand is warm through the fabric of my pants, and his breath is hot against my neck, and I'm so tired of being the person who always says no.
"Fine," I say. "Thirty seconds."
He grins and gets to work.
The belt comes undone. The button. The zipper. His hand slides inside my boxers, wrapping around my cock with a grip that borders on painful. He strokes once, twice, thumb circling the head, collecting the precum already gathering there.
"Fifteen seconds," he murmurs. "And you're already leaking. Someone's eager."
"Someone's been celibate for years before you came along."
"Jesus. No wonder you were so pent up." He strokes faster, and I have to grip the armrest to keep from bucking into his hand. "All those years of tension. No wonder you’re so angry all the time. All tension and no cum makes Jagger a very angry boy."
"Oh for fucks sake.”
"Hmm, what’s that, Jagger?” He stops moving his hand.