LITMIR.BIZ

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him before the older figure would even come into play. I was confident in my ability to do so, especially given ASIO officers were expressly forbidden by law to carry a firearm.

      ‘Mr Tyler,’ the older one spoke, putting a controlling hand on the kid’s shoulder which was very poorly received; the young one attempted to shrug it away and shot a look of pure annoyance at his colleague. It was a tactical error, showing me they were not in sync and probably unused to operating together. ‘We’re from ASIO, the Australian Security Intelligence Organisation. We’d like to chat.’

      I shrugged and held my palms out, bringing them even closer to the kid, a danger he didn’t recognise. ‘So speak,’ I said quietly, soft enough that the kid leaned forward a little to hear properly which was exactly what I intended, given it put him even closer to my hands. My short verbal response and confident, comfortable demeanour was prompting very different reactions in each of them. The older was suddenly concerned, a frown forming on his face as he watched me closely, as if recognising a threat. The younger was staring at me aggressively.

      ‘We have a room downstairs. Would you come with us?’ The older officer’s tone was measured, polite.

      I nodded, not providing a verbal reply, and stepped aside so they could pass to the elevator. The kid, still eager to assert his authority, reached out for my elbow as if to walk me along the corridor like something he’d seen in a movie. I gave ground and shrugged my arm away from him, brushing against him and emptying the contents of his outside suit pocket at the same time, without his awareness. He bristled but continued to walk down the corridor.

      I could feel the leather of his official badge, nicknamed a ‘freddie’, in the palm of my hand, and slipped it into my own pocket.

      ‘I’m Andrew,’ the older one offered his hand. I gave it a shake, finding his grip gentle and as feminine as his soft hands.

      ‘Valen,’ I replied, releasing his hand and walking shoulder to shoulder with him down the hall. The kid was holding the elevator door open and only when Andrew and I had stepped in did he offer his own hand.

      ‘Morgan,’ he practically spat the syllables. I raised an eyebrow and gave his hand a quick shake, a predictably firm grip and a further petty attempt at dominance as he squeezed. This kid had clearly spent more time in an office than operational environment as no amount of his squeezing was going to hurt my hand.

      ‘Big ‘M’, little ‘organ’?’ I asked, with a perfectly straight face.

      Andrew sniggered and we lapsed into silence as the slow elevator took us to the first floor. They both stepped out before me – this entire encounter was full of tactical errors from the agents – and I followed them to a conference room.

      What I saw inside made me almost turn to leave immediately. Helen Newton sat at the table. She had the nickname of Giraffe in the organisation and it was for good reason; she had an unnaturally long neck and a body that seemed like it had been stretched out from head to toe. She sat with perfectly composed, ramrod upright posture, her short blonde hair undisturbed by the high flow of air conditioning. An expensive name brand suit, shiny at the shoulders from years of wear, and an elegant looking white shirt. Almost 50 years old, she looked closer to 40 even with limited make-up.

      I’d worked alongside ASIO on and off during my years with the government, usually in the places they were too risk averse, cautious or frankly prudent, to send their own.

      It was a professional organisation, well-structured and with a good balance between investigative powers and legal restrictions. But, to my mind, it was individuals like Helen who had tarnished the reputation of the 68-year-old agency. She was a schemer, a political chess-player who wielded her power within the agency to make and break careers, only considering her own power base and how to expand it. To bring that mentality to national security issues was repulsive.

      ‘Valen,’ Helen greeted with a warmth that any stranger would be sure was sincere, presumably using the correct shortened version of my name to build rapport. She seemed poised to stand to greet me when I cut her movement off.

      ‘What do you want?’ I asked, my transparent hostility freezing her in her approach. I felt the tension in Andrew and the kid behind me.

      ‘Straight to business, eh?’ she replied, her elongated form stiffened at my less-than-polite words before she slowly sat back down. ‘Sit down, Valen. Would you like a drink?’

      I remained where I was, consciously slowing my breathing to relax muscles that were unnaturally and unusually tight. This entire situation was awful for my cover. I released fists I hadn’t realised I’d made. ‘What do you want?’ I repeated. I felt the kid move forward behind me, he was close.

      ‘Back off, kid. Now.’ My tone dropped and was laced with the menace of someone who wasn’t idly threatening. It was the soft growl of a dog ready to bite, not the loud bark of a dog who had never bitten. Soft words were exchanged behind me and I heard both Andrew and the kid step back.

      Helen’s cold, soulless eyes were all too familiar – the warm veneer was gone. ‘WOLF,’ she said simply, watching me with the confidence of someone trained in body language detection. Unfortunately for her, my body language was on mute. ‘Why are you attending tomorrow?’ she asked, finally.

      In truth, the question surprised me. The wording was not what I expected. The hackles on the back of my neck raised, something was very wrong with all of this. ‘To find myself,’ I replied, with little emotion.

      ‘Cut the bullshit routine,’ she snapped, which seemed to surprise even the two figures behind me as I heard them shift uncomfortably. ‘Your presence there jeopardises a national security investigation. I’m ordering you to go back to whatever rock you crawled out from.’ Superiority was a comfortable fit for Helen; she had been a senior figure for much of the last decade and was used to issuing commands that would be immediately and unquestioningly obeyed.

      ‘Noted,’ I said evenly and turned to leave.

      ‘Valen,’ she called from behind me. ‘If you show up tomorrow, things are going to get messy for you real fast.’

      I stepped away without replying, which brought me back inside proximity with Andrew and the kid.

      ‘Show some goddamn respect next time, or I’ll teach you some. You couldn’t even imagine how senior she is. If she says to, we will make your life hell,’ the kid sneered.

      A headache was starting to form at my left temple, which only exacerbated my increasingly sour mood. I stepped right up to him. He reacted by trying to shove me back, perfectly illustrating the problem with this new generation of ASIO officers – they were never really trained in hand-to-hand combat. Sure, they went through a few weeks of Krav Maga training, but pitting that against someone who had lived with combat for much of his professional life was a poodle facing off against a lion. This situation was a perfect example of where he should have let me leave and found a salve for his ego some other way, but instead escalated a situation that he was in no position to control. Combined with the move itself, putting both hands within my reach for the sole objective of a shove, and he showed his lack of situational awareness and combat readiness.

      That rapid reflection on young ASIO officers and the headache was enough for me to let his physical indiscretion pass. I smiled at him, more of a smirk really, and reached into my pocket. The flash of fear on his face was more rewarding than I’d imagined, though at least he finally recognised a potential danger.

      I withdrew his ‘freddie’ and flashed it to him. ‘Be careful with your credentials next time, kid,’ I murmured and threw it on the floor a few metres to the side.

      He had a choice now, back down and deal with the embarrassment that had already flushed his face a brilliant scarlet, or try to reassert his authority.

      ‘Morgan,’ Helen snapped, ‘pick it up and let him go.’

      The kid stepped aside and did as commanded. I glanced at Andrew who watched with a somewhat bemused expression, as if the entire episode was from a comedy routine. Without words, I held my hand

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