Lightning Cloud

Recoil

The director cursed. He had not needed cto drive himself anywhere for the better part of five years, and being stuck in highway traffic was the worst possible situation he could be in; he was more or less a sitting duck. To make things worse, the black Dodge Challenger he sat in had such a powerful engine that it took but a touch of the accelerator pedal to propel the car forward like a torpedo, even with all the armor plating on the chassis. On top of all of that, he was having to deal with Graham Alexander on the phone, something that was stretching his patience very thin.

"If even the wind blows slightly wrong in my direction, I swear, I will-"

"Graham, stop behaving like a child. We-"

"I don't think you understand the shit I'm in right now! I've heard rumors about them, they've never yet failed to kill anyone they say they will kill! I was always a marked man, but this-"

"Listen to me. I am not going to allow them to do any such thing-"

"Oh, really! Even with the CIA currently being held hostage-"

The director silently thanked his stars that the line the two were using was secure.

"Do you really think that we don't have a backup plan for everything? Even something as extreme as this? Now, keep that bastard assassin with you and stay where you are; I'm on my way."

He heard a clack, as someone took the phone from Graham, and heard a voice, "And what business would a man like you have with the bastard assassin?"

He took a deep breath, but quietly enough to not let him hear on the other end, and spoke, "Look, just keep Graham alive and make sure he doesn't do anything to hurt himself, will you? We will speak in person soon."

The assassin spoke, "Indeed, we will. Safe travels."

There was another sound, and the call ended.

He put the phone down, and resisted the urge to rub his temple with his fingers, something he did when he was put into extremely demanding situations. He was about to think of what to do when he got there when the sound of a horn jolted him back into reality; a sedan with a trio of what looked like college students- probably drunk, considering how the car weaved slightly on the road- was trying to overtake him. Allowing himself a smile at the thought of what he'd do to them once he got his organization back, he memorized the number on their car's plates, then changed lanes. As they passed by, one of them, a female with a tattoo on her arm, stuck out an arm and made a rude hand gesture towards him. Keep it coming, he thought, keep it coming. You'll only get it back tenfold.

Shaking his head to try and rid himself of his road rage, he continued on to the safe house Graham  had told him to come meet him in.

Thiago assessed the situation. The timing of it all, the pattern of attacks, the name of the organization... Coupled with the documents he was going over in Graham's safe room in another one  of his underground bunkers, he had a very nasty feeling about the whole situation. The nastiness of the feeling partly- no, mostly ebbed from the links that it had to his past, the past he had before he became an assassin...

"...  are you listening? He's here!" Graham's voice, hoarse from the screaming it had been doing for the past hour, pierced through the dark cloud of Thiago's thoughts.

Gathering himself, he strode forward and opened the first door.

There was a panel of bulletproof and soundproof one-way glass that separated them, but even then Thiago could not help but feel slightly impressed by what he saw. The director of the CIA looked to be in his early forties, but he knew from Graham's files was actually in his early sixties. He wore a fitted black suit that showcased a remarkable physique even for someone his age. Square jaw, salt and pepper hair, trimmed so perfectly that not a single hair was out of place... This was a man who took care of himself, and thus he trusted him to look after them as well.