Chapter Twelve of the Story

“I’m afraid it’s out of our hands, Jerin.”
Jerin scowled at the man behind the desk. He was dark skinned, had brown eyes that peered out from behind glasses, and a scar on his right cheek. The man was very serious, and wasn’t the kind to joke often. He was, in short, the director of the Agency.
“Look, Mr. Foley, Elliot saved my life. I would be dead right now if it weren’t for her. That little make-up artist eavesdropped on the bad guys and stopped me from getting shot by a crazy Russian. We need to get her out. They’ll kill her, Sir!”
At the end of his speech, Jerin found he was angrily pointing at the wall. Taking a deep breath, he lowered his arm to the chair. The man’s office had no windows or decorations of any kind. Just off-white walls, a cherry-wood desk, the chair Jerin was currently occupying, and the one behind the desk. The director spent so much time in the little office, Jerin often thought of him as part of the furniture.
Miss Alberta Small shifted her position slightly. As the second in command of the Agency, she was to stand behind the director for every debriefing. “Sir, could we get a few people in to rescue her?”
The director turned his head and frowned at her. “No, Miss Small, we cannot. I’m not going to throw men at Serpent when we’ve got a more pressing matter on our hands.”
“A more pressing matter? So, is Elliot just one of those agents you let die?”
The director peered at Jerin over his glasses. “Elliot Ryme acted of her own accord. What she did was of her own doing, so we have nothing to do with it. She made her choice, Jerin. She knew the risk.”
“Fine. At least give me permission to attempt a rescue.”
The man behind the desk sighed. “I have a feeling you’d do it whether you have my permission or not. You may try to rescue her, but on one condition.”
“Yes?”
“You come back alive.”
Miss Small left the office with Jerin. “Do try to understand he’s concerned about what Serpent is doing.”
“Smuggling,” Jerin retorted grumpily.
“Yes, obviously, but what? Our sources say it’s big, but we don’t know what it is.”
He turned his head to her. “Who are these mysterious sources anyway? Can they be trusted?”
“We think so, but we haven’t anything else to go on. Oh, by the way,” she pulled a sheet of paper out of the file she was carrying. “We received this around seven this morning.”
Jerin read it out loud. “’Swanson, we have your girlfriend.’ She is not my girlfriend. A person can’t have a good friend without her being a girlfriend anymore? Yeesh, what is this world coming to? ‘If you want her ever to see the light of day-’ Well, that’s a bit melodramatic, isn’t it? ‘-then you will turn yourself in to us.’ Now, that could be interpreted several ways. If I were to turn myself into them, I’d look funny. But, if I’d turn myself in to them, I’d be dead. It’s a lose-lose situation. Oh, it’s sighed with a serpent-thingy.”
Alberta Small rolled her eyes. “You always find the humor in the situation, even if it is reaching a bit.”
“Ouch. That was harsh. Hey, it keeps me sane, right?”
“That’s a point of view.”
He laughed. “I’m gonna pop down to see Ben. See ya.”
Jerin had woken at ten that morning to Sherlock licking his face. After taking her out for a quick walk, he had eaten breakfast and gotten dressed while watching the news. He had been in luck that day—the earth hadn’t exploded while he was sleeping. He and his furry companion had then gone to work, where he was now.
Now, he stepped into the elevator with Sherlock and rode it down to Benjamin Riley’s office. Hands in pockets, he strode down the corridor to the gadget-maker’s workspace. He stepped through the door, and the man looked up from some sort of gadget-thingy he was constructing.
“Hullo, Ben.”
“Ah, Jerin. How are you faring the day after your escape?”
“Tired. This evil mutt woke me up at ten.”
Benjamin ruffled the dog’s ears. “Well, at least one of you is the responsible one.” He looked up at Jerin’s face. “I’m guessing by your expression that no one is charging out to save Elliot.”
Jerin kicked a table leg in frustration. “No, we’re not.”
Benjamin sighed. “Did mercilessly kicking my poor table help?”
“Yes.”
“Did it hurt?”
“Yes. Ow.”
“Good. Serves you right for taking your anger out on innocent tables.”
Jerin smiled. “Thanks, Ben, that helped.”
The gadget-maker smiled. “Good. Now, about Elliot. Are you going to charge off to your death on me?”
“No, the director is letting me rescue her, but on the condition that I come back alive.”
Ben’s smile widened. “Good for him. That’s the first bit of sense I’ve heard from this business. Let me know when you’ve got a plan. I’ll be happy to equip you.”
Jerin smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks, Ben. You’re awesome.” Looking at Sherlock he said, “Well, responsible one, let’s go home and think about what we’re going to do about your insane master, okay?”
Jerin had spent the entire remainder of the day pacing the length of his living room, trying to think of a plan. None was coming to him. He usually thought up ideas quickly, but today his mind seemed slow. He figured it had something to do with Elliot. Put yourself in danger, no problem. Have someone else you care about in danger; your brain goes bananas and refuses to concentrate.
His pacing had made Sherlock restless, so they had gone for a walk. They had walked and walked and walked until Jerin thought his feet were going to fall off, but Sherlock seemed perfectly content. He had stopped to let some tourists pet her on several occasions. Now, it was dark, and somehow they had ended up on Duane Street.
The dog had been happily sniffing everything possible in the few seconds she had while passing it. Suddenly, she let out a bark—it was more of a whoop than a bark—and charged forward, dragging Jerin nearly off his feet. Completely disregarding good-dog rules, she plowed through the oncoming traffic of pedestrians. She even knocked over a few tourists, and Jerin had to yell and apology over his shoulder.
“Slow down, Sher! We’re not running a race!”
She skidded to a stop outside of a restaurant called “Bouley” and began excitedly sniffing around. Jerin gave her the leash and doubled over, panting. He was quite obviously still exhausted from the past few months and was considering calling it quits for the day.
“Alright, Sherlock, no sniffing any of the fancy-smancy patrons of this fine restaurant, ‘mkay?”
The dog barked happily, and Jerin looked up to see who she was sniffing. He froze. Wagging her tail, Sherlock was sniffing a very familiar red-haired Russian. He also couldn’t help finding it odd to see him in a suit. Jerin had often wondered if he only owned one pair of black pants and a bullet proof vest. Though, he hadn’t parted from his red Converse, he noted.
“Oh my goodness, you have blonde hair!”
He spun around to see Lisa Clearwater bejeweled with every size of diamond possible. And, she was on the arm of Dante Vang. Zann Kolzak, the Boss, and Lisa. Not exactly who he wanted to see. Doubtlessly, Zann was armed, and Jerin really wished he had thought to bring his gun.
“What a cute dog!” The woman bent down to pet Sherlock, but the dog snarled at her. Lisa shrieked and jerked her hand back. “Dante! That evil dog tried to eat me!”
Jerin smirked slightly. “They say a dog is a good judge of character.” He glanced back at Sherlock, who was wagging her tail at Zann. “Though, Sher, I’m going to have to question your judgment on this one.”
“Is she your dog?” Zann asked.
Out of habit, Jerin replied, “No, she’s El- um, mine.”
Zann quirked an eyebrow, but asked no further.
“I do believe he was about to say ‘Elliot’s,’ don’t you my dear?” Vang asked his companion.
Lisa grinned, an evil glint in her eye slightly unnerving Jerin. “I think so. Plus, since the dog seems to smell that girl on Zann, I’d say she is her dog. And the fact that he is walking her—”
“—Proves that Swanson and Elliot are a bit closer than she let on.”
Jerin glared darkly at Zann. “So, Sherlock smells Elliot on you, eh? You better not have touched one hair on her head, assassin. If you do, I won’t hesitate to shoot you, got that?”
The Russian’s cold green eyes looked calmly back at the other, completely unconcerned. Dante and Lisa watched the tension between the two for some time.
“This is exciting!” The woman said, breaking the men’s glares. “Did I mention you look so much better with blonde hair? Black just didn’t suit you.”
Jerin rolled his eyes. “Look, Lisa, now that you know we’re on separate sides, you’re supposed to stop flirting with me, okay?”
To his surprise, Zann put a hand across his mouth to cover a laugh.
“Apparently I’m not the only one annoyed.” He looked down at Sherlock. “Oy, dog! You’re all mixed up. He’s one of the bad guys, so quit looking up at him all puppy-eyed. Let’s go.” He turned around and marched off, dragging Sherlock with him.
The three watched him go before sliding into the limo waiting by the curb. Dante Vang and Lisa eased onto one side of the car, while Zann sat on the other. Deep in thought, the Russian stared out the window. The other two regarded him for a minute.
“Something on your mind, Mr. Kolzak?”
Zann shook his head. “I was just thinking that Jerin doesn’t seem too concerned about Elliot. He was on a leisurely walk, after all.”
Lisa eyed him thoughtfully. “You don’t seem to think Jerin wants Elliot back at all—or is there some other reason?”
The man shrugged. “Just speculation, Miss Clearwater.”
“Well, let us do that, okay? You just shoot who we tell you to.”
Vang laughed half-halfheartedly. “Now, my dear, there’s no reason to start bossing poor Mr. Kolzak around, now is there? He’s entitled to his option. It is a free country.”
Even though Dante Vang had attempted to sooth her, Zann could feel her ice-blue eyes staring at him the entire way to the headquarters.

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Yay! A nice, long chapter for you guys! Feel happy. I actually combined two chapters, because I'm much farther along in my journal, and I'm getting impatient.
Yikes! The sweet little nurse has a nasty side! Lookout! So, what do you guys think is going to happen? I think there's gonna be an assassination here pretty soon. So, tune in next time, same bat-channel, same bat-time!