The second installment of my satirical spy thriller starring the poli regs. Now with smoothed out clauses thanks to reader input, Enjoy

The Regulars: Chapter 2: Home for the Holiday.

The sun rises high over London that day and Michael Sol rises with it. The long and steady ride up his private elevator reminds him of this. All of this work and sacrifice, this joylessness had served to bring him a few inches closer to his precious sun. Of course logically he knows the sun isn't straight up but one must have his small illusions. What is no illusion is that he had earned every step up the ladder of success. The scholarship that has allowed him access to the finest of education was only the first example of how knowing what people need, what to do with them and what their ultimate worth was had brought him to his current heights. His suit, finest silk on finest silk, gleams metallically in the artificial light and purposefully says nothing of the sweat that had won it. After all what is victory without its rewards? The one and only thing common about him is the newspaper all but crunched in his grip. The target of his verging rage is instantly visible as the doors open and the light of the sun welcomes her favorite offspring. The arcing windows of his appointed penthouse office also burden light upon the lower, who has his feet up on a very expensive coffee table.
Michael enters calmly and drops the paper with the headline of the Moscow gangland massacre next to the ornate cowboys boots without a word of explanation. "That could have been avoided."
"Eh, it seemed a more personal gift than flowers." He is answered with that interminable accent. Father Venom, spreader of the truth of the poison, is irrepressibly cheerful as always. He hasn't earned his cheer. For generations be it lumber, mining, textiles or pharmaceuticals wherever the rich got richer off the backs of the masses his family was there. The latest venture has been a specialized line of spirits, for which he gave himself the moniker and overpaid for a matching stomach tattoo. This was also the project that aligned him with his host, although they were by no other means equals.
"There are a great many things that have to happen at the right place and time, Father" Michael always strains at the title, yet another endowment for a man who's never strained his mind with study or his hands with honest work. "Your interests are at no less risk than my own."
"You are one to worry too much, Michel." The slip up, like the others, is purposeful. He proceeds to lift himself and is now standing on the woefully sturdy furniture. "Russian men would have many reasons to kill our friends." He spreads his arms in part to feel the sunlight and in part to further his abomination. "In that they failed only means that ones as great as us could not have been behind them. Besides, those of their level are easy enough to come about." He jumps down to see his compatriot eye to eye, difficult as he is several inches shorter than the magnate.
Michael lowers his eyes for both reasons. This wild man has untraceable funds, will to use them and frivolity to be lead. He served no other purpose. Still, you can only call any animal by the name they'll answer to.
"Father, these are not men to play games with. Amuse yourself by any other of your vast means but I want your word that we will not strike directly at The Regulars again until we're ready to do it right."
The same sun of the same day rises in the city of Lyon, France. This location had been carefully chosen to allow easy access to the European and thus world theater as well as avoid the over regulation of operating in the U.S. As such that is where four very tired young men approach their place of work. That is to say they're trying to. A voice tinny despite the intercoms technology calls out to them. "Speak friend and enter."
Staff pushes the speak button with a closed fist. "Not a good day Keither. You know it's us." He struggles from using his other hand to gesture to the camera, and then he gives in. Indeed the visual acuity of their tormenter is only the last of a small line of security measures. While there are various pass codes and devices to get as far as the inner door some things are best not left to machines.
"Doesn't look too friendly, but if you must." Keither responds to the image on his monitor before typing in the appropriate command to release the heavy magnetic bolts and allow access. Real light meets the artificial in the large open space that is as always divided a bit unevenly between work and pleasure. This trait that had earned it the auspicious title of "the lounge." In the far corner is the marked off realm of technical guru and gatekeeper Keither, without whom they'd be a loose collection of gunmen. After a quick assessment of their company Pro breaks rank to join Fluff, the team sharpshooter at the billiards table, Wizard joins his old friend Lowe at the coffee machine and R.G goes along with Staff for the trip to his desk.
"This is gonna be a quick check in and out right? Some of us have loved ones to get to."
Staff undoes his holster and hangs it along with his revolvers from his beaten up chair before planting himself in. "As far as I know. A few Is to dot and Ts to cross then we're free to go, as free as we ever were." He says not to gently jabbing at his friends adult priorities.
"It wouldn't hurt you to find someone yourself. Six guns can't keep you warm at night."
"R.G, You know full well that I'm dying alone to prove I'm not a womanizer."
"Yeah, how's that going for you?"
"It saves money, helped me afford my new bike." Staff says, drawing reference to the custom chopper that is almost calling to him from the motor pool.
"Also on the list of things you can't get in bed with. How do you even shop for groceries with that thing?"
"Oh, I wear a backpack."
The banter dies away as they both turn eyes to the Latino youths enjoying their over sweetened coffee. "He did well his first time out."
Wizard and Lowe went back as far as anyone could tell. Twin recruits from the much maligned Argentinean intelligence authority their qualifications are top of the line. They might not have the funding of some of their peer groups but when the drug lords live in your back yard one does not become soft.
"Very well indeed" Sensing that all useful talk is over R.G hefts his gun case up for dramatic effect. "I'm going to check in my gear and then go home. And then in the event that the kids all decide to go to sleep on the same night I'm going to make vigorous love to my wife." With that image he went along.
Staff turned his eyes to the gaming table. Fluff is bent over considering and staring down her cue with all the precision she brought to her work. The name had come from her ability to shoot a bit of errant fluff off of someone's clothing at any given range. This had proven useful once in an open air meeting where an unfriendly acquaintance had to be assured as to just how kind they were to let him live. Recently at a local bar some unfortunate slob had overheard her being called the name and openly supposed to as its meaning. He then had his nose flattened and the rest of him rendered temporarily useless to any woman, both by her. A family they may be but she was no one's little sister.
Distractions momentarily spent Staff turns at last to his desk. There are far too many loose pieces of paper for someone living in the internet age. He picks up the freshest folder, the preliminary report from Moscow. Someone out there had both the intelligence to stage an execution they would have to attend and the stupidity to send barely trained amateurs to kill them. It was impossible for the two to be unrelated. Only someone connected enough to want the real Andre out of there would know of their attendance. Their cars were nice but not so nice they were exclusionary. Tracks of their purchases came up blank. As for the guns, AK derivatives are easy enough to come by. There are innumerable sources in that corner of the world, still being looked into. Why would they work this hard on the setup only to throw away the delivery? None of this adds up. To add to frustrations someone in the lounge is playing their "was hip and fresh 12 years ago" play list just a bit too loudly.
As these things tend to come in numbers Lowe approaches and plops a set of paper clipped documents on top of the quagmire. Staff looks up at the young man who desperately needs to switch to decaf. "Dude, I'm right here. You could have handed them to me."
"I intercepted a call from administration.
"Oh?"
"They're sending someone."
"Oh again."
"Seven" He goes on to explain his subject by heart even as real thing trots out from Keithers domain and straight at them, all of this to the tune of Nirvanas "All Apologies." Her face is intent and her suit is frankly tighter than it has to be. "This chick is bad ass, mano. P.H.D from Oxford in international relations. 5 time Kendo champion, speaks more languages than I knew there were and the youngest female agent ever to reach Man Of Distinction. There's even something in here about motorcycle racing."
As she arrives and attempts to stare him down Staff editorializes on the overachievements. " I hear next she's working on flight, speed, and super-weaving."
Quickly realizing he's not the one being spoken to Lowe turns to the woman the file photos didn't do justice. He's frozen like a deer in headlights. She puts her hands on her hips and speaks, again not to him. "What happened to the hat?"
Staff, recoiling in his seat, croaks out "Brokeback. What're you doing here? Get tired of telling the Myth busters what to say?"
"Funny, you should have a look at this." She passes him an addendum to Moscow reports that no one had seen in her hand.
Looking at the cover Staff is forced to ask. "Why wasn't this in the file?"
Matter of fact "Because I had it." Just as he begins to peruse the pages she goes ahead and spoils the ending. "The guns could have come from anywhere but the ammunition was defiantly of Chinese make."
Chinese production of the 7.62 round was anything but news. They had answered their own needs as well as the worldwide love affair with AK type weapons with the bulk industriousness they were famous for. This, of course, went along with the infamous lack of quality control. History lesson aside it did beg the question "Why would someone bring Chinese bullets into Russia?"
"Exactly. Somebody deciding to use cheap copies on you after bringing you out with another cheap copy lead the higher ups to believe you could use a little 'assistance."
"Meaning you're taking over."
"Yall gonna make me be a bitch about this?" Finally allowing in her Louisiana drawl.
"I think it would really explain you to the kid if you did." Without the courtesy of looking over Staff points out the until now forgotten Lowe, who sheepishly waves at their guest. "And by the way, that copy of Andre looked pretty damn expensive."
"You can explain all about that at the meeting." Turning away from him and enunciating like she owns the place. "Conference room in five minutes people."
In the lower gymnasium Keithers voice rings out from the corner speaker. "D.K Conference room. Mandatory. 5 minutes. Thank you and goodnight."
The tower of a man immediately quits beating the stuffing out of the heavy bag and holds it until it stops swinging and his breath fully returns. He removes his padded gloves and places them next to his shoulder holster, which he takes up and latches on. It's the closest to a uniform he'll ever wear. That's all we need to know about him for now. All we need to know about is the short trip he takes from one place to another. Without as much as wiping the sweat from his face he leaves the gym and enters the lift. Once it's reached his place he walks with no particular rush through the office space, past Pro's workshop and Keither's house of electronics and opens the wide doors marked CONFRENCE ROOM A. Ironic in that it's their only conference room.
Inside the officious space he immediately recognizes Seven with her demeanor matching the rooms. The other members of the team are already collected and not looking all that happy about it. She looks up at him as if to take note. "Alright then." She says "Now that everyone's here I'd just like to start by saying Merry Christmas."