Beep.
The card was jammed against the reader and lit up green.
"Good morning, Sergeant Reynolds."
"Morning, Beth."
Blinding her on the way to work every day was a large metallic circular emblem fixed on the wall on the side behind the reception desks. A blue dagger in the middle encircled by silver wording 'COBALT STRATEGIC' reflecting the sunlight with every step.
Cobalt Strategic was a Private Military Company that specialised in protective security, training and advising, logistics, intelligence analysis, and risk assessment. Essentially, clean words covering the dirty work. It was usually hired by governments, NGOs, corporations, or rich entrepreneurs who wanted to eliminate their competition when money mattered more than ethics. Basically, anyone who wanted to distance themselves when the situation became somewhat morally grey and the lines blurry.
The operatives were veterans hauling from armies from around the globe. These professionals knew exactly how far they needed to go without crossing lines. When these lines shifted, the operative would shift accordingly without any hesitation. Their job wasn't illegal but could be considered as deniable.
They donned one uniform but represented no country or nation. No one owned them except for the highest bidder.
Cobalt Strategic was a top pick for most clients because they went beyond the usual tasks required out of a PMC. Missions did not have a safety limit and according to the operative's contract, you get the reputation according to the missions you get carried out. As their reputation grew, so did the difficulty of the missions; and the payout that came with them.
Reynolds shuffled through the foyer after being wanded and searched. Going up the lift, she straightened her jeans, and purple top before heading to the lockers to get changed into the uniform. A dark grey top with Cobalt's insignia on the left in front with matching grey cargo pants along with black combat boots. Her black hair swished along as she walked towards Conference Room 2.
Their HQ looked like the usual office building from the outside. The inside was another matter. It employed the highest tech available and sometimes technology that had not reached the market yet. There was a floor dedicated to changing rooms and bedrooms for visitors or operative coming in from afar. Another floor for intelligence research and analysts, and another for meetings. he basement was stocked with an impressive array of weapons and attachments.
Pushing the glass door to the conference room, Reynolds was greeted by loud chatter and yelling. She sighed as she made her way to sit at the front left-side of the conference table.
"Good morning, your highness."
"Fuck off, Ward."
With her teasing quips, Sergeant Ava Ward sat on the opposite side. A brunette with blonde highlights, heavy on the top and shaved from the sides. She kept a cigarette behind her ear, just because. On her left side, a burn mark crept up from her neck just over her jawline. Ward was former British Army Intelligence Corps having served in Syria and Afghanistan as a human terrain analyst and recon liaison. Her job was to plan and operate as comfortable and efficiently as possible to get the task done.
"Good morning, sweetheart. I got you coffee."
Reynolds smiled at the giant that was sitting next to her who just passed her a cup of coffee. Giachomo Bianchi stood well over six and a half feet. Even sitting down, his presence still loomed over the rest. This soldier was an absolute unit; easily compared to a fortress with his imposing stature. His rowdy beard matching his untamed hair. His name and his strong accent were an obvious giveaway that Bianchi was of Italian descent. Former combat engineer, he was the squad's demolitions expert.
Mumbling under his breath in Spanish, Specialist Juan Reyes sat next to Ward. Former Spanish army, he trained in field surgery and psychological operations. He was the team's lifeline when they were bleeding out. Reyes was broad-shouldered and an olive complexion remembrance of the Mediterranean climate. His close-cut black hair indirectly put an emphasis on his deep-set brown eyes that seemed perpetually tired.
"Took you long enough to join us."
Reynolds's eyes settled on the woman in front of her and smirked. Her light green eyes bore her down as they usually do. They were a stark contrast against her tan skin and dark brown hair. An ex-Marine, such as herself, Lieutenant Genesis Hernandez was a first-generation immigrant who fought tooth and nail for everything in her life. She had earned every accolade and merit through blood and sweat. She was a no-nonsense kind of woman, the kind Reynolds loved. Hernandez was her keeper of sorts. Being the CO of their team, she kept an eye on her and reeled her in whenever she felt it was necessary.
"Briefing was at 0900 hours," said Reynolds, looking at her watch. "It is 0900 hours. What's the problem?"
"Usually, you need to be ready for briefing ten minutes beforehand, amiga," interjected Reyes.
"Reyes, if you don't shut up, you're going to be needing your own med kit," teased Reynolds.
Reyes smirked at her, sipping his coffee.
"Good morning, Spectre team."
"Morning, sir."
A man stormed inside, settling down some manila folders before facing them fully. Dave Matthews, the CEO of Cobalt Strategic himself stood before them in a half-opened shirt and pants suit. An ex-Delta Force operator trying to pull off the business demeanour as best as he could and failing miserably. His neatly trimmed beard and lustrous hair contrasted sharply with the roughness of his calloused hands.
"Billy won't be joining us this morning as there are more pressing matters he needed to attend to."
Cobalt had a whole team of analysts working around the clock. Some of them had generic tasks whilst others were assigned to a specific team. Billy belonged to the latter.
They swivelled their chairs to the front to get a better view of the photos of a very familiar male HVT that appeared on the big screen in front of them. Reyes and Ward exchanged confused looks.
"General Shepherd of the US Army offered Cobalt another tantalising offer that I cannot let it pass," he started, waving around a piece of paper. "The US government wants to hire us for a good price."
"And who are we to turn down our government's offer, right?" smirked Hernandez.
"On the dot as always, Lieutenant," smiled Matthews. "Shepherd specifically wants Reynolds to be on base so when the mission with Hadi Al-Jabbar comes up, she would be ready to execute. I am going to ask you, Hernandez, to accompany her. At least she'll have some back-up on base."
"Roger that, sir."
"Al-Jabbar dropped off the radar, boss," interposed Ward, pointing at the photo on the screen. "Not even chatter was picking up anything about him."
"Shepherd claims otherwise."
"This means that Spectre team is going to be divided," observed Bianchi.
"That is correct. It's not the first time that it's happening to us. We'll adapt accordingly."
Al-Jabbari's photo was replaced by a couple of male operatives. Matthews crossed his arms, his eyes sweeping over each of the photos.
"Task Force 141 is composed of the most elite operatives from all forces around the world. This is the intel we could discover on them."
The first photo got blown up in size revealing a man sporting a Mohawk and steel blue eyes glaring back at them with a faint scar passing through the right one.
"Captain John MacTavish, codename: Soap, is the commanding officer of the task force. Originally from Scotland, he is a Special Air Service operative part of the squad that eliminated Imran Zakhaev. He was the only one that survived the mission."
Reynolds shifted uncomfortably in her seat. So that what the accent was. It wasn't Irish, it was Scottish.
A blurred photo replaced MacTavish's on the screen. A man wearing a balaclava with a skull pattern on it.
"The second-in-command of the 141. Codename: Ghost. Also, SAS."
"That's it?" asked Reynolds.
"This photo was taken the night you were captured. Billy couldn't find anything else. A spec ops operator who has his whole dossier buried is never a good sign. You must look out for this one, Reynolds. I mean it."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. Ghost was the most sadistic out of the others when she was interrogated. He inflicted pain like it was another Thursday and carried on with his day when Cobalt assaulted the warehouse. He did not even flinch when the weapons were pointed in his face. Almost as if he had nothing to lose. In her experience, those were the most dangerous men to work with.
"Next, we have Sergeant Gary Sanderson. Codename: Roach."
"Really?" snorted Ward.
"Another SAS operator," carried on Matthews, ignoring her. "Still young and green out of the regiment but extremely skilled. Not to be underestimated."
A couple more photos appeared on the screen, too small to make out their faces.
"Task Force 141 is an endless pit of special operators. From JSOC, to SAS and DEVGRU, they are composed of the best of the best."
He turned to fully face the squad, his arms resting on top of the table, turning his attention mostly to Reynolds.
"Chris, do not underestimate any of them. I have worked with people like them. They are ruthless, cold-blooded, and cruel. They operate as one family and you, and Hernandez are going to be outsiders there. You're going to need to earn their trust and respect. Do you understand me?"
"And if I don't succeed?" she asked, trying to mask her apprehension.
"You will, because you don't have any other choice. Shepherd was adamant to attaching you with the 141."
"And with the payday he's giving you, you cannot afford to fail, right?" she growled.
"No, we cannot," he responded, unaffected by her snide remark. "Cobalt continues to function thanks to these paydays, Chris. Your pay and bonuses can happen because of clients like the government and Shepherd. Keep that in mind."
"Understood."
New York was still buzzing at ten o'clock at night in spite of being a Wednesday. The city that never sleeps was never described so aptly. A city that was ideal for an insomniac like Reynolds who could always find something to do when the restlessness hit hard.
The Foxhole was buzzing hard with contrast to a table at the corner of the bar where five operatives were drinking in silence mulling over the briefing of that morning.
"You sure you will be ok, Christianne?" asked Bianchi.
"It's not the first time we've settled in a base elsewhere Bianchi. I'll be fine. Hernandez will be there."
"I won't be there all the time hermana," she said, taking a sip from her Corona. "You, on the other hand..."
Reynolds sighed, swishing the Martini Rosso in her hand.
"Listen, love," started Ward, "it's not the first time you're dealing with these types of men either. You worked with them when you were a Marine, yeah?"
"That's what's worrying me," mumbled Reynolds. "I know the levels of assholery these men can reach."
"Just keep your head down and you'll be fine," shrugged Reyes.
Ward and Hernandez chortled.
"You know you're talking about our Chrissy, right?" asked Ward with a smirk.
"'Keep your head down' is the antithesis of Reynolds," laughed Hernandez.
She flipped them off both before gulping down her drink.
"You are an excellent soldier, Chris," said Bianchi resting his arm around her shoulders. "You can do this."
"Thanks Bianchi! You see ladies? That is how you support a colleague."
"Bianchi is kissing your arse because he will be taking your place as soon as you're there!" said Ward. "He's working for that raise."
"Ma vaffanculo," he muttered teasingly.
"No naughty words at the table, Giacomo," joked Hernandez.
God dammit I'm going to miss these guys...
Reynolds started looking around, eyeing the patrons of the bar.
"There she is, on the prowl again," laughed Hernandez.
"I need to find a possible suitor for my last night of freedom."
"You mean you're looking for a shag, right?" chuckled Ward.
Yes, that was exactly what she was doing. Reynolds wasn't drop dead gorgeous. Far from it. She had plain features that blended in the environment easily. That kind of blending was optimal in her line of work. But that didn't mean that she did not have game when it came to allure gentlemen.
Bingo.
Across the bar, an attractive gentleman was eyeing her back. She threw a smile at him and rose from her bench.
"Really?" asked Reyes.
"I'll see you later guys," she said without even looking at them.
"What a cunt," mumbled Ward as she glanced at her flirting with the man.
"Let her have her one last night of freedom. She's gonna need it," murmured Hernandez.