Back in my office, Derrick drops his cup in shock and looks at me as I pick a few things.
"Did I hear you say that you're going alone!?"
"Yeah," I grunt as I add another book to the bag I'm carrying. "My adopted brother has no brains; I know."
This is the hardest task I have ever taken, and from the look on Ford's face when we he gave this task to me, the hardest he's ever taken too.
But it still doesn't excuse the fact that the sorry excuse of a zygote decided to dump the entire job on me!
I mean, yes I'm super smart and quick on my feet and all those other traits people look out for in spies, but I'm not four-armed. I need partners at times, because there are certain things I can't do alone.
For example, I can't chase down a set of people with terrible killing intent, at the same time get intel on them, then defuse bombs all on my own.
However, Brother Dearest seems glad to be pushing me right into the lion's den without backup plans.
I'm going to kill Ford Deville when I return. I swear it.
"Well, we all know that Ford Deville is heartless, but this? Whoa...I never expected this from him," he sighs and rubs his forehead, before turning to me. "So…when do you start the mission?"
I huff as I zip the bag up.
"I leave the city three days from now. That prick says he wants to give me enough time to go through the file and learn everything I have to."
Even as I say it, I let out a growl of frustration.
"Damn. That's cold." Derrick's expression looks almost comforting for a moment before it changes to his devious, calculative one. "How much are they going to pay you though? That has to be at least worth the trouble, right?"
"Well-" I shrug. "You're right; it is worth the trouble. Ten million dollars, I hear. And, they're giving me five million for expenses in Cuba."
There's a mild silence for a while, then Derrick whistles loudly. "Yo! Did I hear you say ten million?!"
"Yup. Ten grand grand."
His jaw is wide open as he looks at me.
"Ivory…damn. That's sick. Hey, do you need me to talk to him? I'll see if I can coax him into permitting me to go with you."
I laugh. "You do realize I'm going to suffer, right Pennington?"
"You do realize you're getting millions of dollars when you return, don't you?"
"Derrick, I'm not looking at the money; I'm looking at the risks."
We exchange looks for a moment before he sighs.
"I guess you're somewhat right. You have no idea who's who over there."
"Exactly."
"However, if you look at the money-"
"Pennington," I say warningly. "I will force this job into your hands if you utter one more word about the money."
"Jeez. It's not my fault the check is that heavy," he whines, giving me a openly envious look. "But okay. Still, seeing you leaving is makes me want to leave."
"You? No way," I reply, laughing.
"You cannot blame me Ivory. You're the only friend I've made here. If you leave, I'd have to look for another work buddy."
"Don't sound so pitiful, Derrick," I scold, before picking up my bag and making my way to the door, before turning back to him.
"For these few weeks or months that I'd be away, watch over yourself, alright Pennington?"
He sticks his tongue out at me. "Don't be such a mom. I'll be fine."
I chuckle lightly. "Alright then. I'll speak with you later, Pennington."
With that thought I walk out of the office, down the corridor, but stop when I encounter Roman.
He stops when he sees me, then indicates with his hand for us to move into his office. I don't. However, he soon sees that I don't plan to, so he pulls me to a corner.
"What is it?" I growl, relieving my arms of his grip.
"You're really going to do this?" His expression holds both annoyance and worry.
I raise a brow. "I don't have a choice, do I?"
With a grunt, Roman facepalms himself. "We both know you do, Ivory. You can decide not to leave this company."
Oh, brother.
"I think you need to adjust the memory screws in your head," I say, a frown on my face. "I'm not changing my mind, Mr. Deville."
He sighs. "Ivory..."
"Rome, I've made up my mind already." I'm pretty sure my eyes are cold as I look up at him once more.
He stares at me for a few moments before stepping back and turning away.
"Alright. It's your funeral."
I scoff and brush past him, leaving the building, before strolling home.
To be honest, I hate strolling. But when you experience toxic energy around you, sometimes you have to let off a little steam.
My usual way of letting off steam is by reading novels, but I recently completed the last novel in my possession.
I should download a couple of online books, I think as I trudge to my house.
Some minutes later I'm in, and I lock the door behind me, then fall on my bed and open the file Ford had given me earlier. While I'm here, about to kill myself with chemical symbols, he's most likely out there in a pub with Roman and the girls.
Stupid Devilles.
'Ytterbium (atomic symbol: Yb, atomic number: 70): a Block F, Group 3, Period 6 element with an atomic weight of 173.054.
Ytterbium Bohr Model. The number of electrons in each of Ytterbium's shells is [2, 8, 18, 32, 8, 2] and its electron configuration is [Xe]4f14 6s2.
The Ytterbium atom has a radius of 176 pm and a Van der Waals radius of 242 pm.
Ytterbium was discovered by Jean Charles Galissard de Marignac in 1878 and first isolated by Georges Urbain in 1907.
Elemental Ytterbium: In its elemental form, ytterbium has a silvery-white color. Ytterbium is found in monazite sand as well as the ores euxenite and xenotime. Ytterbium is named after Ytterby, a village in Sweden.
Ytterbium can be used as a source for gamma rays, for the doping of stainless steel, or other active metals.
Its electrical resistivity rises under stress, making it very useful for stress gauges that measure the deformation of the ground in the even of an earthquake.'
I mentally scream as I turn my face away from the file. "There's so much chemical information here," I mumble to myself. "My eyes feel violated."
By the time I'm done reading the first page, I drop the file and rub my eyes.
Damn that Ford. Damn him to hell!
*
Cuba, a wonderful country full of blacks and whites, with wonderful festivals and lots of cultural appreciation.
Cuba, a country with cute children whose smiles are way off the beauty chart.
Cuba, majorly known for beach resorts and cute women.
Cuba, home to a lot of bombs, ready to go off.
Also Cuba, a new home of an unsuspecting agent...Me.
My destination; Havana. The capital city of Cuba.
I let out a breath as I alight from the airplane and walk towards the port, then see my name written in capital letters on a white cardboard.
Charming. They sent a chauffeur.
I walk up to him. "I'm Ivory Irvine."
The man in a black suit gives me a once-over. "Identification?"
"AFGA."
Through the dark lens I see him roll his eyes, then nods and takes my box, which contains a few changes of clothes and lots of weapons like guns, pepper sprays...you'd expect such in my bag. I have my way of taking it everywhere I go.
"Do you know where I can purchase a car?" I ask the driver as he drives.
He nods. "There are many places here ma'am. But it depends on the type you want."
I think for a while, then smirk. "I think I'd like a really expensive one. And when I say expensive, I don't mean thousands of dollars. Think bigger."
Ford's going to regret sending me here when he sees the depletion of funds in the company's bank account because of the expenses accrued during a certain mission.
"Ma'am…you mean one worth almost one million American Dollars?"
My eyes widen in excitement when I hear that. "There's a place around here that you can you get one?"
There'd better be a place where you can get one.
The man visibly gulps, but nods once again. "I know a place, ma'am."
"Lead the way then." With that, I settle into my seat and continue my admiration for the capital city.
"Welcome Miss Irvine," the car dealer, whose name is Greg says when we arrive and the driver has introduced us, extending his hand.
"Call me Ivory," I reply and take it.
He leads me down a staircase and lifts a lever at the bottom. A huge door slides away, and soon we're surrounded by-
Whoa, these guys have taste.
I ensure to keep my true feelings concealed as my eyes rake over all the models before me.
"Damn."
"Damn indeed," Greg chuckles, ushering us in.
"Well, Miss Ivory, we have the classic cars; like the Mercedes SL, Jaguar E-type, Aston Martin..."
"No, no, no." I look around. "Those are classics. I want something beautiful, not classy. Something that screams money and perfection. Like- hold on."
My eyes rake the entirety of the place. "Surely these aren't the only cars you have."
Greg smiles and rubs his beard.
"Ah, you are looking for expensive ones. When Quinn told me that, I thought he was lying."
At first, I'm somewhat offended that he assumed I didn't want to spend money, but when I think of the fact that I'm planning to spend the company's cash and not mine, I giggle inwardly instead.
He walks up to a small case and pulls the lever. Another door opens. "In here, ma'am."
We walk in, and I can't hold my gasp.
Okay, okay, so, imagine this huge arena of cars.
And when I say cars, I mean the big guns.
The main guys in the class.
The most expensive models you can ever see in the history of cars.
For now anyway.
Greg smiles satisfactorily when he hears it, then clears his throat. "To be honest ma'am, I don't show all my customers this place; but with what I've heard from Quinn and with your behavior, I see you want these types of cars."
I nod, too stunned by the expensive models before me to speak proper words.
"Well, ma'am, there are many here. Choose what you want."
I nod once more and begin to walk around, periodically checking the area around me.
There's nothing like being too careful, after all.
But after a while of looking around, nothing catches my eye. Everything looks pretty normal to me, though the cars are super-expensive.
After a couple more minutes of exploring in disappointment, I spot a golden goose.
That's a figure of expression.
It's a Maserati. Not a convertible though, and it's blue- startling blue.
I remember my father (Ryan that is) calling this Prussian blue.
Don't care about the name.
I point to it. "How much?"
His laugh sounds forced.
"Ma'am, inasmuch as I am aware that you want to purchase an expensive car, I beseech you to think again. This is not a car to be toyed with."
I glare at him. "How much, Gregory?"
He looks at me with these...unsure eyes. "One million, two hundred U.S dollars, which in Cuban currency thirty-one million eight hundred thousand Cuban Pesos."
Behind him, the driver- Quinn's eyes bulge in surprise.
Not what I budgeted, but...
"I'll take it."
Contrary to how most sellers would feel, Greg doesn't seem happy.
"Ma'am, please. Take another one. I've the ones that are two million. You can have those."
His behaviour just got annoying.
"Mr. Greg, I believe you know that the customer is king." He nods multiple times. My eyes narrow. "Well, I plan to leave with that car."
He sighs, looking defeated, then turns to his assistant.
"Give her the car keys."
A few minutes later I'm driving to an apartment building, as per Ford's instructions to get an apartment in the city.
I would have preferred a house on the street, but my adopted brother wants me to be an inconspicuous as possible, so he'd gotten Georgia to rent a place for me ahead of time.
I walk into my condo as soon as I've been cleared, and after going round the apartment, I nod satisfactorily. Georgia has great taste.
Well, sour when she's angry, but who cares?
To be honest, I actually thought she was going to give me a dump for a house, but it seems she has some filial love for me.
That or Ford forced her to.
Well, the most important thing is that it worked in my favor.
I hum after arranging my things and enjoying a quick dinner, then sit at a reading desk in a corner and open the file.
I was able to scour through back in the U.S., but extra study hours wouldn't harm, would they?
According to the file, there are about eighteen bomblets. Fourteen of them are to be transferred to the seven continents of the world and two are to be placed in Mars and Venus each.
The properties of Ytterbium, Rubidium would be combined with some chemicals to make them super-lethal, and Iodine will be used as the icing on the cake.
However, as I try to research the components of the mutation chemicals, I find that there are quite a lot and the details are hazy.
Too much of chemistry and physics. I mean, I studied a science course, yes, but remembering all the names? Heck no.
"Okay," I mumble as I trace the words on the file with a fingernail. "So, properties of rubidium. If it ignites, it'll cause thermal burns, because it readily reacts with skin moisture to form rubidium hydroxide, which causes chemical burns of eyes and skin. It's also a very good conductor of both electricity and heat, and-" My eyes burn as I read through the file.
"There's Rydberg atom, Planck's Constant-"
Ugh.
Groaning, I flip the pages of the file multiple times till I get to the last page, and I pause.
The statement isn't concluded at the end, and there's a pencilled note in Ford's unmistakable handwriting saying, 'Agent Paul Hawthorne died while investigating Operation Ivory.'
I take a deep breath, the words burning into my mind. Then, not wanting to think too much about it, I yawn and stand up, then have a bath.
'Deaths happen all the time, anyway,' I think as I towel my hair. 'It's an expected event in this field of work.'
With that thought, I sit on the bed and sigh, my eyes falling on the file a few feet away.
Here's the plan: I infiltrate the hideout, find the database, get all the information I need, then destroy the bombs.
It shouldn't be too hard.
But as I drift off to sleep, I know I'm kidding myself.