02-Jun-2000
Title: Brother Maxwell 2/?
Author: TB
Archive: yes please GW Addiction
Category: action?
Pairing: 2xH
Rating: R
Warnings: drug-talk, swearing, grouchy Duo
Spoilers: likely but not in this part
Notes: Julian is an original character of yours truly
from a novel I haven't finished yet. He just seemed to
fit this fic. This fic takes place when Duo is
approximately 25; the series and EW are cannon in this
fic, no changes whatsoe'er. He has been living with
Hirde on L2 since that time, doing the occasional odd
job for Julian's version of a peace-keeping
organisation.
Feedback: please, thanks in advance and thanks for last time! ^_^
Disclaimers: I do not own GW nor do I profit by using
it. However, I DO own Julian. (evil Tomo cackle: Own
him body and soul!) (Julian sweatdrops: Right...)
Maybe someday I will even profit off him.
Anywho, here's the fic. Have a great day all! ~TB
Julian rubbed tired blue eyes and leaned forward in his seat to search his carry-on bag for the correct folders. "I can't say I don't wish you'd told me about this earlier," he noted, finding the first one and securing it in his lap, "but actually, having *both* of you here may work out for the better. Miss Schbeiker, your efforts during the war didn't go unnoticed, and your enthusiasm and ability are the kinds of traits we look for in our operatives. There's no reason to assume you can't be useful to us in this particular move we're making."
Duo looked slightly grumpy at all the surprising praise Julian was heaping on his girlfriend. He hunched back in his aeroplane seat and irritably wished someone would get some air circulating in the cabin.
Julian found the second folder, and withdrew that as well, nudging his bag under his seat. He leaned across Hirde to give Duo his, then opened the first and tilted it toward Hirde, who sat beside him in the three-seat row.
"Do you have any background in Catholicism?" he asked her.
She glanced at Duo. "Just what he's told me. I was raised Jewish."
"Well, Miss, it appears you're about to undergo a conversion." The spy flipped through several papers, each clipped to the inside flap of the blue manilla. Once more he began to point out bits and pieces to her. "There's been considerable disturbance at this particular nunnery; it double-times as an orphanage for children displaced during the war. Their records indicate a certain shifting population count... It's not an uncommon tactic, and it's as old as any other trick in the slaver's book."
"Slavers!" Hirde exclaimed.
Julian nodded. "We don't have proof, of course. We don't know what happens to the kids who disappear--or we wouldn't need you on this case. Historically, in the African Slave Trade back in the AD 1700's and 1800's, you'd see enterprising captains load "cargo" on their ships--but by the journey's end, the accounts would be adjusted to show only half the original tonnage. Entire families would disappear from existence on those voyages. That's what we seem to be seeing at this orphanage. Easier to keep track of, with everything being computerized, but you still see hackers cutting into the system and erasing, or changing, information. An investigator told us that according to the cybernetic "ghost prints"--the tiny hints that something's been changed--at least two hundred pre-pubescent or early teenaged children have fallen off the planet at this one nunnery alone. This is where I'd like to station you."
"You want me to find out if it's true?" Hirde asked. She glanced at Julian for permission, then took the folder.
"More than that. I want to know if it's true, and I want to know if anyone else is aware of what's going on. This is going to be a massive bust, Miss Schbeiker, straight out of the big gangster era. In all likelihood we'll only catch a third of those involved; that's why we want comprehensive lists of names and charges. Even if we miss a criminal in the roundup, they'll turn up somewhere else, doing something just as bad or worse--and when they get arrested, we'll have these old charges, recycled who knows how many times but still floating, to pin them with. This is going to be massive, Miss Schbeiker, *massive.*" Julian was rather grimly smug about that.
Hirde gravely accepted her mission. Looking at her, Duo could see the pulse jumping in her neck beneath her pale skin, could tell from the flush on her face that she was excited. The tight, sinking feeling in his chest worsened. He didn't want her involved in this.
"Terrific. We'll get you in with the nuns then, with proper identification. We'll stick as close to the truth as possible,that's usually best for amateurs--no offence intended--"
"None taken."
"I suppose you'll need a nunly sort of name." Julian searched for something, trying to compose on the spot. "Sister... "
"Helen," Duo said softly. "Sister Helen."
Hirde looked at him. She knew what that name meant to him. Gently, she took his hand, and squeezed. Julian hesitated, sensing something private; then he shrugged. "Sister Helen it is. Hirde, you'll disembark with me, and we'll catch a second plane to India once Duo is on his way to France. Now, Duo, on to you."
The American in question lifted the folder, having already perused its contents, and let it fall back to his lap with a soft fluttering thwap. "You think it's going to take a year to do *this*?" he demanded.
Julian waved one of his oddly shaped, slender hands. "I do, and if you'll listen rather than pout for a moment, I'll explain why."
Duo *was* pouting. It didn't help that Julian was making him look like a fool, chastising him in front of Hirde. Sullenly he acknowledged that he didn't have much choice.
And he *had* agreed to do this. It was time to start carrying through on his promise. Shinigami never lied.
Julian continued after a moment, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes as if he were resting. The plane was starting to fill up now; they'd be taking off soon, and Julian had already explained that they shouldn't act like a group. His lips barely moved as he murmured.
"When you reach Paris, you'll contact one of our men, who's been doubling as a runner-boy in the service of Bishop Joshephe for several years. Drug pushing, mostly, occasionally bringing in prostitutes and the local debaucheries. He'll bring you with him on his next delivery to the good clergyman--and we know for a fact that Joshephe will not only know your name, but recognise your face. He will most probably be quite angry with our man--but you will convince him that you are neither a threat nor a disturbance to his secret life."
"And how will I do that?" Duo asked, masking the movement of his mouth by raising an arm to adjust the air-flow nozzle above his head.
"A little acting will be involved."
"Lying, you mean."
"Have I ever asked you to lie?" Julian half-smiled. "Trust me, Duo," he whispered. "I've always taken great care to be conscious and respectful of your personal idiosyncrasies."
He, too, laid his head back, acting as though the other two in his row were of no importance to him. The cabin was full now, and stewardesses were checking bags and seat-belts. "Then what am I supposed to say to him?"
"That you want what he has to sell you. Nothing more. I'm sure he'll see the advantage in sharing his stash--with an ex-Gundam pilot."
"What does he have that I could possibly want?"
"Cloud Nine."
He blinked. Slowly he said, "As in the narcotic?"
"Exactly."
"That's for die-hard addicts, Juli. And I've never touched a drug in my life."
"You will have by the time we land."
As badly as he wanted to, Duo just barely managed to restrain himself from sitting up straight in horror. He gripped the arms of his seat tensely, feeling Hirde's sudden uneasiness beside him like a chill down his spine. "Are you telling me you have some on you?"
A steward passed them, bending over to be sure they were strapped in, and to announce that the plane would be taking off shortly. And then Julian, apparently dozing in complete serenity, gently informed him, "Actually, I slipped it into your pocket while we were coming up the ramp. You must be especially worried, Duo; you didn't even notice."
As casually as possible he put a hand down to the leg of his pants. Yes. The slight bulge, in the shape of a syringe and a small bottle--he cursed himself for letting Julian get the edge on him again.
"About halfway through the flight you'll go to the toilet, and inject yourself with the narcotic. You're familiar with its effects? You'll be clear-headed enough to act as you need to. But by the time you reach Paris, and our bishop, you will need more. Your body will be entering withdrawal. The signs will be perfectly obvious, especially to a man who trafficks in such expensive indulgences."
Hirde was almost too quiet to be heard. "Duo, this is too much."
Julian was silent for a while. Under the cover of the captain's announcement of their departure, he said, "If you want to back out, do it now. I'll find a replacement. But back out now. It will be far too late if you change your mind *after* the plane lands."
End part 2
(:./erin/brother2)
