Ingrams & Assoc 5: Personality Flaws Ch. 01

It was a strange thing - lots of cultures with British roots had this peculiar trait - Australians in particular. The more insulting they were to you, the more they liked you and the more they expected you to just hand it back. It was a tricky thing for an American to navigate, to understand when that was appropriate, and when it was not. To an American, calling someone a 'daft cunt' was the ultimate insult. But in England, it was almost a term of affection. No other culture in the world had better and more interesting ways to be rude to each other. Plus, it all just sounded so classy with a British accent, at least to her ears.

April found she was booked in at the Ritz. The Ritz! She was staying at The Ritz. In London! How cool was that? She couldn't stop craning her head at all the landmarks they were passing by - Tower Bridge, The Tower of London, Piccadilly, Nelson's Column, it was all passing by her. Living history. She almost squeed a bit when they went past Buckingham Palace.

The Ritz was everything she had expected - April had stayed in some nice hotels in her time, and while the Ritz wasn't the best appointed or most modern - definitely not the most modern - there was just something about it that screamed class.

She took a quick shower, stashed her clothes and raced back downstairs, too wired to be too tired, even with the jetlag. She'd traveled before and knew the jetlag would come at some point, the trick was to let it happen on her schedule.

She found George and Dan in the bar, having a quick pint. George saw her coming and downed his almost instantly, leaving Dan to chug his as fast as he could, but still slow compared to George's apparently infinite capacity.

"Come on boy, let's be havin' you," he said, impatiently, making a show of looking at his watched as he glanced at an amused April. "We haven't got all day here for you to sip it in."

Dan finished his beer, slammed it down on the table and burped loudly.

"Ahhh, champion!" he exclaimed. "Shall we go then?"

The trio exited the lobby and climbed into a black cab. She looked at George, inquisitively and he just shook his head and said, "Better this way. Plus, driving across town at this time of day is a non-starter. A recipe for flying off the handle and being majorly upset with humanity in general."

The trip took almost three quarters of an hour, and April kept waiting for the inevitable cab driver chat she'd heard so much about, but the driver himself didn't say a word.

The conversation with George and Dan was enlightening, dealing with Brexit, the current state of the Monarchy, various thoughts they had about living in the USA and, of course, the weather. You can't sit in a London Cab and not talk about the weather. It's practically a local law. Nothing of consequence was said regarding the task at hand; this was, after all, a public place.

Eventually the cab dropped them off at the corner of Pentonville Road and St. John Street, in the borough of the Angel Islington, located in north London, where Ingrams and Associates had their UK based offices. George was careful to point out to April that the Angel tube station was just across the road, "just in case, pet", as he put it.

They went into the building via a side door and walked up the stairs to the second floor. Another difference, she noted. The Brits have a ground floor and then the floor above it is the first floor, unlike the US, where the ground floor IS the first floor. April suspected there would many such adjustments to get used to over the next few days and weeks.

She was shown around the facility by Dan, after George politely mentioned he had some things to attend to. There was a conference room, several offices, a scaled down operations room, - similar to the one back in the US -, an equipment room, complete with workshop, and two rooms with researchers in them. And the kitchen. The tiny kitchen, barely big enough for a table, two chairs, a fridge and the inevitable tea kettle.

April was amazed at how tiny the whole operation was. This entire facility would fit inside both conference rooms and the bathrooms back in Washington. The rooms were relatively old, with steps up and down into rooms, and while everything was clean and well cared for, it just reeked of old.

When she stuck her head into the operations room, everyone turned to look at her, and she saw George in there, cup in hand, deep in conversation with someone. He'd seen her and nodded, raising his cup to her, and went back to his conversation.

Eventually she was shown into the office of the head of operations in London, Mark Scholtz. Mark was approximately ten years older than April. Thinning hair on top, glasses, clean-shaven, somewhat non-descript, but with interesting style choices. He was wearing a blue pinstriped suit, purple shirt and glaring red and orange tie. But it was his eyes that were the thing that stood out. He wore glasses for close up reading, but the moment he lowered them and turned them on you, it was like having laser beams fired at you. There wasn't anything particularly striking about his eyes - they weren't deep blue or a strange color; it was just you felt like he was giving you his full and undivided attention. There was stark and obvious intelligence behind them. It was unnerving at first, but after a while, April began to find it tremendously flattering.

They'd met before, when April had worked a job in Berlin, and Mark had been her point man in the city. The job had only taken three weeks, for her to come to the conclusion that the Olympic athlete she'd been hired to work with, who'd declared that he was considering a sex change, was entirely bullshitting the world. He'd actually had an injury that was going to stop him competing on the world stage, but he'd become addicted to the limelight, and this was his way of grabbing some of that spotlight again.

The Olympic committee in Germany had called in Ingrams to see what could be done, and it had only taken April a week to get into bed with Hans, and discovered there was no gender confusion going on with him. At all. Quite the opposite.

Even though she'd had to inform the committee it was all bullshit, she'd spent two more weeks "being sure", because you didn't get to fuck a gold medal winner very often, and also because the training to win a gold medal had also carried across into the bedroom. He was one hell of a sexual dynamo and she hadn't actually been laid properly in months, not where she didn't have to do the work.

Mark had understood completely; he'd found his own little Helga and spent a week in cottage on the Austrian border himself, once the task was completed.

"Hey April," he said, sitting back in his chair, grinning, "how's tricks? You ever hear back from Hans?"

She smiled broadly back at Mark, settling down in the seat in front of his desk, leaning back and putting her feet up on his work space.

"Oh, he's married now. Two kids. I dare say they are both in training as we speak, ready for the 2032 Olympics, knowing him."

Mark chuckled. They'd had a few days at the end of the job and spent it checking out beer halls in Berlin - they were old drinking partners and were both very comfortable with each other.

"I hear you are married now, yes? How's that?" asked April.

Mark shrugged. "Has it's ups and downs. She is the one though. No question. One night with her and I knew."

"Good for you," smiled April back, genuinely pleased for her friend.

"So, the Hicks job. Interesting one," he said

"Yeah. You know, I've read all the material, but I still can't understand why she came to us?" asked April, quizzically. "I mean, why not go to a normal counselor? Why us?"

"To that, I honestly don't know. When she contacted us, it wasn't so much a request for help as an order. She's quite...direct. It doesn't encourage a lot of back and forth. I gather she regards us more as a service bureau than anything. I would have dug deeper but that's really you Johnnies area. Didn't want to step on any toes, did I?" Mark hammed up the last sentence in an upper class British accent.

April chuckled back at him.

"Well, then I'll ask. What's the process here? I don't think I'm going to need any special equipment. I'm still going in under an alias - I spoke to my people and put together a small plan for this. While she may know who I am and why I'm there, others won't. She's still the CEO of the company, even if she doesn't have the real power. She doesn't want or need the stigma of a therapist sniffing around. She's already lost her husband under very shitty circumstances; she doesn't need any more issues. So, I'm going in as her new PA. That gets me close to her, and lets me see her in her natural habitat."

"Yeah, we got the preliminary mission specifications from Dermott a couple of days ago. I've got you a cover set up, and I've got you booked into a nice little pub hotel down the road from her main residence. The idea is that you will car pool with her - that's how you Americans say that, isn't it? Car Pooling?"

April gave him a lop sided half smile and the single finger. Mark had teased her unmercifully about being an 'uncultured yank' when they were in Germany. Generally, a few choice comments about the rest of the world not speaking German because of US involvement tended to stop that, but she was now currently in the belly of the beast, so to speak. She needed new ways to respond to this. Perhaps just ignoring it was best.

"OK. So, she's located...where? Wellwyn?" she asked, hesitantly, trying to work out how to pronounce it.

"Yes. Wellyn. It's hard to know how to say it unless you grew up here. Hertfordshire county. About half an hour north of London. Lovely area. I did my degree in that area you know. Here." Mark pushed some documents across his table to April, who pulled her feet down and leaned forward to pick them up. Ingrams had a policy of never allowing documents to leave the office unless it was absolutely necessary, so she had to get a new set.

"Looks nice," she said, leafing through the pictures. "Nice place she lives in."

"Yes, it's actually just south of the town, off the Great North road. Close to a city center, but still countryside. She got the land for a song and built a nice faux Tudor place there. You are staying a little further down, at the North Star Pub, which has hosting facilities. There are company offices a bit further north, but the major factory is in Sandwich, in Kent - quite a large facility, about three hundred and fifty people."

"When do I meet her?" asked April, looking up from the documents.

"Four days from now - next Monday. We wanted you to get over the jet lag first. It's a bugger, I know. Spend some time getting to know the city. Go do touristy things. Study the documentation. You know. The usual," said Mark, waving his hand at the window.

"The 'usual'?" said April, playfully scornfully. "With you, that would involve a lot of beer and being rude about the local inhabitants."

"Yes, well," coughed Mark, sitting up straight and trying to smother a smirk. "Probably best to go easy on that. Home turf and all that."

April just smirked right back. "My turn now, right?"

"If you think you can, by all means. Anyway. Go sleep. I know you want to. Pick up a phone on your way out. It'll be programmed with local numbers you need, and it'll work anywhere in Europe. Jessica's new rules mean two phone calls a day, plus the tracking app will be on continuously. If you want to call our ops room in the morning, and your guys in DC in the evening, that would work. We are all in constant contact anyway, and it'll enable you to talk directly to Dermott and hear if the situation changes with Desirea. In the meantime, go learn your cover. You can take those docs with you. We are a little less...intense than our colonial cousins in terms of having to keep everything on site, you'll find."

April grunted, got up and picked up the documents. If they wanted to be laxer, she'd take advantage of it. She already knew that although she had a cover - PA, coming from a divorce in the US for a change of scenery, though she was still using her real name, a first for her in operations. They'd talked about it back in the US, and since the target knew who she was, no one could really come up with a reason for using an alias; it also made it much easier for traveling, car rental and so on. So, with a shrug, April decided she was going to be April Carlisle for the foreseeable future. It would make a nice change for her to be herself for a change.

She left the building after picking up her phone and decided she was going to take the Tube, a new adventure for her. She studied the tube map and worked out how to get from Angel Islington to Green Park. Taking the Tube in London was an experience, but even then, it wasn't that different from taking the L in Chicago, or the metro in NY, or even the BART in San Francisco. Same weary people, all crammed in. Same heat. Same mix of people who just want some personal space and who don't have any. Just more expensive until you get your Oyster card, which April had been warned about so that was the first thing she did.

The next few days were almost a blur for April. She did touristy things, and took a double decker bus tour to get her bearing, she went to the British Museum, she went to the Natural History museum, she went to the Tate Gallery, she did the London Eye and wandered through the history of the Tower of London. She saw the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace, which she decided was overrated, but it is what tourist do. She shopped on Oxford and Bond street, discovered the tourist trap that was Carnaby Street and she ambled down the Kings Road, checking out all the small boutique clothing shops, as well as all the antique stores. She strolled through Covent Garden market and bought weird and wonderful cheeses at the Borough market, just south of London Bridge. She also bought some more work clothes, ready for the upcoming mission. The weather was quite spectacular, and London felt like the best mix of old world charm, and modern convenience she'd ever seen. It was expensive though - April was constantly doing pound to dollar conversions in her head anytime she bought anything, and was just as constantly wincing when she realized what the actual cost was.

She made her two phone calls a day, using the usual identification code - counter code ritual she'd used so many times before while on an operation. There was no news about Desirea, and the calls to the DC ops room were usually short and somewhat morose. She got the feeling they were beginning to accept that the worst had happened.

In the evenings, she studied her briefings, and sat in the bar at the Ritz, chatting to the barman and flirting with traveling businessmen.

All too soon, Monday rolled around, and April packed her bags and new purchases, and checked out of the Ritz, regretfully looking back as the cab took her up north, out of London and into the green lush landscape of rural England.

The North Star Pub turned out to be a nice place - recently upgraded but still historic. She was welcomed and shown her room, which was nothing special, but more than sufficient to her needs. The en suite bathroom was cramped, obviously having been added later, but the shower was hot and the water pressure good, and at the end of the day, what else do you need, besides a microwave and a coffee maker? And she had both.

That evening, she wandered down into the bar - all lightwoods and mismatched great chairs, around smaller tables. There was even a fireplace, currently unlit.

She ordered a pint of cider - having discovered that England was currently experiencing a resurgence of cider, a particular favorite tipple of April's, and she was slowly working her way through all the new flavors, to find those that were her favorites. The number one favorite so far was Pear Cider, although the Lemon Cider - which she'd only found in bottles at a specialist pub in Camden - was a strong contender.

The barman, a older man with a ruddy complexion, grey thinning hair and somewhat unshaven finished up serving another couple and wandered back to where April was sitting at the bar.

"Anything else miss?" he enquired, somewhat gruffly.

April had been examining the food menu and said, "What would you recommend?"

The man looked at her, and then said, "Do you like fish? The fish and chips are actually pretty good. The cook here has his own batter mix that's a little different..."

April folded the menu and gave the barman her number six megawatt smile, the one that said, 'I want you to think I am grateful and right this very second, you are the center of my world. But don't think I'm falling in love with you. I'm a reserved person.'

"Thanks...I'm sorry, what is your name?" April figured if she was going to be here a while, getting to know the locals was a good plan.

"I'm Bernie," he replied, "I would shake hands, but I've just spilled Guinness all over mine and it's a bugger to get off. You'd just get sticky."

"Hi Bernie. I'm April. I'm going to be staying here a while. New PA job down the road."

"Ah, the occupant of the Millwall room! Yes, I heard you were coming. I had no idea you'd be an American though. Tell me, what is the thinking on Donald Trump? I mean, seriously...?"

Bernie was poking fun gently, and April could feel it. She decided to return in kind.

"Well, we in the states felt that the world was getting boring. We wanted to shake it up. So, Donald Trump. How much more shook up could we get? It's a gamble every day that someone might tweet something bad at him, and he would respond with nuclear weapons. How much less boring is that?"

She said it all as innocently as should could, being as earnest as she knew how. Bernie stopped and just looked at her, trying to decide if she was having him on or not. After a second of very obvious consideration, he just nodded and said mock seriously, 'Yeah, thought so."

Both looked at each other before April cracked first and started to giggle. Then Bernie joined her, had a good laugh, and then he looked her over, appraisingly.

"I think you'll do just fine. You'll fit in here no problem. An American with a sense of humor. Will wonders never cease!"

She raised her cider at him, in salute, and took a sip.

"So a new PA eh? So, if you are here, you must be working her Her Nibs, down the road? Ms. Rachael, right?"

"Yes, that's right," said April, putting down her pint and considering her position. This was a prime opportunity to get some local background. "You know her?"

"Oh we all know her round here. She's quite popular. We were all a bit suspicious when she pitched up and started building that big old mansion she lives in, but she's been pretty decent to everyone round here. Donates to the local church, even lets them hold their fete in her paddock, which is pretty good. She even puts up a big old marquee and does the baked goods judging. She's quite the queen bee, but really nice with it. Even comes in here a fair bit. Her and that fella of hers - well, until he jobbed off."

"Jobbed off?" queried April. She could tell that she'd be doing a lot of this kind of questioning while she was in England.

"You know. Pushed off. Done a runner. Taken off. Shoved off. Left her."

"Oh. Right. Yes, of course."

April pondered how to phrase the next question - she didn't want to come off too nosey.

"So you know them? She's my new boss. What can you tell me? And her...what do you, say, bloke? Is that right?"

Bernie smiled a big wide grin. "Close enough. Actually, now that I think of it, why are you here? I mean, lovely woman and all that, but you are American and as a PA I would imagine a local would be more..." he trailed off, obviously realizing what he was saying could be taken offensively.