Summary: Being a handler for cocky trigger happy field agents was bad enough, but being the handler for stupidly attractive too-charming for his own good Kaleb Danvers was impossible. Especially when Kaleb was set on wreaking havoc in your life
Warnings: profanity, British like woah, violence, UST, slash in future chapters, secret agent goings on, complete fiction of MI6 happenings.
Status: Work in ogress
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any real person, living or dead, is unintentional.
Author’s Note: First chapter for my new story Feedback and concrit are much appreciated and I would love to get involved with more writer users as I have been out of touch with this community for years now. Friends are welcome!
When the Director of British intelligence called Nate’s new field agent a ‘cocky son of a bitch’, he had naturally assumed the Director was using some throw back military lingo from his service days. It could have meant any number of things from ‘a real go-getter’ to ‘a decent sort of chap’. By the end of the day, Nate would have learnt that the Director had been painfully sincere.
The Field agent, Kaleb Danvers, really was a cocky son of a bitch. A smug asshole. A spoilt rich boy with a hero complex and a penchant for blowing everything up in his path.
It was no secret in MI6 that field agents preferred to be lone operatives as opposed to team players. Other departments of Her Majesty’s Secret Service considered them to be nothing more than Glory Hounds. They were men and women who excelled at flouting the rules that bound each and every operative to Queen and country like it was their right. This cowboy mentality bred an almost hostile contempt at having to work with other personnel. It all came down to the simple fact that they could not trust others to not screw up and get them killed.
So when the higher ups grew tired of the collateral damage and sheer chaos that field agents left in their wake (not to mention the quagmire of political bullshit and the media nightmare), they started to assign people known as Intelligence liaison officers to mediate the fall out and reign them in.
With that in mind, Nate could only imagine what went through Kaleb’s mind when he was briefed he was to be assigned an officer. It probably involved a fair amount of four letter expletives that would have made Nate’s whole face light up in mortification.
In the eyes of a field agent, a liaison officer was the scum of the earth. They had derisively coined the term ‘Handler’ for officers who were supposed to keep them in check and know the ins and outs of their mind. For officers who were strong in character, trained to diffuse situations and out master the cunningly devious. Which just begged the question…
“Ah, sir…” Nate licked his lips nervously, trying to figure out how to properly word his concerns without getting fired on the spot. “While I appreciate the faith you have in me, I can’t help but wonder if I’m the right person for the job.”
It was a valid question, at the very least. Nate was twenty three years old, two years out of the Government operatives programme at the head of his class, and barely a year in the Intelligence division where he got to play all day with computer encryptions and orchestrate mission manoeuvres to wind up the Russians. It was like playing chess, only on a larger scale and with live pieces. Nate had always been a good chess player.
All in all, he was just a glorified nerd. Hardly Handler material, surely.
“Sandler, your direct superior, recommended you to me.” The Director replied to Nate’s spluttering. “He says you’re a natural at mission manoeuvres. A ninety six per cent success rating is nothing to sniff at.”
Nate tried not to preen at that. He barely managed a very smug nod.
“You’re also in contact with several foreign informants at the same time and oversee any extractions.”
“Yes sir, two in Syria, one in Russia and one in Japan.”
The Director hummed. “It demonstrates a level of multi-tasking and discretion that I’ve been looking for in a Handler that can take on a more…troubling case.”
“But I haven’t been trained as a Handler,” Nate pointed out, still not convinced. “Wouldn’t another office with more experience be better equipped for the job, sir?”
“I’ve tried that already. It didn’t take. You are to liaise with Kaleb Danvers, at 0800 tomorrow morning.” He slid a thick manila folder across the dark cherry oak desk towards Nate. And that, apparently, was the end of that conversation.
Nate wasn’t going to argue. The Director was a formidable man. He was in his early forties, well over six feet tall and built like a rugby player. He was a good looking man, with a high forehead, sharp cheekbones and eyes that could reduce a man to pissing in his suit pants.
Nate really didn’t want to piss his pants. So he just took the folder like a good employee. “Am I to keep my other duties, sir?”
“You’re to keep your other liaison duties, but the rest is dropped. The only Handling position you have is with Agent Danvers, he is to be your top priority. Now, you’re to be the replacement for Kaleb’s previous Handler as he leaves our service next week.” The Director said.
“The Handler is retiring, sir?” Nate asks as he assessed the folder. The cover was well worn, with Kaleb’s full name printed under Administrative details. Nate’s eyebrows disappeared beneath his fringe. The folder was far too thick to be a mere hand-over document with the likes of medical history, test board exam results and previous mission briefs. Just who exactly was he dealing with here?
“Agent Greenburg was pushed into early retirement due to an aggravated heart condition.” The Director stated blandly.
Nate glanced sharply up at the man but his stony face gave nothing away. Nate would hate to play a game of cards with the guy. His poker face must be hell. “I see.” Nate said.
“A word to the wise, Carter.”
“If you walk into the office tomorrow and start throwing your weight around to prove yourself as his equal, Kaleb will look at you like you’ve got a penis growing from your forehead and then proceed to wipe the floor with you.” The Director said gruffly as he sat back in his high back leather chair and threaded his long fingers together in front of him.
Nate swallowed thickly. “I understand, Sir.”
The Director stared at Nate for a moment, his eyes glinting with ill-disguised humour. Nate shifted restlessly in his chair, getting the distinct impression he was being laughed at.
“That being said, don’t tolerate any of his insubordination. Kaleb is like a bloodhound; if he catches any hint of fear from you he will consider it a weakness and will walk all over you.”
Nate kept his face carefully blank. “I’m not afraid of Kaleb Danvers, Director. I have faced far more challenging problems in internet viruses than a field agent with an overinflated ego.” If Nate’s voice wobbled slightly at the end, that was nobody’s business but his own.
Nate’s response only seemed to amuse the Director more. Oh yeah. Definitely laughing. “I take it you haven’t heard of his exploits then?”
“Should I have, Director?”
The Director merely shrugged. “Probably not.” Meaning most definitely yes. “If you had, I’m sure you would have handed me your notice the moment you walked through my office door.”
That, Nate decided, did not sound good at all.
“Are you sure about this, Director?”
The Director stared out of his ornate yet practical office windows, his hands clasped behind his back in the relaxed military stance. He didn’t need to turn around at the new voice, instantly recognising it to belong to his young personal assistant, Luke Colbeck.
He had been the head of the British Secret Service for a little over twelve years and for the first time in his career; he felt a slight tinge of concern creep up his spine.
“I wouldn’t say I’m sure exactly, Colbeck.” He replied. “But it’s the only option we have open to us.”
“Agent Danvers has become more… erratic lately.” Colbeck said cautiously, moving up to stand by the Director’s side. “If he was any other agent his contract would have been terminated and he would be frogmarched from this building in cuffs.”
“He’s one of our longest standing agents, been playing the game for eight years. I’ve never known anyone to be as good as he is at protecting this country.” He hesitated for a moment. “The Moscow incident couldn’t have been easy on any agent. You don’t come out of that without baring scars.”
The Director turned, walked back to his desk and pulled out Nathaniel Carter’s file and tapped it with his index finger. “Which is where Carter comes in.”
Colbeck frowned. “Danvers has had at least ten Handlers in the past. What could a green intelligence officer do that the others couldn’t?”
The Director smiled thinly. “Carter is a certified genius. His Superiors leave glowing recommendations of his perfect score testing and his ingenuity. The only blemish is his distaste in working within the realms of conformity. His style is very singular. If you told a hundred Handlers to orchestrate a terrorist extraction, ninety nine would choose a text book manoeuver.”
Colbeck’s face cleared. “Which is why you chose someone who didn’t train as a liaison officer. Danvers will be thrown.”
“Carter makes most intelligence field operatives look like children playing in the sandpit. The traditional approach doesn’t work on Danvers. It’s about time I try something new.”
Colbeck shrugged uneasily. “This could blow up in our faces… Sir.” He said belatedly.
“It very well could, Colbeck.” The Director replied. “We shall see.”
“Poor Carter.” Colbeck sighed as he headed towards the office door. “I hope he survives the storm that is Kaleb Danvers.”
“One can only hope.” Was the mild reply.