
Nothing to Lose
Author – Sarah (otherwise known as Ros2nz)
Rating – TEEN, may go up to MATURE (sorry, I don’t do nookies.)
Disclaimer- I don’t own anything, after seeing its demise, not sure I want to.
Banner by - Hybrid_Angel. Thanks, sweetie....again!!!
Feedback - so I'm a glutton for punishment, but I'd love to hear what you guys have to say.
Genre- CC. AU
Summary – Max is an alien hunter, free-lancer, hired by Government agencies around the world. Something like Mr. Fix- it. He was recently assigned to flush out one lone alien existing on the Earth, at least as far as the Govt knows. Btw, Max Evans is completely human. Nothing that we have seen in the show applies in this story, other than a few and those that are can be clearly identified, i.e. crash of 47, aliens, glowing hands and such.. The story picks up when the CIA has contacted him; he knows they mean business. From where we pick up, he’s headed for his meeting.
Author’s note – Some events in this story may seem similar to those of you who’ve read James Hadley Chase or R. Ludlum. As for settings and stuff, the last time I’ve been to the States was over 10 years ago, I don’t know any of the laws or regulations there. Inasmuch, I’ve selected America and some other countries, as the backdrop of the story, what ever I’m writing is pure fiction so please read it with an open mind, there might be mistakes regarding places and such, but they’re not intentional.
Chapt.1
19th September 2012
It was bright day in Paris as a lone figure walked past the bustling crowds in Montnaparnasse. No one really paid attention to the man, because he was just so ordinary, but the women certainly did. The guy was wearing a fashionable black trench coat, but his head was uncovered so any women close enough could see the casual glint in the amber eyes, a small side-ways smile was etched on a strong, tanned face with just a hint of mischief. Strong chin with a tiny cleft, angular face and a shock of black, ebony hair that he wore in the latest spikes, erect bearing and a confident stride. He was easily one of the better-looking specimen of the male species and could’ve been aged anything between 19 to 39.
He continued down the wide boulevard until he came to one of the small, footpath Parisian bistros that is so adored by tourists and sat down in the shade. He sat sideways from the crowds and yet kept out a vigil from the view he had of the street from the massive glass windowpanes of the stores. True enough, 15 minutes later, another man joined him.
‘God’s sake, Evans, I told ya, I wasn’t setting you up!’ the newcomer growled. No matter how many times he’d met with the man sitting opposite him, he’d been met with the same thing every time – Evans would show up 15-20 minutes earlier than the meeting time, even though he himself had picked the location and time and wait for him to come by as if he wasn’t trusted.
“Shut up, Brown. Have a latte and keep your voice down.” Evans’ was as smooth as the tanned skin on his cheek. “It’s habit and you should know by now not to whine.” But the tone was nothing like his voice.
Harvey Brown, undercover agent, CIA under Paris – Ops did NOT like Max Evans. Who would? Evans was just a whack-job with loads of issues on his mind. And what sort of freak would throw away a perfectly good opportunity to join the CIA with a real job, not just go hunt for aliens. The guy was a crack-job and Brown was relieved to know that this was probably the last friggin’ time he was meeting Mr. They’re-among-us- Creep. He felt a sneer forming but Evans’ speculative look told him not to. Instead he ordered his latte and got down to business.
“These are for you.” He slid 2 manila envelopes across the table. ‘Lemme just say that u’ve got your mission…”
“Don’t call it that.” Evans’ voice was bored. “ We’re not in a Hollywood set, so can it with the SAT words and get to the point.”
Brown reined in his temper. The man was right, why waste time? “Your next assignment's in there.” There was no mistaking the sneer. Max’s face was impassive, so Brown continued, “You’re going back to the States. You’re being transferred under FBI jurisdiction now.” For the first time ever since he met Max, he could see the latter’s reaction. He smiled inwardly; maybe the guy wasn’t such a know-it-all prick after all.
Max felt his face freeze for a nano-second. His eyes glinted with barely checked frustration as he frowned. He didn’t like working for the feds, there were ALWAYS delays and that retard sitting on the high chair didn’t help. He didn’t like this chain of command he was supposed to follow, which is why he preferred working for the CIA where he at least had some sort of freedom in handling himself, especially. since he was a free-lancer. But FBI??
“Why?” Max couldn’t keep the annoyance out of his tone.
Brown smiled. Finally. Something to remember. It didn’t hurt to know what could be against this ass in the future. “You’ve got a case in America, Max. FBI’s got more control over there, in case you need to act, with let’s say, “It’s a matter of national security”. He laughed at his own joke. Evans’ didn’t even break into a smile. Brown scowled and went back to the job at hand. “You’ll be debriefed by Special Agent Pierce.” Again that glint crossed over Max’s eyes. “ I don’t know anything more, Evans. It’s all in those envelopes. Needless to say, whatever that you’ve been up to for the last 1 ½ year remains confidential, as per your contract. You will not disclose any information that you might have or places or incidents. You will not…..” he trailed off as Max got to his feet, leaving a few euros on the table and leaned over to shake Brown’s hand.
“Been a pleasure, Mr. Brown. Next time you get a runner, don’t treat him a like an imbecile, you end up looking much worse than you usually are.” Max grinned at the irate expression on his control’s face. Then he turned back and left the way he’d come.
“Sonofabitch” growled Brown.
Chapt.2
Max was dozing off in the airport. He was waiting for his flight that would take him from Orly to Heathrow and then on to cross the Atlantic. He’d touch down in JFK in over 10 hours, give or take a few. As the PA speaker boomed the last call for his flight, he packed up his carryall and walked down the concourse. He didn’t particularly relish the thought of another assignment and so damn soon after his last one. He scowled, remembering that his last one hadn’t gone too well, so there was nothing he could use to bargain his way into to the Feds.
Pierce. He hated that insufferable ass sitting in command of the Special unit. Know-it-all jackass, with nothing better to do than making impossible demands on his subordinates. Not just that, Max decided, the guy was……heartless. He didn’t care what it took to get what he wanted. He abused his own power, not for his own sake, which was good Max grudgingly admitted. But the man was a freak, already holding too much power, way too much according to Max, considering Pierce had been chasing after aliens for years. Ever since he got into the Special Unit, the “alien-hunters.” Max couldn’t help but mock himself while he was making fun of the Unit.
Looking back over the years, he couldn’t believe what the hell he’d gotten himself into. But it had all happened when he’d been 21. After that one life-changing year in his life, everything HAD changed. Nothing had been the same. Max Evans, the bright, loving young man had been replaced by a monster, no less than even Pierce as he’d searched for the truth, something he hadn’t yet found. He remembered bits and pieces of his former life, the life that he’d loved, the people he’d loved. All that had shut down one fateful day in September. Exactly 7 years from now.
His head-phones were blaring of one of the new ‘raves’ of all time, some weird trance beat that made his head pound. He pressed down on the channel button, without warning a song from his younger days came on. It was Drive by Incubus, and nothing fit his mood better than the words that were coming out of the speakers. The airhostess came by with a champagne flute, her eyes sparkling like the bubbly she was holding, as she discreetly checked him out. Max turned on the glory of his amber eyes on her and watched with amusement as she fetched and carried for him for the rest of the trip. Ah…….. if only the rest of his life was so easy.
While Max was flying across the ocean, in the Pentagon, there was a meeting going on that he knew nothing about. Four men were present there. Four people who under normal circumstances should never have met. The matter was urgent and the atmosphere in the room electric.
The overhead light was giving Special Agent Daniel Pierce, FBI, Head of Special Unit a headache. So was the constant bark of the Director of FBI seated on his left He’d been explaining the same scenario over an hour now, answering the same ridiculous questions. Jeeeeeezus, they put these guys in the task of protecting the nation!! It was madness.
The Director of FBI was a boastful character whose intelligence was not as high as his connections; the other three didn’t spare him that knowledge or their disgust. But he had a thick skin. He droned on and on about how incredulous this information was.
The other two sitting in the room was the Director of CIA, W.Sorenson and the Congressman of New Mexico, N. Davis, in charge of the congressional committee regarding the infamous Roswell crash. His involvement was not known to the public or even too much inside the agency. Sorenson was here to represent his own case with whatever leads he had. He was a quiet man, whose face was as less known as Agent Pierce’s if not more so. They’d all met under the circumstances of utmost secrecy, because the unthinkable had happened.
“QUIET!!” barked the Congressman. “Enough with the yammering Director. Now let’s get to the point. Agent Pierce,’ he said addressing the dark-haired pale-faced man whose cold eyes were boring a hole in the Director’s side with impending menace. At the voice of the congressman, he’d dropped his eyes but not before Davis had caught sight of burning fury. The man was dangerous but they needed him right now. And the President himself had given him full authority to do whatever it took. The politician knew the guy was good. He’d managed results were most of his predecessors didn’t. But it didn’t erase the fact the guy was somewhat of a loose cannon. They needed to keep an eye on him.
“Agent Pierce, “ he said again, “ is it true what you’ve said?”
Pierce looked him in the eye. ‘There’s been a sighting.” His voice contained supreme confidence. It was hard to believe; yet all of them did. “And there’s trouble ahead.”
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