*City: London. Location unknown/classified. A man in his forties sat in an interrogation room. No handcuffs, but the people across from him weren't police. He wore a standard three-piece suit with a wool sweater underneath. They were more casual, in T-shirts and leather jackets, except for the interrogator who wore a jacket.*
-Can we proceed step by step, please?
-Of course, I have nothing to hide.
-Where are you from?
-Far away. Very far away.
-That doesn't tell me where you're from.
-It's not just around the corner either.
-We've traced your journey, and you're... a true ghost. You're discreet, that's for sure, and skilled. But not skilled enough. We caught up with you. So talk, or we'll be forced to take action.
*He looked him in the eyes, removed his hands from the table.*
-Okay, I'll tell you everything. I owe you some explanations.
*Riviera in Italy, sitting on a terrace, sipping wine in a restaurant, overlooking a mountain with a winding road forming a Formula 1 circuit below. The cars racing were among the fastest, and the drivers were among the best. But in life, being a good driver isn't enough. From his position, he observed people from various origins at nearby tables.*
"One more lap," said a man in a floral suit. "Looks like I'm winning our bet, Mr. Gibbons."
"Indeed, it seems luck has abandoned me."
*Throughout the race, the car, usually ranked last, gradually gained ground. By the last lap, it was in the top 5. Then, seemingly propelled by the wind, the inexperienced but talented driver piloted the car to victory, overtaking all others. The people on the terrace were astonished, turning their attention to Gibbons, who was checking his watch.*
-What... How is this possible?
"Seems luck is on my side, Mr. Rossi."
*Others looked at him, some intrigued, others curious, some angry. Understandably so, as about twenty millionaires on the terrace now owed him 20 million euros each. Gibbons stood, approached his floral-suited friend.*
-Calm down, my friend. A bet is a bet, and it must be respected. You know in England, bets are sacred? It defines the Gentleman.
*The man looked irritated at first, then burst into laughter, patting Gibbons on the shoulder.*
-Hahaha, I like this one. 20 million is nothing, my friend. I do this for the thrill of the game. Don't you?
*He glanced at the others, who replied, slightly intimidated.*
-Yes... Yes.
"Come visit me in Naples one of these days; I have a magnificent villa there."
"With great pleasure, my friend."
*The man didn't intend to be paid in cash, but rather in assets and services. Thus, he obtained a house, a sports car, access to nightclubs worldwide, and VIP locations in several hotels. After taking stock of his possessions, he went to the marina, where a ready-to-use yacht awaited. From there, he made a secure call towards Asia.*
"So, how are you? I let you loose for a week, and you're already calling me; I'm disappointed."
*He pressed a button, initiating a file transfer.*
"I'm sending you a list of assets. Secure them for me; most are scattered worldwide."
*Gael received the list, so extensive that he almost spilled his coffee.*
"Wow, wow, how did you get all this in such a short time?"
"With the right fuel, a car can go very fast and very far. Just have to take care of the driver."
"I won't say more, but your cover isn't to be a rich man, okay? It's a man of the shadows."
"Nothing stops me from being both. Make sure everything stays under the radar; for the rest, I'll handle it myself."
"All right," he said, lighting his holographic screen. "And I won't wish you good luck."
"Luck, no, I've gathered enough for a lifetime."
*Amadori is a war zone, depending on where you are. For him, being deployed on various worlds and ending up in a place like this was relatively peaceful. Before Italy, Gibbons had been to Russia, a country with a rich history and a controversial position globally. Recently, it expanded its influence in Africa and the Middle East, promising weapons and security to leaders in exchange for a reasonable quota of exploitable resources. Russia had experienced war, suffering, and dictatorship, much like Firiyaze long ago. But what attracted him to Russia wasn't its history or culture; it was space. He struggled to comprehend that so much space benefited so few people.*
"Amadori really tackles the problem the wrong way."
*On the other hand, it reminded him of interplanetary rivalries. In Firiyaze, the population was evenly distributed among the worlds, with a quota not to be exceeded, or residents would be transported to a new world. Here, they were not unified, and each acted in the interest of their little piece of land. If they had advanced in space instead of fighting each other, they might have already reached the stage of terraforming or even the beginning of planet colonization. In his eyes, Russia represented the old Firiyaze. Limited media, which hadn't changed. Protests with a prevailing national ideology weren't tolerated, just like dubious ideas and morals. Moreover, the country was in conflict with some neighbors, including Ukraine; the climate was not suitable for strolling in the streets.*
"What were you doing in Russia, Gibbons?" *Asked the man with him on the yacht.*
*He was another billionaire friend he had met on the Riviera.*
"Let's say I had a meeting with a high-ranking friend in the government."
"You're Russian? FSB or something like that?"
"Hahaha, of course not. And Alejandro, you watch too many movies."
"I'm just asking. And I love spy movies; there's always suspense, and you're never disappointed."
"Indeed. In this job, you're never disappointed."
*The two men arrived in Spain, in a port city, Cartagena, a popular tourist destination in Spain. There, they settled in a villa not far from the beach. Alejandro was young, still in his thirties, unmarried, and accustomed to "loud" parties. Gaines preferred peace, but since his friend had invited him, he would at least pretend to enjoy the party. That evening, he wore a complete black suit with a pair of shoes. Alejandro was entirely dressed in white.*
"Eeeeh, Gibbons, my friend, have fun; it's a party, you know. I even invited some footballer friends. You like football, don't you?"
"I haven't finished learning the rules yet, but for you, Al, I'll make an effort."
"Glad to hear you say that. One day, I'll take you to Madrid to see a match."
"I'm looking forward to it," he said with a smile.
*The party continued, and Gaines went to the roof to make a call.*
"Hi, Gin, what's that noise I hear? Are you at a party?"
"Me too, Monty. Can you connect me to Earl
on a direct line, please?"
*He heard gunshots, and his eyes widened slightly.*
"Gael? Are you still in Japan?"
"Uh, I can't answer that right now. I'll rellcated the satellite."
*More gunshots rang out.*
"There, I need White Star for myself. I'll connect you to Earl in encrypted communication. You still have the cylinder I gave you?"
"Yes, I have the module."
"Then everything is fine."
*The communication ended, and Earl took over.*
"Hello, Major, or should I say good evening?"
"Good to see you, Earl. I need a favor."
"Go on."
*When Alejandro saw his friend again, he was sitting at the bar, talking to a man in a jacket. The man seemed out of place in the party, given his attire.*
"Eeeh, Gibbons. Will you introduce me to your friend?"
"No, I was just about to leave, actually," he said, emptying his glass. "Sir."
*He greeted and left. Alejandro looked at him skeptically, then at Gaines.*
"I know this guy. He's a cop. Why are you bringing a cop to my place?"
"I didn't bring him; he came to me. I had some business to take care of, and now it's settled," he said, touching Alejandro's shoulder.
"What are you, some kind of mobster?"
"I've told you, Al, you watch too many movies."
*Gaines spent the rest of the week in the city before leaving his Latin friend to take a plane to France. This flight to Nice was supposed to be uneventful, with a stopover before heading to Paris and then landing in London.*
"But that's where everything goes wrong."
*Upon arriving in Nice, there was a layover. New passengers boarded the plane, and they were armed. It was the first hostage situation in France since a long time.*
*Back in London, at the MI6 safe house. The agent standing in front of Gaines showed photos of the hostage situation. He wasn't in any of them—except one, where he was seen from behind, talking to a man.*
"You're talking to an agent from DGSE. French intelligence. Gerald Gibbons, born in Caen in northern France, served in the army, a former marine commando who became an operator for DGSE. Gerald Gibbons isn't your name. Mr. Gibbons."
"There are 8 billion human beings, and you're surprised that there are 2 Gerald Gibbons," he said sarcastically.
"Don't play games with me. In Russia, a Ukrainian special forces operation aimed at eliminating one of Putin's main financial backers was thwarted. Spetsnaz intercepted and liquidated the team."
"They are very efficient in Russia."
"In Italy, an attack on the Grand Prix was foiled by local police who received an anonymous call."
"Indeed, it's very strange."
"In Cartagena, a SAS team came to assassinate a man named Alejandro Castillo under MI6 orders, but they were arrested by local police. Someone had reported drug traffickers. It happened in Cartagena."
"A quite noisy city, based on my experience."
"And in France... The craziest part. According to witnesses, a man matching your description managed to convince the hostage-takers... to surrender," he said with almost a smirk. "They surrendered, and the description of the mysterious negotiator somewhat matches yours."
"I confirm it's quite strange; I visited all these places."
"All I mentioned were operations conducted by MI6, and you sabotaged them all within two weeks. Worse, you have the audacity to come here to London," Carter said, annoyed.
*Gaines had a smile on his face throughout the discussion. The two guards in the room moved toward him, but he signaled them to stop, intriguing the man in the suit. He leaned forward, crossed his fingers; his gaze had suddenly become serious.*
"I learned that your wife hasn't been well lately. Are you planning to send her?"
"My... Wife..."
"Send her for consultation. Breast cancer is serious."
"Breast cancer ... Where did you hear about that?"
*He turned to the other guy.*
"Your knee seems to have healed, Sergeant. That mine in Syria had totally messed it up; it looked really bad in the photos."
"How... Who told you about that?"
*He stared at the third.*
"And you, your mission in Peru, you suffered a cranial trauma, but you didn't tell anyone. You asked to be assigned to London for some time to heal quietly."
*The other two stared at the operator while Gaines crossed his arms and leaned back.*
"What I've learned with all my years in this field is that in an intelligence service, there's the director, and there's the former. The retired old man who holds all the nation's secrets and who, if he speaks, will bring the country down. The real director."
*He fixed the man in the suit.*
"Carter, you're just another paper pusher. So bring me Lord Edmonds, and let's talk."
"Never heard of him."
"Yet he's just in the next room."
*Gaines turned and looked next door; he could see through the glass with his modified eyes. A man around sixty in an elegant suit looked at him. He was quite muscular for his age, hands in his pockets. Someone was going to talk to him, but he entered the room himself, making everyone leave. He also turned off the cameras and muted the sound.*
"We're alone, sir..."
"Gibbons. Gabriel Gibbons."
"I thought it was Gerald."
"And I still doubt that Edmond is yours."
*Gaines stood up and approached the man. On the other side of the glass, nothing could be heard; the agents were skeptical.*
"Why did the boss come in person? This man is probably a charlatan."
"A charlatan who foils a hostage situation by talking to terrorists; I call that a monster," .
"And he thwarted 3 of our operations in 2 weeks. Ah, he's making a call. Who gave him his phone?"
"Try to trace the call," Carter ordered.
"In progress sir."
*It took some time, but the call was brief. After that, the two men in the room spent the next minute staring each other in the eyes as if waiting for something to happen. After that, Carter received a call and widened his eyes. He entered the room immediately.*
"Lord Edmond. The SAS has been freed. Alejandro Dominguez is dead."
"Really?"
"And the target in Russia has been killed. His car just exploded."
"Exploded, you say?" *Edmond said. "Like a bomb?"
"No... A kind of glow that fell from the sky. Like a laser shot."
*The old Edmond turned to Gaines, who remained serene. He approached him, and they exchanged a handshake.*
"What was your name again?"
"Lewyn. Gabriel Lewyn."
"Pleased to collaborate with you."
*End of the chapter*